“Are you used to giving orders and having them obeyed?”

He stops, seems to consider this, then answers with a grin. “Yeah, I am.”

I guess it was a stupid question. “I have a question first,” I dare.

He cocks his head to the side. “You’re a strange one, you know that?”

I ignore his taunt. “Who’s Lucia DeMarco?”

7

Sergio

“Ah.” I watch her. I’m curious about her. She’s torn, wanting to tell me to go to hell, but at the same time, drawn to me. “What did you do, Google the Benedetti family’s sordid history?”

“I don’t have to Google. Everyone knows.”

“You didn’t know until today.” I step toward her, lift her hair off her shoulder, push it behind her ear before cupping her chin to tilt it up. Her mouth opens, and her eyes grow wider. “And who’s everyone?”

She pulls back, turning her face the second she realizes she shouldn’t have said that. “I didn’t tell anyone about…the warehouse. I just said I’d run into you.” She clears her throat, doesn’t quite look at me as she answers and steps backward to put space between us. “I guess I want to know how you can own another human being.” She folds her arms across her chest. Tries to look confident.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I know about Lucia. I know she was only sixteen when you locked her up.”

“That so?” I ask. I look her over, walk a slow circle around her. I don’t speak until I’m facing her again. “You know, you should really tell me right now to go to hell. To get out and never come here again,” I say, I’m not one to mince words. Not one to play stupid games. Time is too valuable for that so I’m going to get this shit on the table. “Because you know I lied earlier. About the strings.” I’m standing so close to her that she’s trapped with me on one side, the wall on the other. She’s not wearing any makeup and yet she’s fucking beautiful. I wonder if she even knows how beautiful. I lean my face close to hers. “With men like me, there are always strings, Natalie.”

She runs a hand through her hair, looks anywhere but at me.

“But you don’t want to, do you?” I ask. “For some reason, you want me to be here,” I say. “You liked that it was me when you opened the door.”

“No.”

“Huh.” I scrape my lower lip with my teeth. Her gaze falls to my mouth momentarily. “So instead of asking me to leave, you want to know about Lucia DeMarco? You sure about that?”

She gives me one short nod.