PRIEST
She's not fucking walking away.
Is she? Christ, she is. She's fucking leaving, like she has a say. Like this is Sunday dinner and she doesn't like the lasagna.
The goddamn balls on this woman.
To my left, Saint is ready to draw his gun.
To my right, Scorpion already has his out of his holster.
Part of me wants to let her reap her rewards for the show she's just put on.
But the other part of me knows better than to let my hotheaded brothers tear a strip off Tomasso Revello's only daughter.
Because we need her.
Or, more accurately, I need her, even if I don't want to.
And she's hightailing her hot little ass out of here.
"I'll handle it," I tell my brothers before I stalk after her.
She's across the empty dance floor and out the door before I reach her in the hall.
"Hey," I bark out.
She ignores me, but my legs are longer than hers, and I'm not playing games. I eat up the distance between us, maneuvering her so that she's caged between me and the wall, my palms flattened on either side of her face.
She stares up at me, knives in her big brown eyes.
Not a hint of fear. Her long, dark hair is piled carelessly on top of her head in a messy topknot I want to grab and hold while she sucks my cock.
She's not wearing any makeup except for some gloss on her full, fuckable lips.
When I dip my head down to hers, I catch a hint of it—vanilla sugar.
She shouldn't make my dick hard. And yet, she does.
I lean closer, so close that my lips almost brush hers. "Where do you think you're going, Revello? We weren't finished talking with you just yet."
"I don't talk with murderers and psychos," she snaps, holding her own.
She's not scared of me.
It's a mistake I'll use against her.
Putting all my weight into my left hand, I lift my right, grabbing a fistful of her silky topknot and jerking her head back enough to get her attention, not to hurt her. I've never physically harmed a woman, but this one needs to know her boundaries.
"You really should show me more respect, bella ."
Her jaw tenses. "I told you not to call me that."
I pull on her hair a little bit more, exposing her throat. "I get to call you whatever the fuck I want."
All that soft vulnerability calls to me. I want to sink my teeth into her. To taste her flesh. To bring her to her knees.
She's still not afraid. She wants to fight me. I can sense it. And I want her to. I want her to scrap with me. To hit me. To rake those unpolished nails of hers down my back. To see how far she can push me before I break.
"Let me go," she seethes.
"Not until I'm good and ready." I lean into her, trapping her with my body.
I'm trying to intimidate her, yes. Trying to scare some sense into her, because my brothers are like a pack of ruthless hyenas waiting to attack their prey, and for some reason, I don't want to watch them tear her apart.
Not yet anyway.
She inhales sharply when she feels my cock pressed against her. It's big, and I know it. Now, she knows it too.
"You're a sick fuck." She shoves at my chest, trying to push me away.
"Oh, baby." I graze my bottom lip over hers. "You have no idea."
The contact smears her sugary vanilla lip gloss on me, and I lick it off, liking the way it tastes. Taking my time. Playing with her is the most fun I've had in weeks. Months, even.
"What do you want from me?" she demands.
Like she's the one in charge here.
I let go of her hair and reach for my Glock, pulling it from my concealed waistband holster before pressing it to her temple. "I'm sure you know this already, sweetheart, but this piece only has a trigger safety. One wrong move, and you're dead."
She stills, and for the first time since she breezed into the club wearing ripped jeans and a white tee that hugs her braless tits, she's afraid. Good. She can't be a diva in here. She needs to know the fucking score. The Andrianis are her worst nightmare, and she's about to be stuck with us.
Till death do us part.
"Do it," she says defiantly, holding my stare. "Pull the trigger."
She's challenging me. I didn't think she had it in her. I'm impressed.
"Don't be a fucking idiot."
"Don't make a threat if you don't intend to go through with it. Didn't your mother teach you anything before she ran out on you, gangster?"
It's a low blow, talking about my mother, who left us a few months after my youngest brother Lucky was born. Luna knows it, and she's hoping to strike a nerve. It won't work.
I give her nothing.
"At the moment, you're worth more to me alive than dead, bella . That's the only reason I haven't put a nine milli in you for your insolence." I pause. "Yet."
"Fuck you." She twists and tries to knee me in the balls.
But I'm faster than she is. Stronger, too. I move, and the only thing she succeeds in doing is pressing herself more firmly against me, so that her tits are plastered to my chest.
"Your nipples are hard, Revello. Seems as if you don't hate me as much as you're letting on."
"Bastard." She's glaring, but she's holding herself stiffly, and she's not trying to get away.
Which is good, because I need her to appreciate the gravity of the situation. I need her calm when she gets into that room, or shit's going to hit the fan.
"Do you know why they call me Priest?"
Her nostrils flare, but her lips are a tight line. She's giving me the silent treatment now, but she knows.
Everyone knows.
I lean closer anyway, my lips near her ear. "It's because I get my enemies to confess their sins right before I end them." I straighten up, pulling the Glock from her temple, and tuck it calmly back into my holster. "Now, get the fuck back in that room."
She's shaken. I can see it in her eyes, in the tremble of her lower lip. But she's still too stubborn for her own good.
Luna holds my stare, unflinching. "If I don't?"
I pat my suit jacket directly above the gun and give her the coldhearted smile of the assassin I am. "Then I'll kill Daddy Dearest while you watch."