by RuNyx .
“Step back, or I’ll shoot you.”
Tristan Caine raised one eyebrow at him, not even sparing the gun pointed at his heart a glance. Almost casually, he gripped her guard’s wrist. And then, in a move that almost had Morana's jaw dropping, he twisted the wrist, applying pressure and bending it back, making the man fall to his knees with a sharp cry, the gun now pointed back at him, like he'd pointed her own knives at her that first night, tables turned.
All without blinking away from her.
Message delivered.
Morana curled her fingers into her palms, willing her heart to calm down, as another realization dawned upon her, watching him take the gun out of the man's grasp. She was unarmed. Fuck.
Heart pounding, she kept her eyes carefully on him, waiting to see what he would do, the darkness in the alley casting shadows over half his body, making him seem even more lethal.
Tristan Caine took the gun from her father's man, unloaded it, and punched the guy in the face once, knocking him out cold. Impressive. Had she not known better, she'd have called him a show-off. But she knew better. Watching the ease with which he did all this, Morana suddenly realized how easy it must have been for him to kill her at any moment. And that was not a knowledge she liked having.
She crossed her arms over her chest, silently appraising him, unwilling to break either eye contact or the silence first.
He seemed to be on the same page.
His actions confused her, just as he did. She knew there was no love lost between them, and knew they'd see each other at the bottom of the ocean the moment they could.
She just didn't know what he wanted as of now, following her like he had and knocking out her protective detail as he had, but it sure as hell wasn't to just stare at her across five feet of space with a thunderstorm coming. And she sure as hell wasn't going to stick around for it. Driving in the rain was a bitch.
Sighing, she turned to head towards her car, only to stop cold in her tracks, seeing the alley blocked by Dante and the other two men, standing far enough away not to hear her but close enough to not let her escape. A frisson of fear traveled down her body before she tamped it down.
"I didn't know your father pimped you out to his friends, Ms. Vitalio," Tristan Caine said quietly from behind her.
Morana felt the fear slowly be replaced by fury just at the sound of his voice, the same voice that had tried to scare her last week, the same voice which had recited murder across her skin that first time. The fury magnified at his words but she leashed it. She turned to face him, keeping her voice cool.
"Why the formality, especially with the kind of liberties you take?" she spoke in a conversational tone.
His eyes narrowed slightly, his face remaining clear of any expression otherwise. "I haven't taken any liberties," he replied in the same conversational tone she was using. "Yet."
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the entire alley in bright light to her eyes, showing her the man standing before her.
Morana studied him for a second, willing herself to remain calm and objective. Tristan Caine had an angle. She'd be damned if she couldn't figure it out.
She took a step towards him, almost into his personal space, their height difference a disadvantage. Even in her heels, she barely reached his chin. Her head tilted back to keep their eyes together, her heart thundering in her chest, watching him closely for any reaction at all. There was none.
"I wonder," Morana deliberately smiled at him, her body burning with anger. "Is that supposed to intimidate me?"
And that got her a reaction. One raised eyebrow. Blue eyes that pierced hers. "You're stupid if it doesn't."
She let herself sneer at that. "I'm many things, Mr. Caine. Stupid I am not. Which is exactly why I know your threats don’t mean shit."
His eyes suddenly burned with that same undefinable something she'd seen in the restaurant, his head tilting to the side. He stayed silent, waiting.
Morana took another step closer, not knowing where the bravado of provoking him was coming from, not caring, just needing to. Her neck craned even with her heels, but she never broke their gaze.
"Oh yes," she spoke softly, leaning closer, her chin almost touching his chest, "did you honestly think that that entire 'Don’t invade my territory' thing on the car scared me? Not a bit. It only pissed me off."
He didn't utter a word, didn't move a muscle. He just looked at her, with those eyes, and her heart hammered even as she went on.
"Why don't you just get it over with?" she challenged, calling his bluff, her gaze right on him. "There is a wall right there. There is even a car. Pin me down and 'invade my territory'. Or if you hate me as you say, hurt me. Kill me. Why don't you?"
Morana felt her body trembling by the end of her tirade while he stood stone-still, their gazes locked, their bodies almost touching. For long moments, he just looked at her with those icy eyes, something burning inside him, and her heart beat in a wild staccato against her ribs, thumping with a vengeance, almost chiding her for her words even as she controlled her breathing and kept her chest from heaving. He would pounce on a single sign of vulnerability.
Slowly, after long, long seconds, his hand came up to cup the back of her neck, almost like a lover's, his huge hand cocooning the entire nape in its grip. Morana froze, her muscles stilling, suddenly realizing that this had been very foolish. What if he hadn't been bluffing and she'd provoked the beast? He could kill her right then and make her disappear from the face of the earth and no one would know.
His thumb slowly traced her jaw while his hand held the back of her neck, keeping her head tilted back and their eyes locked, the rough pad of his thumb stroking her soft skin almost like a caress. A shiver wracked her body under his hawk-like gaze, a shiver she couldn't control as her body reacted, and his unsmiling mouth twisted a little, the scruff on his jaw seeming even more virile this close, the little scar at the corner of his lip peeking out. His thumb settled upon her racing pulse, and her heart started pounding even harder, pulse spiking even more, as she pursed her lips.
"Your heart is beating way too fast for someone so in control," he murmured softly, the words ghosting over her face, the faint smell of scotch he must have had on his breath, his own scent, an odd mix of sweat and cologne and something musky invading her senses. She kept those senses on alert, seeing the rings of blue in his eyes, the long lashes as he blinked once, noticing every single thing.
He leaned in closer, his mouth almost inches away, and he spoke softly, lethally. "I warned you not to think, for one second, that you know me."
"And I warned you not to think, for one second, that you scare me," she reminded him in the same whisper.
"Don't think," he started, his eyes hardening, "that if I have the chance, I won't kill you."
"But that's the thing, Mr. Caine. You don't have the chance."
Straightening her spine, she stepped back, removing his hand from her skin, ignoring the tingling sensation as she felt the muscle of his forearms, and grit her teeth. "So, for now, you understand one thing. This is my territory, my city, my house. And you've overstayed your welcome. Leave before you are thrown out with broken bones."
Tristan Caine pinned her with his eyes once again, just as the wind picked up, swirling her dress around her legs.
"One day, Ms. Vitalio," he spoke quietly, "I am going to enjoy collecting that debt very much."
He leaned in, lining his mouth with her ear, his scruff rasping against her skin as her hands fisted to keep another shiver down. "And you know what? You're going to enjoy repaying it."
Of all the...
Before she could utter a single word, he was striding away from her towards the car where the entourage waited, leaving her standing alone in the alley, the hard lines of his body moving quickly over to the car, as he addressed his people.
"We are done here."
Oh, they were not done. They were so not done.
But why had they intercepted her in the alley? If it h
ad been about codes, why leave before talking about them? And if not, then why meet her at all?
What the hell did this man want?
Morana didn't know what he wanted from her, why he seemed intent on collecting a debt she didn't even consider one at all. He was still that book of invisible ink she couldn't decipher. A book she absolutely did not want to read. No. She wanted to burn the book and blow the ashes in the wind. She wanted to tear the pages and melt them in the rain.
But as everyone got in the car and she stood in the alley, as lightning lit the sky once again just as he opened the car door, he turned one last time to see her. She locked eyes with him one last time and saw that same something simmer in that intense gaze.
As her heart beat like a bird frantically flapping its wings against the cage to get free, Morana saw him for what he was.
A predator in the skin of a man.
And she knew one thing undeniably, deep in her bones.
They were not done.
Morana groaned at the laptop screen, ignoring the crick in her neck from staring at it for too long. She was trying every possible combination and permutation of ideas to track the codes, and hitting a wall every single time. Biting her lips, her fingers flying over the keyboards, Morana typed the latest codes and pressed the escape button, checking to see if the failsafe would work, and saw the screen go blank.
Again.
Damn it!
Frustrated beyond belief, she hit her palms down on the table and shoved away, pacing towards her bedroom window, pulling her glasses down, a small throb starting to pound right under her temples. It was past midnight and she was nowhere close to working any kind of solution out. Though that wasn't her only source of frustration. She'd wanted to speak to her father after dinner two nights ago, and the moment she had returned back to the mansion after being held up by Tristan Caine, she'd been told by her father's man that he'd had to go out of town on something extremely urgent, and it was unclear when he would return. Though a part of Morana had been relieved at the delay in that inevitable conversation, another had tensed, wanting to face whatever wrath and just be done with it.
For two days Morana had tried and failed, only fuelling her frustration higher.
What had added gasoline to that fire, though, had been stray thoughts of Tristan Caine, popping completely out of the blue at the most random of times. Not his rugged looks or his reputation. No. His intensity. For some reason, he had caught her off guard, his burning hatred for her, his constant aura of threat something she had never experienced before, and something that only fed her own loathing of the man.
She grit her teeth, turning her face towards the window, looking out into the dark garden below. A huge elm tree shadowed her suite from the driveway, enough to give her a view of the visitors but not let them see her.
The property was sleeping, only a slight breeze blowing in the gentle night, the moon an incomplete oval shape in the dark sky littered with stars.
And she was tired. So tired. The constant responsibility of her actions had been chipping away at her slowly from the inside, her own failed desperate efforts only aiding in that. She just wanted to disclose the entire thing to her father and face whatever punishment he deemed necessary. She just wanted to be done with it, one way or another, so she could focus on getting the codes before they fell into wrong hands. That is assuming she would be alive to do so. Haunting the thief from beyond the grave was really not her style.
She also needed to come clean for another reason. For whatever intents and purposes, the Outfit sons had knowledge and interest in the codes. What she didn't know was whether Tristan Caine did have the codes and was pretending not to have them, or if he was genuinely searching for them. Nothing about the man was genuine. Layers buried beneath layers. He kept her from being discovered and killed one instant and threatened her life the next. What was his game? A man who could lie to his own blood brother as easily as he had, could he be honest about anything? And even if he was, she had no reason to believe him.
But intent on playing the devil's advocate, her brain came up with the other very glaring, very dangerous possibility. If, for some reason, Tristan Caine was indeed being truthful, then that implied someone else had hired Jackson to shadow her and gather intel, someone who could be in the Outfit but not likely, since Dante Maroni and Tristan Caine would be in the clear. And unless Bloodhound Maroni himself had an interest in her, which was highly doubtful, she couldn't think of another person in the Outfit who even knew about her skills.
Which meant there could be a possible third party involved. A mysterious third party, which was never a good thing. Who were they and how could they know about her work?
And staring at the moon, another possibility knocked her brain. Could it be someone from her own side? Someone looking to start a war, using her as the pawn? There was no shortage of people this side who would love to see the Outfit fall, but could anyone really be brazen enough to go after her?
The sudden vibration of her phone broke the silence, startling her, an embarrassing yelp leaving her mouth before she could stop it. Her heart racing, Morana took a deep breath, shaking her head at herself. Walking back to the table where her phone continued to vibrate, she glanced at the caller id. It was unknown.
Hesitant, she picked it up, pressing the answer icon, and stayed silent, waiting for the person to speak.
There was silence for a few beats.
"Ms. Vitalio."
Stunned, she inhaled deeply, ignoring the slight shiver that ran down her spine, ignoring the way her heart started to pound, her eyes closing as the memory of his thumb stroking her jaw washed over her, her muscles clenching. She hated it. She hated her traitorous flesh reacting to that low, husky voice. She hated the extra breath she took because of the way it washed over her. She hated that he'd caught her off guard again.
But she had learned this game in her cradle.
"Who is this?" she asked, keeping her tone flat, bored.
There was a pause for a few seconds, and Morana could feel the tension across the line. She sat down on the chair, glancing at the number, and quickly typed it into her laptop, running it for details.
"Good to see your sharp tongue doesn’t follow a clock," said the voice, laced with nothing, absolutely nothing, the tone as deliberately flat as hers had been. The result on the laptop was scrambled. Sneaky bastard.
"Says the man calling me at midnight," she retorted, typing in another command to overrule the older one, tracking the number. "How did you get my number?"
Something entered his voice. "You really don't know who you are talking to, are you?"
Arrogant jerk. But resourceful. She knew that. The headache was pushed to the back of her mind as the trace progressed to 89%.
"The thing is..."
If voices could be drinks, his was a centuries-old vintage whiskey, rolling off the tongue, down the throat, leaving a trail of fire inside, making every cell in the body aware that it had been consumed. Morana closed her eyes, taking a sip of the whiskey, before suddenly realizing what she was doing. She was on the phone, at midnight, with the enemy, savoring his voice. What the hell was wrong with her?
Before he could utter another word, she cut the call, putting her phone on the table, exhaling loudly. Control. This was ridiculous. She needed to stop letting him throw her in the wind. Or next, he'd be throwing her to the wolves.
Her laptop pinged with the completed trace results. She opened her eyes.
And gasped in shock.
The call had originated from her property. From outside her wing, to be precise. What the fuck was he doing there?!
Scrambling to her feet before she could stop herself, Morana took out one of her knives from the drawer, the very knives he had turned on her. Picking up her phone in the other hand, she slowly slid next to the window where she had been standing moments ago. Peeking outside, Morana let herself glance around, trying to see into the shadows.
Her phone buzzed again,
and she bit her lip, before picking up.
"Don’t ever cut my call," he said, his voice menacing, hard.
Morana gulped but spoke lightly. "Sorry, I must have missed the memo. Did I bruise your gigantic ego?"
Hard pause. "As much as I detest this, I'm here to talk business."
"Since when does the Outfit does business with the daughter of the enemy?"
"Since she created codes that can destroy both sides."
Morana grit her teeth, anger flushing her system. "And you're here to what? Make me agree with your charming personality? Should have sent Dante for that."
She could feel the tense silence pulsating between them, the urge to cut the connection again acute.
"I would have but he can't do what I'm about to."
Before Morana could blink, the line went blank. Frowning, she put the phone in the pocket of her bunny shorts, gripping the knife hard with the other, and looked out again, confounded as to what he'd meant.
Seeing a shadow move slightly, Morana squinted through her glasses, barely able to make out his figure. There was no way he could ever come out of the shadows on the property. From her vantage point, she could see the guards patrolling at the far end, the security extra tight, especially with her father gone. They would turn and head towards her wing within two minutes.
Tristan Caine was toast.
But he was one smooth toast.
She saw the smoothness in his movements as he slinked away from the shadows, merging with new ones, barely visible even from her vantage. There was no way he was going to make it past the front door undetected. No way.
Except he didn't seem to be heading towards the front door to his left. With lithe grace she couldn't help but admire, even as she chided herself for it, Morana watched, confused, as he headed straight for the wall. What was he going to do - hulk his way through them?
He stopped towards the right, still in the shadows, but visible enough that she could roughly make out the black ensemble he was wearing. Puzzled, and more than curious to see what he would do next, Morana felt her jaw drop when he jumped on the windowsill of the ground floor study, taking a hold of the metal pipes that ran beside it, heaving his body up.