I slapped him. Did I feel he deserved it? Yes, I did. He had no right to talk to me like that. He had leeway to berate me for putting his sister in harm’s way, but he didn’t know me enough to call me a whore. He could blame me, but he couldn’t insult me.
I unbuckled the seatbelt and dropped my forehead on the steering wheel. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I was sure a panic attack was coming on. I’ve never had one before, but it was either that or an honest-to-God heart attack because I could feel my heart trying to beat out of my chest.
Who was I kidding? Of course, Ciro Mancini could insult me. He could do anything he damn well pleased. He was The Son. He was Luca Benetti’s right-hand man. What in the hell was I thinking coming here?
The chance to answer was lost when the door to my rental swung open and large, powerful hands hauled me from the car. I went to scream, but my mouth was immediately covered by one of those same hands, while the other kept my upper arm captive.
I looked up in terror and pain as Ciro Mancini’s face bore down on me. His large body held me trapped against the side of the car, and I realized in dismay that, being only a block or so away from his home, there wasn’t probably anyone around who would risk helping me.
We were in his domain.
“Scream and I will strangle the life out of you, I swear to God,” he promised, rage dripping from every word.
I didn’t care if I was being a coward. Frankie’s sensibilities weren’t here to make me brave, and I already knew I crossed a line tonight. I didn’t want to provoke him any more than I already had. Plus, my body was on fire from the impact. I nodded my assent, my body quaking in legit fear of this man.
Ciro removed his hand from my mouth, but it wasn’t a reprieve. His hand found its way under my jaw and around my neck. “Why are you sitting on the side of the street?” he asked, shocking me. I wasn’t expecting that question, and I wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to know.
“I…I…uh…” I stammered like a fool and that only proved to enrage him further.
“If you’re stuttering like an idiot to buy yourself some time to come up with a lie, I’d advise against it,” he warned. “Right now, I’d welcome any reason, big or small, to kill you.”
“I’m...m…sc…scared!” I admitted, fear blocking out the pain in my ribs.
Ciro scoffed with an awful laugh. “Am I supposed to really believe that?” he taunted. “I can still feel your handprint on my face, Robbie.” He leaned in closer and that’s when I knew I was losing my mind.
Ciro Mancini was pressed up against me with his hand wrapped around my throat, ready to strangle me, and my body trembling took on a whole other meaning.
A shameful one.
I shook my head, refusing to believe I could be turned on by this man in this moment, or at all, really. There was no denying he was power, violence, and all male, and it seemed my penchant for horrible men has survived beyond Randy, because I was feeling things I shouldn’t be with Ciro Mancini pressed against me.
Ever.
“Wh…what do you wa…want?”
“Answer my question,” he answered. “What were you doing parked on the side of the street?”
Honesty was my only hope here. “Th…the adrenaline w…was wearing off,” I admitted. “I…needed to…get myself together.”
And then the worst possible thing that could happen, happened.
Ciro Mancini’s eyes dropped to my lips.
“Let me go,” I whispered in complete horror and shame.
His hand tightened around my neck, and I was sure he was going to kill me. “I’m trying,” he bit out. “But you insisting on remaining friends with my sister makes that kind of hard, don’t you think?”
My voice was hoarse with pressure, but I knew it would do no good to beg him for mercy. The Son didn’t grant mercy. I’m not sure he even knew the meaning of the word. “What do you want fr…from me?”
I thought he was going to say he wanted me to stay away from Frankie, but I was wrong. “I want you to suffer,” he answered. “I want you to fucking suffer.”
Guilt became my champion again and pushed my fear aside. I looked Ciro right into those tawny eyes of his and said, “I