He stood in front of me. Looming. Staring down at me with those green eyes and a gaze as sharp as knives. I didn’t know if he intended to intimidate me, but he certainly did.
“Do you know who I am?” he demanded, his voice icy cold.
“No.” I dropped my gaze to the brown carpet. It was probably brown because it hid stains well. Blood dried into a brownish color. Maybe that was why he’d brought me here—
He reached out and took hold of my chin. He tilted my head back until I was staring into his eyes again. He didn’t hurt me, but I was aware of how strong he was.
“I’m Leon MacCarrick,” he growled, still staring at me with that unnerving intensity.
“I don’t… Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”Oh, God, he told me his real name. Now he’s going to have to kill me to keep it a secret.
Fury flashed in his eyes. But he stepped back so that he was no longer looming over me like some kind of angry god. His silence seemed to burn like a fuse. That silence was frightening me even more than the ferocity of his stare.
I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid to speak for fear of making things worse.
Finally, he spoke again. “Do you know why someone would want you dead?”
That question was going to haunt my dreams. I’d never been the best liar, and now wasn’t the time to practice. I thought furiously but still wasn’t certain what he wanted to hear. Right now, I would tell him anything he wanted, butwhatdid he want?
“Because of my dad.” My words were bitter. I tried to think of something else to add but had nothing more.
I had nothing to do with my father’s mafia life—something he deliberately kept me sheltered from. Except that he was paying my NYU med school tuition. And my expenses while I went to NYU. And for the penthouse. And paying for my Christmas trip to the Caribbean, along with three of my girlfriends…
That’s why Leon MacCarrick’s “Princess” insult stung, even though it was one of the laziest insults in the world. I might not know what my father did exactly—but I didn’twantto know. The closest I came to that world were the times my father invited Accardo men to various family functions that always involved lots of food. But the men were careful not to discuss “family” business around wives and children. Even my father sending men to take me to the private airport last night was an exception. He hadn’t done anything like that since I’d been in high school.
Leon MacCarrick watched me as those thoughts flashed through my mind in a strobe-like onslaught. Then he suddenly turned away, showing me his broad back. I sagged with relief. Those eyes of his left me weak, and not in a good way.
He moved to the motel room’s one window and peeked out from the side of the drawn gray curtain. He was uneasy. I could see it. Did he think my father’s men would be able to find him here? I desperately wished they would. But I knew enough to understand that was a pipe dream. The mafia wasn’t anything close to an intelligence agency with the ability to track people with spy satellites or cell phones or hack into traffic cameras.
Leon didn’t say anything else. But when it was clear he wouldn’t talk more, I found myself wanting to push back at him. It might’ve been stupid. Or reckless. Probably both.
But being afraid was exhausting. I wanted to know why this had happened to me. Why my father suddenly had two of his men show up at my penthouse apartment to drive me to the airport. Why my father had seemed distracted and curt when he’d called to inform me they’d be showing up, speaking as if I had no choice in the matter. I’d protested at first, annoyed to have two strange men in my place. They wouldn’t dare touch me, the daughter of their boss, so it wasn’t as if I was afraid they’d do anything. But it still felt like an invasion—as if my father was overreacting and was showing me that he still had his boot on my neck, even though I hadn’t been a kid for a long time.
Apparently, hehadn’tbeen overreacting, and I’d been the foolish one. Now, here I was. A hostage. A kidnapping victim. Alone with a strange man in a crappy motel room that smelled of microwaved noodles.
“Were you supposed to kill me?” I meant to sound like the best defense lawyer on the planet. Instead, my voice came out as a tremulous, hushed little thing.
Leon turned back to me, shoved his hands in his pockets, and leaned against the door, eyeing me. “Why don’t you worry about what’s next for you instead of pestering me with questions you don’t want to ask.”
“Were you supposed to kill me?”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You sure you want to know, Princess?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”
That made him chuckle. Then he scowled as if blaming me for making him laugh. Honestly, I was beginning to wonder if he was crazy. He was impossible to read. Sometimes the way he looked at me, I would’ve sworn he hated my guts. Other times, I seemed to amuse him, which was infuriating but a lot better than being murdered.
And yet…hehadn’thurt me. He was commanding, but when he’d touched me to grab my arm, he’d been gentle enough. I could feel his strength in his big hand, his fingers around my arm, firm but not crushing. I wasn’t too dumb to realize that he kept that grip to control me, to keep me prisoner against my will.
Even so, I couldn’t escape the nagging impression that he was avoiding hurting me. He hadn’t slapped me around for running my mouth, even though he growled back like a junkyard dog or used that sneering insult.Princess.
He undid his tie and flung it on his suit jacket, never taking his gaze off me. “I don’t know if I was supposed to kill you.”
I gaped at him. “This was… It was all a mistake?”
Two men were dead, I’d been kidnapped and was half out of my mind with terror, and he didn’tknow?
He seemed angry, but not at me. “I’m a contractor. A freelancer. I take jobs that Mafioso don’t usually take. Those guys are good for running rackets and leaning on people, but once they make their bones, they prefer to outsource the wet work.” He shrugged. “Less risk to them.”
