I take a step back, bumping into the edge of the bed. “I don’t think Giovanni would appreciate you being here.”
Rico’s laugh sounds a lot like menace. “You don’t understand how things work in our family, do you? We share. Everything.” He gestures broadly. “This house. The business. The women.”
My mouth goes dry. “That’s not true.”
“No?” He takes another step closer. “Why do you think he left you here, all alone? He knows the rules. I get to have you any way I want. Ass, pussy, mouth. Maybe all three.”
I’m trembling now, unable to stop it. “You’re lying. Giovanni hates you.”
“Hate doesn’t matter in our world, sweetheart. Debt does. And his family owes mine.” Rico’s eyes glitter with malice. “You think you’re special? You think you’ve ‘fallen for the gangster’ and he’s fallen for you? How fucking stupid are you?”
Each word lands like a slap. I want to believe he’s lying, but doubt creeps in like poison. Giovanni’s family. The emergency in Pittsburgh. The way everyone deferred to Rico at the party.
“Giovanni Bavga is nothing but a weak little boy who wishes he was born into a more powerful family,” Rico continues, close enough now that I can smell his cologne—something expensive and cloying. “He can’t protect you. Don’t you understand? Even if he does come back, he’s not going to stop me. His father told him to let me do anything I want.”
My brain is working overtime, searching for a plan, an escape route, anything.
“Why do you think I’m here, in his estate, acting like it belongs to me?” Rico’s smile widens. “Becauseit does. And he knows this. If he comes back, he’ll let me finish. Trust me.”
He reaches out, running a finger down my arm. I jerk away, but there’s nowhere to go.
“I want to fuck you,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. “But not here.”
Nothere? What does that mean? My confusion must show on my face because Rico’s expression shifts, predatory calculation replacing casual cruelty.
He moves so fast I barely have time to raise my hands in defense. His fingers tangle in my hair, yanking my head back as he drags me toward the open patio door.
Oh god. He’s not just going to rape me. He’s going to take me somewhere. Just like his father did to Giovanni.
“Let go of me!” I kick wildly, connecting with his shin. Rico swears, his grip tightening painfully.
“Fucking bitch,” he hisses, slapping me hard across the face. “Keep fighting. I like it better when they fight.”
The words trigger something in me—a flashback to my ex standing over me, same words, same tone. Same helpless feeling.
No. Not again. Never again.
As Rico drags me past a bookshelf, my hand closes around something cold and heavy—a steel sculpture, modern and angular. I manage to get my feet under me just enough to swing it with all my strength.
It connects with Rico’s temple with a sickening crack. Blood sprays across my face, warm and metallic.
For one glorious second, I think I’ve won. Then Rico’s eyes narrow, blood streaming down his cheek, and I realize I’ve just made things infinitely worse.
“You’re going to regret that,” he growls, lunging forward.
His open palm connects with my face so hard I see stars. He grabs my hair again, dragging me across the slippery floor. I’m screaming now, dignity forgotten, survival the only goal, as I stumble after him.
He stoops, picks up the fallen sculpture, and weighs it in his hand. His smile is all teeth. “Let’s see how you like it.”
The blow lands. Pain explodes across my temple. My skull rings. Blood floods down my cheek, hot and fast.
Then—another explosion.
For a moment, I think it’s me. But as more hot blood spatters across my face, Rico’s grip on my hair suddenly loosens. The world spins and light scatters asI blink through the red haze and see what’s left of him—his head split open, eyes gone, skull a ruin.
The room lurches. My knees buckle. As I hit the floor beside Rico, I catch a final, impossible image—Giovanni Bavga standing in the doorway. A gun in his hand.
Then… darkness.