With This Ring Page 3

  But fuck that shit.

  Pretty girls are a dime a dozen. There’s nothing special about this one. She makes my dick hard. That’s all I have to worry about.

  “Take off your dress,” I tell her.

  Her eyes narrow and she cocks her head to the side. She’s petulant. A pain in the ass.

  But a nagging voice tells me there’s more than those things. It’d be simple if she were just those things. And I know exactly what it is. She’s loyal. A trait not easily come by in my line of work. She humiliated herself, threw herself at my feet to save her brother.

  It’s too bad she’s loyal to the wrong side.

  “Are you hard of hearing?” I ask.

  She just glares.

  I gesture to the gown. “It’s dirty. You’re covered in blood and brains. Not to mention it’s fucking ugly. I don’t want you to dirty my things.”

  Her eyebrows rise on her forehead. “You don’t want me to dirty your things?”

  “Correct.”

  “I want my veil. Your goon wouldn’t let me get my veil before he dragged me out of there.”

  I snort at that, take off my shoes and socks, undo my belt and pants. I turn and walk toward the bathroom, stopping at the door to look back at her momentarily.

  “I thought you were forced to marry Rinaldi. Isn’t that what you said? Or was it a lie to save your neck? So why in hell would you want any remembrance of the supposedly forced nuptials I interrupted.”

  Her gaze drops to the unzipped crotch of my pants and she’s not quick enough to turn her head away as she clears her throat.

  I was right. Just a dirty girl thinking dirty thoughts. Good. Dirty is good.

  “It has nothing to do with him. The veil is my mother’s.” She stops, gives a shake of her head. “It was my mother’s. And I want it back.”

  I watch her face. Watch her try to mask her emotions. “She’s been dead a long time. Why would it matter?”

  “You don’t forget people you love. Unless you’re some kind of monster, of course.”

  Her words hit their mark.

  I grit my teeth.

  She doesn’t know. She’s just throwing words at me. Just words. She lost her mother weeks before I lost mine. Parents killed by those two assholes lying with half their faces blown off downstairs.

  I turn into the bathroom and strip off the rest of my things, then switch on the shower and step under the flow.

  “Hey!” She’s at the door.

  I look at her.

  She glances down then quickly away as her neck and cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  “I want my veil. I mean it.”

  “I haven’t even decided how long you’ll live yet, and you want a stupid veil from a wedding you were forced into?”

  “I told you, it belonged to my mother.”

  “It’s got your brothers’ brains all over it. Ruined. Like the dress. Get it off and get in the shower.” I switch off the water and step out, grabbing a towel to wipe my face, very aware how red her face has turned. “Please tell me you’ve seen a dick before.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I give her a smile I don’t feel in my eyes. “I will. As soon as you’ve got that shit cleaned off you.”

  Her mouth falls open.

  I wrap the towel around my hips and when I move toward her, she scurries back. Passing her, I walk into my closet, pull on briefs and choose another suit. I hear the bedroom door open then close. I’m sure that’s Scarlett thinking she can just walk out of here. I chuckle as I step into the slacks and slide my arms into a button-down.

  When I return to the bedroom, she’s just walking back into it.

  “You looked,” I say, dropping the suit jacket over the back of a chair as I button up my shirt.

  “What? I’m not looking at you.” Her face gets that pink hue again as she folds her arms across her chest and makes a point of not looking at me for all of a second.

  “I mean you watched your uncle kill your brothers. You knew what was coming and you watched.”

  Her eyes darken to a deep caramel and suddenly, I’m taken back. Caught off guard.

  Burnt sugar. The smell from the kitchen. Mom standing over the pot, swirling it. Smiling. We’re standing beside her, watching in awe as she makes caramel.

  I give a shake of my head. The image is gone as quickly as it came—a split second of memory. It leaves a void in its place and has me wondering if it’s truly a memory or something I was told.

  Focus.

  Scarlett grits her teeth, jaw tensing.

  “Why did you look?” I ask.

  “Is my brother going to be okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s my brother.”

  I walk toward her, and she backs up until the backs of her legs hit my bed. I catch her before she falls onto it, straighten her, taking her jaw in my hand, putting my thumb over her lips. “You like playing games? I’d be careful playing them with me if I were you.” I release her and turn to walk across the room. “Do not sit on any of my furniture until you get that dress off.”

  Opening a drawer, I look at the array of cufflinks. My dad’s supposedly. Fuck. Again. Nothing. Not a god damned thing. The only thing I recognize is the engagement ring I tossed in here after taking it off Scarlett’s finger.

  I choose a pair of cufflinks at random, closing the drawer a little harder than I need to.

  “Why did you look?” I ask again as I turn to her, slipping the links into their slots.

  “Because they deserved what they got. Actually, they deserved worse. You were too easy on them.”

  “Hmm.” I study her. See a hate in her eyes I find familiar. That’s good. That’s what I need to see.

  “Why did you have my uncle do it?”

  “Why did I have him kill them?”

  She nods.

  “A test of loyalty.”

  She snorts, rolls her eyes.

  “He failed. But to be honest, he’d have failed either way. Kill your own blood and I know you’re a traitor. Don’t, and you’re not loyal to me.”

  She’s confused, her forehead wrinkling.

  “The reaper stands at his door either way.” A knock at the door interrupts us. “Yes.”

  The door opens and my uncle, David, peeks his head inside. When he sees the girl, I see a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he’s quick to catch himself. I’m sure he’d agree with Dante. I should have killed her and the boy, too.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “Two minutes.”

  He glances at her again, nods to me and leaves, closing the door.

  I turn back to Scarlett, look her over and close the space between us. I give her credit for not backing away.

  “Get that dress off. Get showered.”

  “Can you just tell me if Noah’s okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Is he going to stay fine?”

  “For now. Get showered. I’ll have food sent up. You don’t leave this room.”

  “Why? Why didn’t you kill us?”

  “Yet.”

  “What?”

  “Why haven’t I killed you yet. That’s how you should ask that question.”

  She swallows, worry making her face go pale.

  “You may be useful.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m going to need something to fuck when I’m back.”

  Shock registers on her face and her mouth opens into a perfect O. I give her a minute to process.

  “I will not be fucking you,” she finally says, tone a little quieter.

  “Face down ass up is my preference. So I know my options. Be sure to be in position—”

  She raises her arm to slap me. Instinct or stupidity. Jury’s still out.

  I catch her wrist. “You’re an angry little thing, aren’t you?”

  “You can fuck yourself, Cristiano Grigori. I will not be fucking you.”

  I chuckle.

  She raises he
r left arm to do what the right couldn’t. I catch that wrist too, my opinion leaning toward stupidity rather than instinct.

  “Don’t think what I did for you was a kindness and don’t ever think to strike me. If you get rough, I’ll get rough and you’ve seen what I’m capable of.”

  “Giving the order to kill you mean?”

  I squeeze her wrists, walking her back to the wall. “The only thing keeping your brother and you alive right now is the warm pussy between your legs. Once I’m done with it, all bets are off, so I’d try really hard to ingratiate myself if I were you.” I lean in so the tip of my nose is touching the tip of hers. “I’ll make this simple so you can follow. Do not fuck with me. Am I clear, Scarlett?”

  She grits her teeth I assume to stop herself from opening her smartass mouth.

  I press her wrists into the wall and squeeze. “I asked you if I’m fucking clear?”

  She winces, eyes wide. What does she see in mine, I wonder? Rage. Fury. A monster.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Do I need to dumb it down some more?”

  “I’m not stupid and you’re fucking crystal clear.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She calls me an asshole under her breath. Not stupid enough to say it to my face at least.

  “What was that?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.

  She keeps her lips sealed.

  “Did you fucking say something, Scarlett?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  I look down at her blood-crusted dress, shift her wrists into one of my hands and grip the bodice.

  “What are you—”

  The dress makes a glorious ripping sound, cutting her off. It exposes her bra, her flat belly. I shift my gaze back to hers. Her eyes have gone wide, mouth still open.

  “Get it off. Shower.” I release her wrists and walk to the door. “Alec.” The guard turns to me. “Keep an eye on Ms. De La Cruz,” I tell him, glancing at her. “She doesn’t go out and nobody comes in.”

  She’s wordlessly cursing me to hell and back. All I have to do is look at her to know. Her hands are tight fists holding the remnants of her dress together.

  “If she does anything stupid, don’t touch her. Punish her brother.”

  “No!” she calls out.

  I walk out, then stop and turn back to her. “Remember what I said. Face down, ass up.”

  She loses what color remained on her face. Good. She’ll heel. Because the tables have turned on the De La Cruz family and I decide whether she and her brother live or die.

  3

  Scarlett

  I stand at the wall and watch the door close. I don’t breathe until it does. I don’t move until his footsteps have receded and a full minute has passed.

  Punish her brother.

  Shit.

  He could have threatened to throw me back into the cell. Could have threatened me bodily harm. But he’s too clever for that. He knows I’ll obey if he threatens Noah.

  Face down, ass up.

  I can’t even begin to think about that part because what the hell just happened?

  And the comment about no one coming in. Who would come in? My uncle? I’m an enemy to every single person in this house. I guess he wants to be sure I’m in one piece when he gets back to do what he thinks he’s going to do.

  I shake my head, try to clear that thought and the ones that follow. Because I’m not stupid. He doesn’t need my permission to do anything.

  I look down at myself, at the torn, ruined dress, then shift my gaze around the room. I thought maybe we were at Rinaldi’s compound where he’d been keeping me the days leading up to the wedding. But I don’t think that’s right. I only saw that tower room, but this isn’t the same place.

  I’m in a large room. A master suite with what looks like a custom-made King-size bed against one wall and antique looking furniture, a desk, a dresser, and the nightstands. One door for the closet and another to the bathroom. The last one leads out into the hallway where I have no doubt Alec, the soldier, is still standing guard.

  There are three windows along one wall. The other walls don’t have windows.

  He’d said island. He didn’t want my brother’s bodies on his island.

  I walk to one of the windows and look outside, gasping at what I see because for miles and miles it’s just blue. The view from the next window, and the one beside it, are the same. I open one, only to breathe in cold, salty air and listen to the sound of the ocean. Are we still in Italy? I was passed out overnight. He could have taken me anywhere.

  Rinaldi’s complex is just outside of Rome. We aren’t anywhere near Rome.

  Just then I hear a loud sound from overhead. I’m about to lean my head out to see what it is when the helicopter comes into view, turning sharply as it flies over the water and out of sight around the building.

  A helicopter. An island. My brother downstairs in some cell.

  Fuck.

  Where the hell are we and how are we going to get out of here?

  I close my eyes and force a deep breath in then out. I have to stay calm. I have to think.

  Peering out the window, I look down and my belly flips. I hate heights and there’s a good hundred-foot drop into the ocean. The house is built into the rocky cliff face of the island. This wouldn’t be my way out even if my brother weren’t locked in a cell below ground.

  I close the window with a shudder and turn back into the room. When I move to rub my eyes, I get a look at my hands. I’m covered in dirt and blood and am suddenly very aware of the caked-on brains and blood on my skin. My face. My mouth.

  Hurrying into the bathroom, I close the door behind me and brace myself to meet my reflection. Even though I think I’m ready for it, even though I’ve seen blood and gore and death before, this is different. And I’m in no way ready.

  In my panic to get the dress off, I rip it the rest of the way, letting it pool around my legs where I’m standing. I do the same with my bra, panties and stockings, stepping over everything and into the shower.

  The floor is still wet from Cristiano’s shower. I have a flash of his naked body just then. Him asking me if I’d seen a dick before. I squeeze my eyes shut and tell my brain to banish the image. I can’t think about that right now. And it’s not hard to do when I open my eyes to watch pink water run down the drain.

  Death. That’s what that is. The deaths of three people, that woman and two of my brothers.

  Condensation from his shower hasn’t yet faded from the glass walls as I adjust the water as hot as I can stand it. I scrub my face, my hair, and my skin, trying to process what just happened. What I bore witness to.

  My uncle executed my brothers on Cristiano Grigori’s command. My own uncle.

  No, that part isn’t what’s hard to process. It’s shocking but I know what kind of man Jacob De La Cruz is. I’ve known since my twelfth birthday.

  My stomach turns at the memory. That’s the thing that almost makes me puke when seeing my brothers faces blown off didn’t.

  There’s something seriously wrong with me. I’m not upset that my brothers are dead. The only thing we shared was the blood of our father and a mutual hate for each other.

  Noah and I are from his second marriage to his one-time mistress. He set Diego and Angel’s mother aside to marry my mother when she became pregnant with me. I’m a bastard. Can women be bastards?

  I shake my head. Telling myself to focus.

  Is that when my half-brothers decided to do it? To kill our father and my mother? To take over the cartel? But then they waited twelve years to do it? I don’t think so. They were never that smart. Even though I believe their hate brewed in those twelve years since my birth, it wasn’t them who came up with the plan to turn on our father. It was only with the Rinaldi family’s help that they could have executed their plan so seamlessly. Which is why I was set to marry the heir to the Rinaldi mafia family. It would seal our union, the De La Cruz Cartel and the Rinaldi Mafia. They’d own Euro
pe with the drugs my brothers could bring in. Not to mention the more lucrative flesh trade.

  It makes me sick to think of it. Of how much suffering my brothers caused before their too easy deaths.

  Cristiano’s family stood in the way, though. No flesh trade. Their one rule.

  But greed won out. Greed fueled by years of hate.

  I thought the Grigori family was wiped out but that’s clearly not the case. I remember the other man in that cell. The casual one. Brothers. Two survivors. Have they been in hiding all this time?

  After shampooing three times and scrubbing my skin raw, I switch off the water and look around. I locate a stack of towels on a shelf and reach out to grab one, twisting my hair into it. I take a second one to wrap around myself. I look down at the pile of the wedding dress and underthings. Blood even managed to get on my bra.

  I step around them and walk back into the bedroom. Clothes. I need clothes. But the first thing I see in the bedroom is a tray of food on the table. My stomach growls at the sight. I don’t remember the last time I ate. Days ago. I went on a hunger strike before the wedding. It was the only thing I could control.

  Walking toward it, I see it’s a sandwich with fresh mozzarella, tomatoes and basil on still-warm ciabatta. There’s a small salad beside it and even a slice of chocolate cake. I pick up the bottle of water and drain half of it, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before taking a bite of the sandwich. It’s good. I shove another bite into my mouth, then another before forcing myself to set it down. If I eat too fast, I’ll throw up. I make myself chew before swallowing as I walk into the closet.

  Cristiano’s closet smells nice. Like leather and man, a scent I’d picked up off him earlier. Something I hadn’t registered I’d done. It’s not an overpowering amount of it like my uncle likes to wear. Even smelling just a hint of Uncle’s cologne has the effect of making me want to puke.

  The closet is huge and lined with more suits than even my father owned. I marvel at how precisely everything is in its place. He or his housekeeper must be a little OCD.