Trigger (Pericolo #3)

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  “Now, you’re being a cunt,” Jackson rebukes, looking at me with disdain. I watch him walk away from me, grabbing a crystal tumbler and pouring his two fingers of whiskey. “You can’t go around making assumptions about the girls I employ. The girls I take under my wing and allow into our family are not that pathetic. They’ve made decisions that led them to rock bottom. You don’t get to categorize them how you do.”

  “So, let me get this straight, you believe you’re some fucking holy savior?”

  “No, because a savior wouldn’t subject them to stripping and dancing for men like you so you can get a fucking hard-on.” I watch his jaw start to clench, his cheeks twitching with the pressure. “You don’t understand anything, Dante. It’s why you’re a silent partner and I’m their boss!” Jackson’s trying to calm himself. He’s trying not to reach a high with his anger. He’s trying not to make this a confrontation, but I can see my choices are doing just that. “Why did you choose her?” Jackson asks. His words are simply and weakly spoken. “Because it’s going to end in tears.”

  “Was the plan,” I tell him, smirking once again.

  “Yours or hers?” Jackson asks rhetorically, steadying his gaze on me. He has to be joking with that last comment. “You’re taking on the wrong one with Ryleigh,” Jackson warns me, coming back across the room. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with where she’s concerned.”

  “What and you do?”

  “Yes, I do!”

  “Well, then let me remind you of one important thing, Jax,” I start, knowing that with my next comment, my anger will soon be granted total freedom. “She was the one who followed me.”

  “That means nothing,” he chides, rolling his eyes.

  “It does! She chose me!” I say, roaring to life, throwing myself in his direction. “She was the one who picked me, not the other way around. Unless you forgot that little stunt she pulled last night? The one that nearly allowed that cunt Tony to win that fucking fight.”

  “Oh no, I remember full well what happened, but she’s clearly smitten with you, Dante. You didn’t have to dangle some sort of purpose in her face because that’s what she’s after. It’s what they’re all after!”

  “Then I’ll be her new fucking saving grace, won’t I?” I ask him, grinning brightly. “She’ll get a purpose with me and I’ll take great fucking delight in tearing her down. It’s win-fucking-win!”

  “You’ll regret this!” Jackson says, finally squaring up to me.

  “You two still fight like two little fucking girls.” Jodi’s voice cuts the air, slicing through the tension.

  I look over Jackson’s shoulder as he turns to see her sitting on the table, legs crossed with a glass of wine in hand. The things that come out of her mouth are always sassy, but otherwise, Jodi is always, always regal in the deliverance of her words.

  “Oh,” she starts, brandishing the glass of white wine at us. “Do continue. I want to see how you solve this little spat.” She places the glass down beside her, laces her fingers together, and lowers them onto her lap, directing her whole attention to us. “Go on, then...”

  “Fuck this,” I say, giving up and going to my desk. I all but throw myself into the seat, ready to watch the fallout of this. “Are you going to give me the riot act as well about this?”

  “Well, from what I saw, my husband already did,” she says. Even though I’ve just sat down, I get up, feeling the urge for a drink. I walk over to her, reaching behind her for the tumbler of liquor. As I lean over, she slaps the back of my head – fucking hard. “You dare stereotype like that and it’ll be more than a slap you’ll have to worry about.”

  “Oh, this is going to be a fucking lynch mob now with two you,” I growl, looking back and forth between the pair.

  “Well yes, after what I just heard you say about the girls, I think you deserve it,” Jodi remarks, no barriers on the anger she’s emulating. “What’s caused you two to lock horns like this exactly?” she asks, looking back and forth between us. “I mean the testosterone overload has me all hot and bothered and a little wet down below, but that’s besides the point.”

  I laugh, unable to ever find myself prepared for what comes out of Jodi St. Clare’s mouth.

  “Want me or your husband to help you with that issue?” I offer, giving her a smirk as I eye her up and down, my gaze hovering over her cleavage. “I mean, we could always go for a ménage a trois.”

  “If I were one to enjoy indulging in the feeling of incest, I’d allow it, but no,” she politely declines, smiling sweetly as she does. “Now, fucking tell me what is going on.”

  “Dickhead over there,” Jackson starts, pointing at me to add flair to his marvelous storytelling, “has finally met Ryleigh Turner and has taken it upon himself to drag her out into his world and show her the darker things in life.”

  Immediately, Jodi turns to face me, her eyebrow raised as she watches me for a second before she finally utters a word. “Met your match with that one there,” Jodi remarks, picking her glass of wine up to toast the moment.

  I know they know more about Ryleigh than I do, but I know how to twist every last breath out of a person and they don’t. Right now, I don’t feel threatened by Ryleigh Turner.

  “Don’t think so really,” I say, taking a swig of my drink. “She all but cowered at my feet when she followed us to the cage. Never seen a person more terrified than she was when I confronted her.”

  “She followed you to the cage?” Jodi asks, trying to hide her shock. “Does she know what men, well men like you, will do to her there?”

  “Yes,” I counter, nodding some. “It would seem that little wolf has decided that I am worth the follow, so I’m going to make it interesting for her. If she wants to be so curious about me and who I am, then I’m going to show her.”

  Jodi all but chokes on her sip of wine. She looks at me with shock horror after she recovers.

  “You’re going to show her?” Jodi asks, setting her glass down. “And how’s Marcello going to react to that, Dante? Have you even thought about how the family will react to you bringing an outsider in?”

  “It’s not under his jurisdiction; it’s under my own,” I reprove, unashamedly proud of this conquer. “She wants to do this, so I’ll allow her to do it. No one – not you, not Jax, not my grandfather – will stop that. She wants some of me, she’ll get just that, but only when I have every inch of her.”

  Then, as if I’ve not said anything of any importance, the silence drapes upon us all. I can see Jackson is angered in the corner, while Jodi reclaims her wine and swirls it around, deliberating over something. All the while, I chase down my scotch and wait for the pin to drop.

  “I say do it.” Jodi breaks the silence with a confidence in her voice that shocks me.

  “Jodi,” Jackson breaks in, his voice aghast.

  Jodi throws her hand up at her husband. “No, no, Jax, give my girl a chance.”

  “Jodi...”

  “No, really. Allow Ryleigh to knock that one down a few notches,” Jodi insists, and I can see she thinks this is a grand idea, but Jackson’s reticent behavior causes me to remain a skeptic. “I say you allow Ryleigh to do as she pleases with Dante.”

  “Don’t put her in this predicament,” Jackson responds, and I have to admit, his will to protect her only makes me hunger for her more.

  “He’s going to take her there anyway, Jax. We can’t stop this, and you know it.” Jodi then smiles. “I think we all underestimate Ryleigh.”

  I see this look in Jodi’s eyes, and I wonder what it is she knows that I don’t. I could press the matter, wonder harder, but I want my curiosity to be rewarded. I’m not one to listen to hearsay; I’d rather hear everything from the culprit than indulge in idle gossip. If Ryleigh’s capable, then she’ll show me. If she has a dark past that caused her scars, then I’ll find that out, too. And if she’s my match, I’ll soon find out on an even playing field.

  “Do it,” Jodi encourages, giving me permission.r />
  As if I fucking need permission.

  “I was going to anyway,” I remark, giving her a wink. “I didn’t need anyone’s blessing, but you two have really gotten me excited about the possibilities that Ryleigh Turner could endure.”

  ***

  “Your uncle isn’t happy over the entire Tommy situation,” Marcello comments as we walk through the grand hallway. “He would like you to reconsider.”

  “I don’t think so,” I grunt. I laugh a little at the insanity of the notion.

  However, I’m cut short and thrown against a wall; my grandfather’s large hand wraps around my throat to trap me. “That wasn’t a request, Dante,” my grandfather comments through grinding teeth. “You won’t reconsider. You’ll allow him back on your team.”

  “Get your fucking hands off me,” I tell him, hissing against the hold he has on my throat. As he releases me, I sidestep him, straightening my jacket. “I’m not the child you used to beat around, Marcello. You’ll do good to stop treating me like it.” I pull on the lapels of my jacket, forcing it to sit properly. “Likewise, you don’t give me orders like that one. My kills are always well executed. Now someone like Tommy is going to fuck up your entire operation. You want the door swung wide open to what you do, then allow Tommy in on everything. But I won’t stand here and watch an uneducated little bastard run amuck of a life he’s been gifted with.”

  “He’s family,” my grandfather reminds me.

  “Means nothing to me,” I remark callously. “When Amelia gets here, send her to the back room. I’m going for a drink.”

  “Are you not going to greet her and her father?”

  “It would appear not,” I shout over my shoulder and continue to walk away. “She knows where to find me.”

  I enter the back room, pleased at how empty it is. I hit the mini bar, grabbing myself a tumbler and some ice before pouring myself some scotch. I nurse the glass contemplatively, taking a large drag as I gulp down the alcohol. In anger, I throw the glass at the wall and heave on heated breaths. Even at my age, my grandfather is a firm believer that he can abuse me.

  My grandfather always called himself my redeemer; the liberator who took me in when my family tragically died. Except, I outgrew that notion quickly. It didn’t take much for me to recoil at the slightest touch he gave, or to realize he only took me in with one job in mind – make me his own personal assassin.

  I never stood a chance.

  I was deemed a miracle; how I survived no one knew, but I did. I was the miracle of the Valentinos. I was born a prince of the family’s name, but my royal status strengthened when my grandfather brought me up by his side, learning from the devil himself.

  I fix myself another drink before sitting down at the bar. I ignore the shattered glass behind me and the brown liquor staining the cream walls. I was already wound up from Jackson’s onslaught attempt to make me think twice about Ryleigh, but I cannot wait to get that woman right where I want her.

  I continue to stare at the doorway, pleased when I hear the sound of heels against the marble flooring. I down my drink, slip from my stool, and shove a hand in my pocket. I watch the shadows cast against the wall until I can see her. She oozes royalty. The way she carries herself, the look she masks her face with – her mannerisms are that of a princess.

  Shame I fucking refuse to treat her like one.

  It’s as she comes in that I make my advance. I’m swift, gently eager as I throw her against a wall, pinning her while my hand caresses her jawline, forcing her to look at me.

  "Is this how you always do any business meeting with me?" she asks, a small smirk lining her lips. "Because I'll have you know, I like it rougher."

  "Perfect," I whisper, leaning in closer, my hand tightening on her. I dapple at this moment, watching her pant as she looks at me. It’s then I melt into a solid smirk.

  "But it doesn't mean that's how I play with you, coglione." She leers at me, bringing her face closer to mine. "Now, back the hell away or that little fella in your pants will be mine to keep forever."

  For emphasis, her hand comes to my groin before I can step away, her fingers snaking around my arousing erection and I close my eyes at the danger I've put myself in. But I laugh, knowing we are nothing more than a catastrophic couple who dance upon the blade’s edge every time we meet. We're destructive, but so fucking powerful that I cannot help but crave her sometimes. We're nothing but empty threats and clashing personalities, but this foreplay has me hot under the fucking collar.

  But no one but I know the truth – in Amelia Abbiati, I have met my match.

  “Amelia, Amelia, Amelia,” I say, pressing a hand to my heart as I step away from her. “How you wound me.”

  “Friends since we were small and yet you are still determined to have your wicked way with me,” she grouses mockingly. “And the erection was a nice touch.” She winks and waltzes over to the bar. “Your grandfather said you were in a bad mood. Clearly, he confuses horny with angsty.”

  I laugh, following her decision and go over. I sit back on my stool watching while she peruses the alcohol selection and tries to decide which liquor will quench her thirst.

  “He has no fucking clue,” I remark, picking up the decanter and pouring myself a third glass. “He treats me like I’m still the same six-year-old boy he decided to teach properly.”

  “He’s clearly not seen you out there,” she comments and resorts to placing a fresh glass in front of me. “Pour me a glass then bring it with us.”

  I give her a look of perplexity. “Where are we going?”

  “To the seats,” she replies, pointing to the armchairs across the room against the wall. “I think I’m going to be here a while, so I want to get comfortable.”

  I obey, pouring her a stiff drink. She gives an appreciative smile while taking the glass and heads away from behind the bar. I grab my glass, replace the lid to the decanter, and pick it up. I head for the red patterned leather armchair, placing the scotch between us. She’s already sitting, enjoying the slow burn of the alcohol.

  “I was thinking about something the other day, just after we had lunch together.”

  “What would that be?” I query, listening intently to where this could be leading us.

  “Could you imagine how happy my father and your grandfather would be if we got together and married?” she muses but laughs hysterically at the thought. “I mean, they’ve all speculated for years.”

  Although we have chemistry, my feelings for Amelia Abbiati run platonically. We tried to make it happen once and it got uncomfortable. I refuse to lose my best friend just so we can unite our families.

  At that, it causes me to ask her an important question. “How is that lover boy of yours?”

  “Zane is fine, thank you,” she counters, emphasizing his name. “Why do you care?”

  “Because he makes you get that whole flushed, blushed, googly-eyed look,” I say, waving at her with disgust. “Killers aren’t meant to be made for love... weren’t you taught anything?”

  “I love to juggle both,” she throws back, shrugging happily at me.

  “Does he know that about you?” I ask, watching her intently.

  I watch as her eyes drop. It’s always been something I’ve pondered. She fell in love with an outsider, so where does that leave their love?

  “He does?!” I practically drop my fucking drink as I realize her relationship has evolved. “And he’s still sleeping next to you?”

  “He knows the real me,” she admits, giving me the tiniest of grins. She’s fucking adorable when she’s being impish, but my God, she has bigger fucking balls than most Italian men do. “He knew the real me before I told him. He was worried about it, but he wants to make a go of this.”

  “And what does Salvatore have to say about it?”

  “He approves,” Amelia murmurs, her gaze dropping once more. “For now... anyway.”

  “You think he’ll make you cut it short?” I ask her, leaning toward her.


  “When it doesn’t keep him happy any longer, I’m sure he’ll do something.”

  I’ve seen how Amelia has fallen for this Zane. I was there when they first met and I have never seen that girl look more infatuated with a guy in my entire life. She never allowed men to go further than one night, but apparently, something about Zane changed all of her mechanisms in the romance department.

  “As long as you’re happy...” I trail off, hoping she’ll see that I’ll defend her and this relationship to her father.

  “I am happy,” she remarks quickly, a glistening in her eyes. “Dante, for the first time in a long time, I’m genuinely happy. And that’s what scares me the most.”

  “Why?” I ask, unable to see the issue.

  “I know you won’t understand it, but I finally see myself dreaming of a life past this,” she admits, applying disgust on the final word. I know Amelia hates her life but lives it out of loyalty. “I don’t want to be this for my entire life. I want my chance, you know? But I know, for now, I have to love a man who’s free of this life and indulge in it. I have to betray my better judgment because of blood. I have to continue being Amelia Abbiati for a long time yet.”

  I swallow the urge to scoff, resisting the urge to mock my friend’s hopeless heart, but Amelia has been dealt her own share of heartache. It’s about time she found some respite.

  “Have you never contemplated looking for someone?” she asks, settling back into her seat. She’s decided to resume her colder act and forget about her doomed love affair – because, in all of our eyes, that’s what it is.

  “As I said to you, killers aren’t made for love. Especially Valentinos.” My words are coarse in my throat, bitter in my mouth, and sour to hear. “You know I stand no chance in this life of finding someone who would fit into this lifestyle so well.”