Perhaps he’d meant that to be encouraging, or maybe an incentive for her. But it wasn’t.
And her expression must have given her away, which was a shock in itself, since no one ever noticed her emotions, because he said, ‘This does not please you?’ His mouth curved slightly and she found herself watching that too, as if she was compelled. ‘But Miss Armstrong, if you’d done your research you would know that I do not care for criminals. And, as I’ve already told you, if it’s mercy you’re looking for, you’ll find I have none.’
She’d underestimated him. She’d thought that perhaps she would be unimportant to him. That her father would be his ultimate goal and he’d let her slip away to pursue her own redemption far away from the constant fear.
But she’d been so fixated on her immediate plan she’d miscalculated.
That’s always been your greatest failing.
Yes, that was true.
She shifted her hold on her laptop, her fingers nervously gathering up the fabric of her dress and pleating it.
Okay, she told herself, so don’t think about what he was going to do, don’t think about police cells and having to survive for years in a prison with fear your only companion yet again. Don’t think about your mother dying in a pool of blood, begging you not to end up like she did.
Only think about how to change his mind.
She steeled herself, met his black gaze head-on. ‘It’ll take some time to give you this information, since I don’t have all the data yet. Probably, say, a week.’ Was a week long enough to change his mind? She didn’t think she could push for more. And the reality was that she’d have to work with whatever he gave her.
If he even gave her anything at all.
One black brow rose. ‘A week?’ he echoed, as if it was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. ‘Forgive me, Miss Armstrong, but I’ve heard all the rumours about you. I know what you’re capable of. You could get me that information in ten seconds if you wanted to.’
‘But I don’t want to,’ she said flatly, before she could stop herself. ‘A week, Mr de Santi. A week and I’ll give you all you need to not only take my father down, but his entire empire along with him.’
De Santi’s eyes narrowed, an obsidian blade getting sharper. So sharp it might cut. ‘Why would I wait a week? In ten minutes I can make you tell me anything I want to know.’
The icy flood of fear inside her rose higher. His ruthlessness was legendary, as was his single-minded determination. He’d betrayed his own parents to the authorities, it was rumoured, which meant he would have no qualms about torturing her into giving him whatever he wanted.
Lucy gripped on to her courage, held it tight, and didn’t look away. ‘You can torture me all you like, Mr de Santi, but I’m not going to give you a thing.’
If being accused of potential torture bothered him, he didn’t show it. ‘And what makes you think you can hold out against torture, Miss Armstrong?’
Well, that was the problem. She didn’t think she could. Then again, she’d doubted she’d ever be able to escape her father and yet she had, so anything was possible.
‘I have a very high pain threshold,’ she said, because that was true. Certainly her father wouldn’t let her have painkillers, so she’d had to deal with severe period pain and migraines by herself. ‘You can put glass under my nails or break my fingers, but I won’t tell you a single thing.’
De Santi blinked once. ‘Glass,’ he murmured. ‘Break your fingers... Hmm. Both good options that yield results, certainly. But I could just take that laptop you’re clutching on to and save myself the drama.’
‘You could,’ she allowed. ‘But it wouldn’t do you any good. All the information on this laptop is encrypted, and the passwords are all in my head.’
The edge of his stare was pressing against her skin, cutting her.
She gritted her teeth, refusing to give in and look away. She might not know much about men, but she did know that strong men liked to test that strength on others. She’d seen her father do it with his associates and his enemies, and he enjoyed it. When he was in the mood, he even appreciated strength in others, too.
Perhaps de Santi was the same. In which case maybe letting him test his strength against her determination might buy her the time she wanted. Maybe it would even go towards him changing his mind about handing her over to the authorities.
Whatever, it was clear that remaining unnoticed and slipping beneath the radar the way she normally did wouldn’t work with him. In which case, if he was going to notice her, then she couldn’t allow him to see her fear, her weakness. And, since she wasn’t particularly strong, she’d just have to be determined instead, and if there was one thing she was it was determined.
‘Looking at me ferociously won’t make me any more likely to tell you,’ she said, clutching tighter to her laptop. ‘I can hold out against you.’
He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming from beneath surprisingly long, dark lashes. ‘I’m sure you can. But I’ve broken hardened criminals, and I’m sure one small, soft one would be no bother at all.’
Was he mocking her? She couldn’t tell. The expression on his brutal, aristocratic face was utterly unreadable, his gaze absolutely opaque.
He frightened her. And yet she realised that, even though she was frightened, the prickling feeling she got between her shoulder blades whenever she thought about her father had gone.
De Santi had dealt with him for now. For now, at least, she was safe.
That thought steadied her.
‘You can try,’ she said, glaring at him. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’
‘Yes, you are.’ His voice was very deep and very cold, his gaze as merciless as the man himself. ‘You’re terrified of me.’
It was obvious she didn’t like him pointing that out to her. Anger glittered in her eyes, her delicate jaw getting a stubborn cast. She opened her mouth, no doubt to deny it, but he forestalled her.
‘Don’t lie to me, Miss Armstrong. I can smell a lie a mile off. And I have a feeling you’re not very good at it anyway.’
She bit her full bottom lip, small white teeth worrying at it. He found his gaze had fixated on that soft mouth for absolutely no reason that he could see. He liked a woman’s mouth, but unless it was doing something interesting to him he wouldn’t tend to notice it in the general scheme of things. Certainly not when the owner of said mouth was a criminal he was hoping to bring to justice.
He took his pleasures with women only when it suited him and did not allow himself to be subject to the whims of his body. It was true that he’d been too busy for female company the past month, mopping up the last of the St Etienne family and their drug empire, but that didn’t concern him. His body might protest but he rather enjoyed such exercises in self-control. It kept him sharp.
Regardless, even if he’d been desperate he wouldn’t have let his interest fall on the woman opposite. He preferred his lovers less...unkempt. And definitely not criminals.
Especially criminals who had the gall to accuse him of using torture. Which he didn’t. He would never stoop to using the same tactics his own family had once employed, even if only in centuries past. He didn’t need to now, anyway. When it came to information gathering, the team he’d assembled to assist him was the best in the world, and most of the time he didn’t even need his quarry to be physically present. He collected the information, handed it to the police, and let them do the rest.
Miss Lucy Armstrong continued to glare at him, while at the same time her knuckles were white as she simultaneously clutched her laptop with one hand, the other gathering and releasing the fabric of her shapeless dress. ‘Well?’ she demanded in her sweetly husky voice, ignoring what he’d said about her fear. ‘Will you give me a week or not?’
‘Why should I? I can take your laptop and turn it over to my forensic specialists right now. They can c
rack any encryption within—’
‘No, they can’t,’ she interrupted flatly. ‘Not the encryption I put on the information on the laptop. No one can crack it except me.’
An unaccustomed irritation rippled through him. Being interrupted was not what he was used to and especially not being interrupted by people he was going to turn in.
Most especially when those people were small women who were afraid of him and yet couldn’t quite stop themselves from challenging him.
It...intrigued him that she couldn’t and spoke of a certain courage. Unless she was stupider than he’d initially suspected. But no, he didn’t think she was stupid. A woman who’d escaped a violent crime lord like Michael Armstrong would never be stupid.
‘Then you won’t mind handing it over and letting my specialists take a look,’ he said mildly, deciding to let the interruption go.
‘Any attempts to access the data without the passwords will result in all the data being deleted automatically.’ She glared owlishly at him from behind her glasses. ‘So I guess if you want to risk losing it all, then that’s up to you.’
No, definitely not stupid at all.
Vincenzo’s irritation deepened, along with the curiosity he’d been trying not to pay any attention to. It stretched out inside him, lazy and subtle, making him think of questions. Such as, how had she managed to escape her father? And why had she come to him now? What made her think he would protect her? If she’d done her research, she must have known he’d simply hand her over to the authorities, surely?
You could give her a week. What would it matter in the long run? You’ll turn her in eventually. And in the meantime you can get everything you need to know from her about Armstrong.
It was true, he could. And there were other things he could get from her too. If she was indeed the reason Armstrong had evaded all his traps, perhaps he could use her to entrap others. Because, after all, he had a long list. And hadn’t he made the decision to employ hackers in his IT section to make sure their own online security was watertight? Use a criminal to hunt down other criminals... Why not?
He was a patient man. A week was nothing.
Vincenzo studied her carefully, taking his time. He kept his finger tapping on the arm of his chair and saw her attention zero in on it. A useful distraction technique.
She was still hunched in her chair, narrow shoulders collapsing in on themselves like the wings of a bird trying to hide itself beneath its own feathers.
It didn’t surprise him. Armstrong was a man much given to casual cruelty and there had been many rumours about his first wife and her death years ago. Rumours that only made Vincenzo even more determined to bring the man down.
He didn’t have any particular sentimentality towards women—he knew that they could be just as ruthless and cruel as men, and he’d had personal experience of this—but he despised physical cruelty. It was the weapon of the weak, in his opinion, and he had no doubt that Michael Armstrong was one of those weak men who needed to use it in order to enforce his power over people.
Had Armstrong used it on his daughter? Was that why she was hunched in her chair trying to make herself small? Was that why she was so afraid of himself?
Why are you thinking about her like this? She’s his daughter and a criminal, and now she is a tool you can use.
All very good points.
He moved, sliding his ankle off his knee and leaning forward, elbows on the desk. He watched her reaction as he did so, observing how her eyes went wide and how she held herself very still in her chair, her knuckles whitening even further on her handbag.
Yes, this little brown bird was very afraid. And of him.
Yet, for all that, she watched him very intently, as if he was a large cat stalking her. And, yes, there was fear, but it was clear to him that she also had a stubborn, determined spirit that wouldn’t let her give in. An interesting combination.
Why? Since when are you intrigued by the people you bring to justice?
Vincenzo ignored that thought, since he didn’t have an answer to it. Instead, he held her fixed hazel gaze with his and said, ‘You are enterprising, Miss Armstrong. I’m impressed. Your encryption might hold out against my experts or it might not. But perhaps I’m not in the mood to wait for them to break it. Perhaps I’m in the mood to make a bargain with you instead.’
Her gaze was ferocious. ‘What kind of bargain?’
‘Your skills are obviously valuable and I could use them, and not only to take your father down. There are plenty of other men and women just like him around. Those who need to be behind bars, and I think you could prove very useful in helping me bring them to justice.’
Those small white teeth worried at her bottom lip. It was very red now and very full, and it had the sweetest curve. A vulnerable, soft mouth. Would it taste as sweet if he took a bite out of it himself?
Why are you thinking about her mouth, fool?
The thought was sharp and bright and shocking. He had no idea why he was thinking about her mouth. None. He shouldn’t have even noticed it.
‘Why would I want to do that?’ she asked bluntly, not noticing his sudden stillness. ‘I’ll help you with my father and that’s all.’
Irritation rippled through him once again, his temper not helped by his own wandering thoughts. ‘I’m afraid you do not have a choice.’ He kept his voice flat and cold. ‘If you want a week before I hand you to the authorities it will be in my custody and you will do anything I ask. That is the price. If you don’t want to pay it then I will get my security team to hand you over to the police immediately.’
She bit at her lip, the expression on her face—what he could see of it behind all that hair and those big glasses—turning angry. ‘But you won’t be able to take down my father if I don’t help you.’
‘Of course I can take down your father without you.’ He made a negligible gesture. ‘It would only take longer. Your help would expedite the process, but it’s not necessary.’
‘Then why bargain with me at all?’
Another good point. She was astute, he’d give her that. Because he really didn’t need to bargain with her. He could make her do whatever he wanted, since he was the one with all the power here. But doing so would make him no better than those he brought to justice, and he would never use those kinds of tactics.
‘Because, although you are not necessary, you could prove to be useful,’ he said, just as blunt as she was. ‘And a tool is only useful if it is not broken. I have no wish to break you, Miss Armstrong, believe me.’
‘But you want to use me.’ There was no anger in her tone, only a kind of...resignation. As if the situation she now found herself in wasn’t unfamiliar.
And it wouldn’t be. She was as much a tool for him as she was for her father and he was very aware of that fact. Not that it bothered him. Not given what was at stake.
The old crime families of Europe were like a disease, rotting the body from the inside. Corrupting everything. That corruption was inside himself too and he knew it. Knew his own family’s history and the stain they’d left behind them over the centuries.
He wasn’t exempt from that corruption, but at least he wasn’t here to hasten its spread. No, he was a surgeon and he would cut it out completely.
‘No, civetta,’ he said, because a surgeon needed a sharp scalpel, ‘I do not want to use you. I will use you. If you want your week of freedom, then you must pay for it and that is my price.’
She continued to stare at him, frowning, as if he was a problem she wanted to solve. ‘When you say “freedom”, what exactly do you mean?’ she asked. ‘Because you won’t be letting me go, I assume.’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
She only nodded, as if that was the answer she’d expected. ‘Well, I suppose if I were truly free that would leave me unprotected, which would undermine the whole point of me coming
to you in the first place.’ The line between her brows seemed etched there, marring her pale skin, and he found himself idly wondering if that skin was as soft as it looked. Whether it would be as soft as her mouth. ‘I wouldn’t like to be in a cell,’ she went on. ‘My father kept me in his house in Cornwall with a lot of guards. I could walk in the garden but that was it. It was by the ocean, but the house had no view so I couldn’t see it. I could hear it though.’ A thread of some emotion he couldn’t place crept into her voice. ‘I’d like to be able to see the waves.’ Her gaze had turned distant, looking through him as if he wasn’t there. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the ocean. How ridiculous is that? When we live on an island?’
Slowly, Vincenzo leaned back in his chair, studying her. A strange criminal indeed to escape her father, throwing herself on his non-existent mercy then demanding his protection despite her obvious terror, only to talk with wistfulness about an ocean she’d never seen.
Perhaps it was an act. One could never tell. People of her ilk were liars and used all kinds of emotional tricks to get what they wanted. Already he was thinking odd thoughts about her mouth and about her skin... Thoughts he’d never normally have about a woman like this one. He’d encountered women who’d used seduction as a way to get close to him, either to murder him or manipulate him for other reasons. Women who weren’t aware that their techniques wouldn’t work on him. He was impossible to manipulate, especially when it came to emotions, because he didn’t have any.
A lesson he’d learned the hard way. From his mother. A lesson this woman, this little brown owl, would soon learn too. Also the hard way.
So what are you going to do with her, then?
A good question. She was either exactly what she seemed and relatively harmless apart from the information she carried in her head, or she was far more dangerous than she appeared. Either way he would need to watch her closely.
‘Prisoners do not get to determine what cell they prefer,’ he said after a moment. ‘That is what being a prisoner means.’
The Italian's Final Redemption (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 3
