Chapter 6 She Bites

❄︎ Viktor ❄︎

The clicking of stiletto heels on the metal grate stairs pulled my gaze toward it.

The table quieted, conversation ceasing as all eyes were drawn to the figure descending into the underground meeting room. The stripper slowed her grind, sensing the change in atmosphere.

Rosalind Marlow ignored my existence, choosing instead to glance and nod at every other man in the room, before settling in the last free seat at the table. She crossed one leg over the other and leaned back like she owned the seat.

Her bodyguard, a made man I recognized by the tattoo on his finger, stood rigidly behind her.

In the awkward silence, I spoke what was on everyone's mind.

"That chair was reserved for Marcus DeVries."

"And I'm sitting in it. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

Her curt tone reverberated in the room, meeting silence. Her face, blank and devoid of emotion, still told me two things. She was already regretting this decision, and she was uncomfortable with the scenery.

Four men sat around a round poker table, each with a contracted stripper in their arms to ease tension and prevent us from getting spooked and killing each other more than necessary. The table itself sported lines of white powder, baggies and an array of guns. The room was hazy with cigarette and tobacco smoke.

Giancarlo Conti, the greenest snake amongst us all, addressed her.

"Miss Rosalind, we didn't invite Marcus to sideline you, we simply wanted to give you time to adjust, losing your papa..."

"He lost his father too." She interrupted, pointing with her jaw at me, her voice steel. "Yet you don't hold the same reservations toward him."

My jaw ticked. "A man just died in that chair you're sitting on."

She froze.

"Giancarlo shot him between the eyes for tapping his stripper's ass. Don't look down, he bled quite a lot as the cleaners dragged him out."

"Cute." She drawled, meeting my eyes.

The tension in the room crackled as my attempt to rattle her failed. Her eyes still on mine, I grasped the stripper's waist, urging her to continue grinding on me. Rosalind looked away.

Leo Santoro cleared his throat.

"We called this meeting to address the killer on the loose."

"Lots of killers loose if you ask me." She quipped.

The men chuckled. I didn't, my jaw clenched so tight I tasted blood. I wanted nothing more than to grab her by the throat and teach her manners. This meeting wasn't just about catching killers, I had intended to read Marcus and ask him a few questions, since I suspected he knew more than he was letting on.

"Normally, our brand of killers do not kill in secret, we show it off. Yet someone killed two dons under the whisper of night. We do not know who he is, and that... is a problem." Leo continued.

"Viktor Marino is the strongest suspect right now." She said without a stutter. "Who else would stand to gain from their deaths as much as him?"

The room went so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

I raised my glass, taking a slow gulp of my drink.

"Careful, Rosa. Don't just throw accusations like that." My lips stretched in an easy smile devoid of humor.

"It's Rosalind to you." She said, checking her nails. "Everyone is thinking it. I just said it out loud."

Giancarlo chuckled heartily. "Watch out, Viktor. This one bites."

I pushed the dancer off me with one hand. The others took the cue and filtered out of the room to the grumbles of the other men.

I leveled my gaze to hers, my words ice.

"Don't mistake my reserve for complicity. You cannot take your father's place as a don in New York. You've never killed a man. I doubt you've even fucked one. You're a child, Rosa..." I drawled the name, "nothing but a fresh-faced, insolent child, itching for death."

"Are you done?" She asked.

My vision bled red. The table flipped with a crash before I even realized I'd touched it. Chairs scraped backwards, glass shattered, but she didn't move, she just sat cross-legged, watching me like I was a tantruming child.

I took a step forward and heard the click of her guard's gun.

"Before you can even touch me, he'll have a bullet between your eyes and you'd be the next body to be dragged out. Don't forget who you're talking to, stronzo."

I walked forward anyway. If he shot, every man in this room would die, including his precious heiress.

I towered over her, and she stared up at me from her seat. Her hazel eyes and stubbornly pursed lips evoked an image of her choking on my length, tears in her eyes as she begged my forgiveness. She trembled despite the fire in her eyes. Was it fear, or defiance that looked like fear? I hated that I couldn't tell. And hated more that I cared.

"The next time you level accusations against me, Rosa, make sure you have evidence to back it up and a weapon to defend yourself. I will not be so forgiving then."

Minutes later, I stood by my car as Adrian opened the door, my blood boiling with rage.

Unfortunately, I couldn't unleash the anger on the source of my fury, but I had something better waiting. A suspect captured by my capos on suspicion of being behind the murders.

I slid into the seat, taking off my wristwatch and rings, lest I get blood on them.

One day soon, she'd regret ever stepping into that room. And I'd make sure she regretted it personally.