I remember when he proposed to me at a family dinner, uninvited and smirking like he already owned me.
I remember how my uncle got violent when I turned Remo down. How Remo enjoyed it.
I knew that would be my life. Now, he was going to be my death.
I look out into the snowy street through my office window.
Is he there, the man sent to kill me?
I can feel him—his aura, his presence.
He’s close. He’s not Remo’s usual brute. He’s something else.
A professional hitman.
Why hasn’t he done it yet?
What is he waiting for?
He could’ve done it last night. He could have done it this morning as I walked to work. He could’ve done it while I wasnotsleeping in my apartment. I doubt my Glock and shooting skills would save me from a professional assassin.
Remo must hate me to shell out that kind of money, but it is more than hate, it is about control, and when you lead theCosa Nostra, you can’t have any loose ends.
And I am Calistina Rogoli—the definition of a loose end.
6
THE LINE CROSSED
LUCIAN
When you do wet work, there are rules.
The premier one is:Don’t get involved unless you’re ready to finish it.
If you take a contract, you complete it. I’ve never broken that rule in the eight years I’ve been doing this.
I’m going to break that rule now. I know it. I can feel it in my bones.
There’s something about this woman that calls to me.
I want her safe. I want her light undimmed.
I see her lean down to talk to someone in the shelter, and I wonder how she’ll look with her silky hair spread over my pillow.
The thought slips in.
Iwant her.
I have a healthy sex life. I like to fuck. Find me a man who doesn’t. I like it hard, I like it soft, I like it…a lot. It’s stress relief. It’s entertaining.
I don’t date and the women I pick up aren’t expecting dinner and flowers.
I want her, the thought reaffirms itself.
It’s a surprise. But not unpleasant. Not unwelcome. Just…unexpected.
I spent the day withher.
