11 His Undoing

She was going to be his undoing, and he knew it. He could feel it deep down.

Miguel seemed restless as he moved about the small kitchen that the safe house had to provide. He picked up the bottle of brandy that was sitting on the breakfast table, walked over to one of the kitchen cabinets opened it, took out a glass cup and poured a finger of the rum for himself.

As he took the drink, he tried to figure out what the hell was going on with him. Why was he feeling this way?

He was supposed to have been happy that his cousin taught her a lesson for trying to run off, after all, that is what was expected. But he didn't feel that way. Instead, he felt anger, he felt so much anger towards his cousin for daring to lift a finger at her.

Why was he thinking about her? Why was she occupying his thoughts when he is supposed to be thinking of how to make her people agree to their demands?

Why did he feel like going back into his bedroom where he had locked her up and running his hands over her arms, chest, full breasts, hips, legs, and every inch of her body?

The impulses that ran through him were hard to fight.

"This should not be happening," he muttered to himself. He shouldn't be thinking about his captive the way he was thinking about her.

"Is everything all right?" Pablo asked as he walked into the kitchen.

Miguel turned to look at him, placing the glass cup he was holding on the table.

"I don't know, you tell," Miguel shot back feeling irritated by the mere presence of his cousin.

Pablo gave him a sceptical look, moving the toothpick he had in his mouth from side to side.

The action annoyed Miguel even more.

"If you have something to say, you might as well say it," Miguel snapped.

"You seem like you have something stuck up your ass. Why do I have a feeling that it has something to do with the prisoner?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Miguel glared at his cousin. "And she has a name! How about you use it when referring to her?"

Pablo chuckled. "Why are you so concerned about the way I refer to her? She is our prisoner, isn't she?"

Miguel bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his anger in check. He knew his cousin very well and he can tell that he was deliberately trying to get on his nerves.

Pablo continued, ''are you pussy-whipped Cus?"

Miguel paused in his movements now looking at Pablo who had a stupid grin on his face. Miguel felt like punching the grin off his face.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Miguel asked, now barely keeping his anger under control.

Pablo leaned against the kitchen door, his arms folded across his chest.

"You seemed way too pissed over the fact that I hit her with my gun, you sounded way too concerned for a prisoner," he enunciated the word 'prisoner' so Miguel didn't miss it.

"I see you took her to your bedroom, instead of the basement."

Pablo chuckled. "I hope you remember that once our business is concluded with her family we are going to send her back?"

Miguel closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring in anger, and his hands balled into fists. Pablo was supposed to have taken the cue to stop talking, but he didn't. instead, he continued,

"whatever rendezvous you might have had with her last night, it isn't going to be more than that, she is just a slu….."

Pablo didn't get to finish his statement as Miguel pulled out a knife from his pocket and threw it at him.

Pablo's eyes widened in shock as the knife missed his left eye only by an inch, and stuck to the door.

"You should know that I missed your eye on purpose," Miguel said as he covered the space between them.

"You want to kill me because of a prisoner?" Pablo asked his eyes filled with unbelief.

Miguel hissed out a breath, the bastard still hasn't learned. He placed his hand around Pablo's neck choking him.

"You are wrong Cus. If I had killed you it would have been because of your stupidity. You are beginning to forget who is the boss around here."

Miguel applied more pressure on his neck. "Just in case you've forgotten your place, I'm now the Underboss!" Miguel gritted.

"Let this be the last time you will ever talk to me the way that you just did. Have I made myself clear?"

Pablo who was already choking from Miguel's hand on his neck nodded his head.

"I can't hear you."

"Y…yes," Pablo managed to choke out.

"That's more like it." Miguel released his hold on Pablo's neck and he started gasping for air.

"Fuck off!"

Miguel spat as he walked back to the breakfast table and picked up the bottle of brandy, ditching the glass he drank straight from the bottle.

"What the fuck are you still doing here?" Miguel demanded when he turned around and saw Pablo still leaning against the kitchen door gasping for air.

"We have a problem," Pablo said, his breathing now a little stable.

"The only problem we are going to be having would be how to clean your blood off the floor and the best way to dispose of your body, if you don't get the fuck out of this kitchen!"

Pablo released a harsh breath. "We have a real problem. I'm afraid the Russos are already aware that we are the ones with their daughter."

Miguel immediately paused his drinking. "How is that possible? We haven't reached out to them yet."

Pablo fished out his phone from the pocket of his trouser and handed it out to Miguel.

Miguel snatched the phone from him. What he saw displayed on the screen of the phone made the blood drain from his face.

A picture of him and Gemma sitting close was on a popular blog page with the caption: ''Could this be love?''

The picture was taken when they were at the bar. Miguel seemed to be whispering something in Gemma's ears and she was smiling. They looked so much like a real couple.

There were more pictures of them on the blog. The one that caught Miguel's eyes was the one taken as they were about to enter the hotel room where they had sex that night.

"Who the fuck took these pictures?" Miguel asked almost smashing the phone against the wall.

"That's what we are still trying to find out," Pablo said as he took the phone from Miguel. "The blogger says the pictures were sent to her mail anonymously."

"Where is my father?" Miguel asked as he brushed past Pablo walking towards the kitchen door.

"In the study," Pablo answered.

"We need to set up a meeting with the Russos, immediately!"