The Story of Blood and Roses 17 Don't Make Me Wai

I had no idea where I was going, but I could feel his eyes on me. He was watching my every move; he was taking the bait.

Mystery...

The word came back to me. I snapped my eyes shut to push it back. Maybe Daisy was right, what good would fucking him do? He wasn't stupid enough to think with this dick. He was a mob boss, for God's sake; he didn't reach this height in a day...

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the bar, staring at the bartender.

"One White Russian, please."

"So you like it sweet and creamy?" The voice was just a whisper. I could barely hear Anthony over the music, but I could feel his hot breath against my ears. Before I could say a word, he spoke again. "Ron, bring the drinks up to VIP area." The bartender nodded and silently went back to taking orders. "Now!"

I wish I could feel bad for the bartender at that moment. I didn't. I was actually amused by Anthony's irritation. I tapped on his shoulder, trying hard to conceal my amusement, but he saw it the moment he turned to face me.

"You look gorgeous tonight, Mia." He eyes flicked to my lips as I licked them and his trademark smirk was back on his lips in no time. "Shall we?" he asked, pushing his hand towards me. I looked at it for a moment, as if to contemplate before sliding my hand into his.

His hands were warm and rough against mine. Anthony's long fingers grasped mine in his grip and then he led me towards the VIP area.

He wasn't dragging me with him, he was simply welcoming me—guiding me. I stared at our joined hands and felt my brows furrow. It felt… odd. My palm felt like it had been set on fire—well metaphorically.

The purple and blue lights dulled into a softer tone that hurt my eyes. In the dimness of the room, I actually saw Anthony. His sharp jaws, his gray eyes looking around the room, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped, his white shirt which he had unbuttoned the top two buttons of, his loose grey tie, his grey suit . . . His eyelashes left dark shadows under his eyes as he turned to me.

"The others will be joining us soon," he said with a sigh. I hadn't expected the disappointment that radiated from him.

"What are we going to discuss today?" I asked, curiosity evident in my voice.

"Recovery." I raised a brow at him. "Scott's stunt has left us at a loss. I was quick in killing him, but we needed him." His lips curled over his teeth as he growled. He stepped forward and sank down on the couch placed in front of the glass wall. Through the tinted glass, he stared at the masses of people who danced and sang along.

"How important was Scott?"

"Not important," he snapped.

"You needed his help; that means he was important," I stated matter-of-factly.

"I didn't need his help! I needed him alive for a little bit longer. He just had to slip up and ruin my plans!" He clawed at the mess of his hair so hard that he might as well have pulled it out. I gulped, waiting for him to say more, but he didn't give any more away.

"He was important," I said sternly.

"Ugh!" His head snapped up at me. "Don't try to be smart with me, Mia. You're playing with fire here." He had stood up and now sauntered towards me. I retreated until I felt my back press against the cool of the glass. His hands were on either side of my head and his head inches from mine. I was staring directly into his green eyes that were filled with anger.

"I can do away with you just like I did with Scott; you don't mean a thing to me," he sneered. I didn't flinch back. It was obvious that I was important. He just wouldn't admit it.

But why was I important?

'Run!' my instincts screamed at me.

"He was important," I said again, my voice cold and filled with finality.

"He was trouble. He shouldn't have poked his nose in my business. Now I need to start from scratch." By this point, I didn't know if he was talking about Scott.

His gaze shifted away from mine, and he looked over my shoulder. He took in a deep breath and then let his hand fall to his sides.

"Sit down," he ordered as he straightened his clothes and backed away from me. I leaned away from the glass, standing tall and ready for his next jibe.

The knock at the door interrupted us. It was the bartender from earlier, holding a tray of drinks.

My eyes flickered to Anthony who openly glared at the poor bartender.

"Don't make me wait, Ron. I'm a busy man," he taunted. Ron's expression didn't change. He lithely came into the room, placed the drinks on the table at the side of the couch, and left without a word. I would say he was used to it.

The others entered the room one after the other and scattered across the room, all eyes on Anthony.

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Chapter end