There was something off about her, and to date I’d never been wrong about sniffing out a rat.
It was how I’d been able to take over the Cartel, build it up into a multi-billion-dollar business over fourteen years and leave unscathed. The moment I saw a snake, I cut off their head.
But Zach would’ve cut mine off if I even looked at Maria the wrong way. So I was backing off for now, something I wasn’t good at but working on. Our relationship was already rocky – always had been – and I didn’t need to make it worse by not approving of his first girlfriend.
I sighed, more pissed off than usual, and checked the time again.
Twenty fucking minutes late.
I liked Gìo and Tony a lot. We were good friends.
But not when they wasted my time or made me wait.
And I didn’t fucking wait for nobody.
In any other circumstances, I would’ve walked out and burned the place down for the disrespect.
But with the shit that’d been happening lately, and the talk about a new drug on the market, we could all use some more money.
What was a couple billion when you make add another three zeroes.
The sound of a heavy door slamming shut caught my attention, making me glance over my shoulder. Through the glass walls of the office, I had a clear view of the dark warehouse.
The two huge men carrying a panicked man in a messed-up suit.
And the woman walking through it.
Blonde hair for days, that looked almost white under the dim underground lights.
Long legs that strode across the cement like she was a model on the runway.
Black high heels with those red bottoms and a big fur coat that bounced with every step and screamed mob-money.
She followed behind the chaos like the quiet in the storm.
But while the soldiers shoved the man in another back room and slammed the door shut behind them, she turned, entering the office I was in, two bodyguards behind her.
Her eyes met mine as she shook off her fur coat, one of her men catching it and holding it on his arm like a human coat-hanger.
My eyes naturally fell to her body, taking in her hourglass figure in that tiny black dress.
Platinum hair, soft and smooth like silk.
Her eyes, pitch void like a black widow.
Bloody lips, the crimson only bringing out her olive skin.
She raised a brow, taking a seat across the table from me. “I was expecting Zachary.”
“I was expecting Gìovanni.”
“Francesca DeMone.”
“Matteo Di’Ablo. You’re late.”
“As you could see, I had to deal with something,” She brushed me off, focused on opening some folders on the desk.
“Don’t let it happen again.”
