Excerpt from 'Capo'
Chloe:
In the middle of the room stands a giant desk, an old-fashioned, dark wooden desk. On it an ashtray, a laptop and a few sheets of documents. Next to it stands a man, tall, dark hair, impeccably dressed in a gray suit. Luciano Salvatore. He doesn’t move as he looks me over from head to toe, and then back up to my face before he slowly removes his suit jacket and hangs it over the back of his chair. He takes his time, and it seems as if the clocks have stopped. I stare, transfixed, as he rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, showing off well defined muscles beneath the rich dark hair on his forearms.
Then he walks toward me. I glance over my shoulder, at the man behind me. It’s not a comforting sight. His light gray eyes meet mine, his face expressionless. I look back at the man I’m here to see, my heart slamming so hard in my chest that I can barely breathe.
His eyes are slightly hooded and pitch black, his Roman nose and his sharp jawline make his face both rough and awe-inducingly attractive. There are vertical lines on his forehead and frown lines between his thick dark eyebrows. He has some years on him, looks to be in his forties.
“I was told you wanted to speak to me, Miss—?”
I had forgotten how incredibly beautiful this beast of a man is. Flashbacks from when I occasionally glimpsed him outside the center run through my brain. I was pulled to him then and, despite a mounting worry clutching my throat, I’m pulled to him now. It’s just looks. He’s a ruthless gangster. I wet my lips as I try to connect my brain to my tongue.
“Becker.”
He tilts his head, glances at the man behind me, and then back at me. “You seem to have been in an accident, Miss Becker. Traffic?”
I grit my teeth as I glare at him. Accident? Traffic? “You know damn fucking well what happened to me.”
His penetrating gaze darkens a shade and his lips curl. “I have never seen you before in my life. Why would I know what happened to you?”
“Because you ordered it,” I spit. “You fucking—” I scream when he grabs my arm and pulls me toward him, nose to nose, his breath fanning my lips, hot, faintly smelling of cigar.
“Whoever you are, I won’t tolerate you coming into my house giving me attitude, you got it?”
I try to twist free, but he doesn’t budge. “You’re a fucking monster! You sent someone to kill my best friend, you sent someone to kill me. Do you know how fucking scared she was, do you know how I feel? It’s a nightmare, and it’s all you. You’re a fucking cancer in this town!”
In the blink of an eye I have a gun in my face and he yanks me down on my knees, hard. “You’ve got one second, Miss Becker, to explain why I shouldn’t blow your brains out for insulting me.”
Then he walks toward me. I glance over my shoulder, at the man behind me. It’s not a comforting sight. His light gray eyes meet mine, his face expressionless. I look back at the man I’m here to see, my heart slamming so hard in my chest that I can barely breathe.
His eyes are slightly hooded and pitch black, his Roman nose and his sharp jawline make his face both rough and awe-inducingly attractive. There are vertical lines on his forehead and frown lines between his thick dark eyebrows. He has some years on him, looks to be in his forties.
“I was told you wanted to speak to me, Miss—?”
I had forgotten how incredibly beautiful this beast of a man is. Flashbacks from when I occasionally glimpsed him outside the center run through my brain. I was pulled to him then and, despite a mounting worry clutching my throat, I’m pulled to him now. It’s just looks. He’s a ruthless gangster. I wet my lips as I try to connect my brain to my tongue.
“Becker.”
He tilts his head, glances at the man behind me, and then back at me. “You seem to have been in an accident, Miss Becker. Traffic?”
I grit my teeth as I glare at him. Accident? Traffic? “You know damn fucking well what happened to me.”
His penetrating gaze darkens a shade and his lips curl. “I have never seen you before in my life. Why would I know what happened to you?”
“Because you ordered it,” I spit. “You fucking—” I scream when he grabs my arm and pulls me toward him, nose to nose, his breath fanning my lips, hot, faintly smelling of cigar.
“Whoever you are, I won’t tolerate you coming into my house giving me attitude, you got it?”
I try to twist free, but he doesn’t budge. “You’re a fucking monster! You sent someone to kill my best friend, you sent someone to kill me. Do you know how fucking scared she was, do you know how I feel? It’s a nightmare, and it’s all you. You’re a fucking cancer in this town!”
In the blink of an eye I have a gun in my face and he yanks me down on my knees, hard. “You’ve got one second, Miss Becker, to explain why I shouldn’t blow your brains out for insulting me.”