by RuNyx .
"We won't hurt you! We just want to talk!"
Yeah, and she was a monkey's uncle.
She grit her teeth, anger filling her, the urge to punch his teeth hard enough to make him bleed surging through her. Oh, how she'd love punching him.
"I know you like playing games, babe, but this isn't one!"
She hated, absolutely detested, when he called her 'babe'. It made her feel like one of those floozies who surrounded men in their world. She should have knocked him down.
"Look, I know," Jackson continued talking, his voice inching closer to where she hid. "I know you hate me for taking the codes but it was all money, babe. I did like you. We can help you if you help us."
Was he high?
Her grip tightened on the gun.
A shot fired. The eagles went wild.
Morana flinched at the noise, her gaze sliding upwards to see the eagles flying haphazardly in chaos, completely frantic, and felt her heart beat in tandem with their wings. She waited for Jackson to speak again, but he didn't. The dread in her stomach tightened.
"I prefer you blonde."
Her breath seized in her throat at the voice coming from behind her. The voice she hadn't been able to forget for a week. The voice that had whispered the ways of murder into her skin like a lover's caress. The voice of hard whiskey and sin.
She swung her gaze up, her eyes leveling with the barrel of a Glock pointed right at her head. She slowly let her gaze travel up to the sure, steady fingers, up the forearms exposed under folded sleeves of a black shirt, roped with muscles, up the shoulders she knew possessed the strength to pin her useless against a wall, up that scruff littering his square jaw, and finally to his eyes. His blue, blue eyes. His blue, wiped-clean-of-every-expression eyes.
It was just a second of these observations, a second of feminine appreciation before she let herself remember who he was.
And swung her arm up, pointing her gun right at his heart with his own pointed at her head, in a silent standoff.
Standing up, her eyes not wavering from his, her arm not wavering in her hold, Morana tilted her head.
"I prefer you gone."
His face retained the stoic expression, his eyes narrowing slightly. They stood silently for a few minutes, just with their guns pointed at each other, and Morana realized it was rather pointless. She knew he wasn't going to kill her. He had ample opportunity just last week and he hadn't. He wouldn't do so again.
"We both know you won't shoot me, so let's remove the guns, shall we?" she suggested conversationally, never blinking once to give him any opportunity.
His lips curled but the amusement never reached his eyes. He raised his arm, pulling it back, waving the white flag, and she dropped her own, keeping him in his sights. The moment her gun was down, he stepped into her personal space, placing his gun right between her breasts, his face inches from her own, the scent of his sweat and cologne mingling in the air around her, every fleck of blue in his eyes somehow highlighted even in the darkness that had descended around them.
He leaned in slowly, speaking softly, his eyes hard, never moving from hers, his words making her breath hitch a little in her chest. "There are places on your body that I know," he spoke, his free hand wrapping around the back of her neck, his grip strong, just on the periphery of threatening, as the gun stayed right above her racing heart. "Places that you don't know. Places where I can shoot and harm and you won't die."
He leaned even closer, his whisper just a ghost across her skin as her neck craned to keep their gazes locked, his hand cradling her nape, his height looming above her, his eyes never moving from hers. "Death isn't the main course, sweetheart. It's the dessert."
His eyes hardened even more, his tone frigid, his fingers flexing on her neck in warning. "Never make the mistake of thinking you know me. It might just prove to be your last."
Her heart beat in her chest like a wild animal running for life. Even though her chest heaved with something she so did not want to look at, Morana grit her teeth at the sheer audacity of the man, the sheer arrogance of him. Why did all men around her behave like nominees for Asshole of the Year?
Steeling her spine, she flashed her arm out before she could stop it, her leg hooking around his knee, classic self-defense training overtaking her senses for a moment. She tugged with her leg just as she pushed his weight with her arm, knocking him down on the hard ground, her triumph flaring at watching the brief surprise cross his face. Within a heartbeat, he was back on his feet again, in a lithe movement that would have awed her had he been anyone else. But she wasn't done.
Morana stepped into his personal space this time, her finger going to his hard pecs under the open collar black shirt, poking him once as she spoke, her head tilted back to keep their eyes locked, her voice colder than his had been.
"Never make the mistake of thinking you scare me. It will be your last."
His jaw clenched, his eyes trained on hers, the tension so thick between them she could have cut it with a butter knife. His stance remained icy. She felt fire flooding her veins as her chest heaved.
Another voice interrupted their tense moment.
"I must say, it is rare to find a person, let alone a woman, fearless of Tristan."
Morana turned on the spot, her eyes finding Dante Maroni standing a few feet away, his huge frame encased in a suit that was completely out of place at this construction site and rather belonged to the party she'd seen him in last week. His dark hair was perfectly styled, slicked back on his head, exposing high cheekbones models around the world would weep for. His jaw was shaven clean, two big silver rings adorning his right index finger and left middle finger. With a smooth smile on his face that Morana didn’t trust one bit, she observed the Mediterranean heritage obvious in the bronze of his skin, and could not deny that Dante Maroni was one beautiful man.
He came forward, extending his hand, flashing an easy smile Morana would bet her degree on was paid for every month.
"Dante Maroni," he spoke in a soft, polite tone by the way of introduction, taking her hand in his big, smooth ones, clasping it. His brown eyes betrayed his smile though. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Vitalio. I rather wish it were under different circumstances."
"I rather wish it weren't at all," Morana shot back before she could help herself, years of enmity boiling in her blood, along with the knowledge that this man possibly had the drive and the power to destroy her. And that he'd possibly shot Jackson. She was pretty certain he was dead.
Dante Maroni flashed another smile, even as his dark eyes regarded her. "Fearless, as I said. It can be a dangerous thing."
She should get that tattooed on her forehead. Maybe she'd pay heed to it then.
Running out of patience, she looked around the area, noticing no other living soul in the vicinity. Okay. So, she was at an abandoned construction site with two reputed, super reputed, men of a mob family, who happened to be her family’s enemies and who had lured her out here for a reason. Not the safest place but they hadn't killed her. Yet. Had to count, right?
"Why am I here, Mr. Maroni?" she asked, exasperated and really wanting to make sense of everything. "And where is Jackson?"
"Dante, please," he corrected her with another smile. Tristan Caine stepped out from behind her and joined his blood brother at his side, his muscular arms crossed across his muscular chest, no hint of a smile anywhere on his face. A tattoo peeked out from under his sleeves.
She looked at the two men, both reputed, both ruthless, and saw the stark contrast between them. It wasn't anything she could pinpoint, except this intensity around Tristan Caine that the other man did not possess. The intensity with which he was watching her, with a handsome face devoid of all expression.
She broke away from the intensity, looking back at Dante. She could feel the intensity searing itself upon her skin where Tristan Caine’s eyes touched her. Dante's gaze was tame in comparison.
Focusing, she grit her teeth. "Dante."
Morana felt a twinge in her gut, but nothing more. She didn't know what that said about her as a person. She wanted to feel bad. But for some reason, she didn't.
She just nodded, not saying anything, not knowing what to say without exposing her own lack of reaction to the death of her ex-boyfriend.
Dante nodded, speaking, squeezing her hand while Tristan Caine stayed silent beside him, and simply watched them like a hawk.
"We needed to meet you without setting off any alarms," Dante began. "And the only way to do that was to have Jackson bring you out here."
"Why did you need to meet me?" Morana asked, studiously avoiding looking at the other, silent man.
Dante hesitated for a moment, and for the first time since the appearance of his blood brother, Tristan Caine spoke, in that rough, low tone.
"Because of the codes."
Her heart stilled, as she looked at him, raising her eyebrows. "Explain," she demanded.
Tristan Caine gazed back at her evenly, or as evenly as he could with those eyes that were constantly X-raying her. "You are under the impression that I have this drive of codes," he stated.
Morana felt her brows furrow. "I know you have them."
"Why?" Dante asked, making her turn towards him. Morana considered the two men for a second, confusion making her blink repeatedly, before speaking, addressing them both.
"When Jackson stole the codes from me," she began, her head swiveling between the two men. "I tracked his cell phone records and his movements since he met me. They traced back to you," she finished, gesturing towards Tristan Caine.
There was silence for a heartbeat before Dante spoke. "And you assumed Tristan hired Jackson to spy on you?"
Morana nodded, uncertainty taking hold. "I had no reason to believe otherwise."
"Except the fact that I didn't even know you existed," Tristan Caine chimed in a dry tone. Liar. Her eyes flew to his, narrowing, the memory of his recognition of her name sparking inside her. Oh, he'd known of her existence, alright. But he was lying for some reason.
His blue eyes challenged her openly to call him out on it, to dare and mention that she had been on Maroni property uninvited, in that bedroom, alone with him.
She turned back to Dante, her hands curling into fists and jaw clenching. "You're telling me you didn't hire Jackson?"
Dante nodded, his face serious. "We didn’t even know these codes even existed. They have a lot of power, and if they fall in the wrong hands, both our families are screwed. That’s why we flew out west to your city. Meeting you was important."
"And how did you come to know of the codes?"
Dante gestured to the man beside him. "Tristan told me about them after you called him last week, demanding its return. We felt we should pay you a visit under the circumstances."
She had called him? She looked at him, trying to ascertain exactly why he was hiding the truth from his blood brother. She found nothing.
Morana scoffed, looking at both the men. "You really expect me to believe you? After you killed Jackson?"
"We haven't killed you," Tristan Caine spoke softly, his eyes hard, dangerous, the look in them sending a shiver down her spine.
Morana steeled it. "Yet. What's to tell me you won't kill me now?"
"Because we don't want to start a war," Dante finally let go of her hand, shaking his head. "As much as our families hate each other, fact is neither of us can afford a war right now, not with outside forces closing in on us. Killing Jackson was to silence him. He was genuinely under the impression that he had been dealing with Tristan. Killing you, on the other hand, will create unnecessary friction."
The logic made sense. But she didn't trust them worth her pinkie. Her eyes latched back onto the blue ones watching her.
"So you're saying someone went to the trouble of elaborately framing you, down to the detail of hiring Jackson, knowing I will uncover their tracks?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders, his eyes fixed on her. "I didn't say anything."
Where did all his eloquence of murder and mayhem go before an audience? Infuriated, Morana crossed her arms over her chest, watching as Dante's eyes flickered at the action. Tristan Caine never looked away from her eyes, not once.
Out of habit, she pushed her glasses up her nose. "So now what? You want us to team up or something?"
"Or something," came his very helpful input.
The chime of a phone ringing startled the sudden quiet of the area, making her jump slightly. Dante pulled his phone out, exchanging a look with the silent man, before excusing himself and walking off towards the back. The moment he turned the corner, Morana headed towards the gates where her car waited, ignoring the man standing behind her.
"You really shouldn’t walk out without hearing our side," he remarked as she neared the gate.
"Not if you pay me a million bucks," she threw back without breaking her stride, her entire body buzzing with tension. She was almost to her car when suddenly, without any warning, she was pinned flat on the hood, the world tilting as the night sky came into view, and along with it, the face of Tristan Caine. His hand gripped both of hers, holding them above her head as his other one pushed on her stomach, keeping her flat in place.
She bucked. He didn't budge.
She squirmed. He didn't budge.
She struggled. He didn't budge.
Trying to escape the manacles around her wrists, she thrashed against the hood of her own car, kicking her legs out, trying to bite his arms, but he hovered above her, not moving, not speaking, his jaw clenched.
"I don't want to touch you any more than you want to be touched," he grit out roughly, his breath fanning her face, his eyes hard.
"Oh please," Morana rolled her eyes, sarcasm heavy in her tone. "In the two times we have met, I can see how much you detest touching me. Pinning me to flat surfaces is loathsome."
His eyes flared, a snarl curling his mouth, bringing the scar right at the corner of his lower lip into focus. "You are nothing like the women I like to pin. I certainly don't hate them."
"You don't hate me," Morana pointed out.
"No," he shook his head, his eyes hardening by the second, resolve entering them as she saw him inhale heavily. "I despise you."
Morana blinked in surprise at the hatred in his voice, her brows furrowing. She knew they weren't fans of each other, but she didn't warrant this hatred from him. He didn't even know her.
“Why?” she voiced the question in her head.
He ignored it, leaning closer, his blue eyes icy, sending a shiver of fear down her body even as her arms stayed above her head, speaking in a low, forceful voice.
"I am not killing you only because I don't want that fucking war." His tone made her flinch. The look in his eyes made her stomach drop. "Just because I cannot harm you doesn't mean I won't."
Morana looked at him, stunned at the ferocity of his hatred. "You don't even know me!"
He stayed silent for a long minute, the hand on his stomach going lower, her heart pounding as panic set in. She struggled and his hand stopped, just below her navel, the gesture of a lover and not the foe, his eyes hard on her.
"I have people who are mine. Territory that's mine. Don’t ever invade it," his hand bent a little lower to her hipbone, the threat clear, making her pulse skitter, his eyes glued to her, his voice a whisper right against her skin. "Remember that."
The fucking audacity of him! Stunned, Morana struggled harder against him, kicking her legs out. "You asshole!"
He leaned closer, his lips almost at her ear. "Wildcat."
The sound of footsteps had him releasing her. He straightened, his face donning that blank mask like it had never left, like he'd not been on top of her threatening, like he wasn't the detestable human that he was. Morana stood on slightly shaky legs, her chest heaving, her eyes glaring daggers at him as her hands curled into fists, her body shaking with the rage she could barely co
ntain.
Dante stepped into the area, looking her up and down, frowning. "Are you okay?"
Morana felt her jaw tremble, her heart not even close to calm. The urge to pull her gun out and shoot him was so profound it almost knocked her to her knees. Shaking her head, she lifted her chin higher, steeling her spine and looked right at him, a snarl curving her mouth.
"The two of you can bleed to death for all I care."
Opening her car door, she looked back at the man who had turned her to this mess in seconds, her eyes locking with his.
"Stay the fuck away from me."
She saw something flicker in his eyes while nothing crossed his face, something he masked before she could see it, and she turned away, getting into her car, reversing out of the street. She never looked back in the rearview mirror. Never let herself focus on anything but the way she gripped the steering wheel. Never let herself feel anything but the blood pounding in her ears.
Everything had its time. She would have hers.
Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not the day after. But the day after that. Or the day after that.
One day, someday, she vowed, with all the rage pulsating in her body, making her shake till she couldn't feel her fingers from gripping the wheel so hard, the rage making her body heated like never before, the rage making her whimper for an outlet.
One day, she vowed, she would kill Tristan Caine.
She had to tell her father. There was no other way now.
Morana saw the metal gates of the mansion open up ahead, the house itself looming stark white against the cloudy, grey sky, hiding the layers of red that coated it. No matter how many times her father got the house painted, she knew of the blood that remained splattered underneath the coats, knew of the horrors the pristine white hid beneath them. She had grown up in this house, as had her father, and his father before him. The house had been in their family for three generations, every owner adding something more to the sprawling property.
Her family had been the first in the organized business. Shadow Port, back then, had been known as the city of docks. Located right on the West coast of the country, connected to international waters through the sea and locally through the river than bisected it, Shadow Port had been and still was one of the hotspots for trade. Her ancestors had seen the kind of profit that could be made, and made the city their own, slowly expanding over the years to the entire region.