I grab her by the throat, slamming her against her Lexus. My fingers sink into the soft tissue of her neck. It’s easy. Too fucking easy. I reach for her hand—the one that hit Charlotte. The heavy gold band with the diamond left a mark on Charlotte’s cheek.
I twist it off her finger. She’s clawing at my arms, but it feels like nothing. She’s a mere fly compared to me.
“Please, you can have the ring. The car. Anything,” she chokes out, trying to breathe.
“You shouldn’t have touched her,” I whisper.
I want to feel the life leave her with my hands. I want to be the last thing she sees.
When it’s over, I dump the body in a dumpster three miles away. Far enough that the police won’t connect it to the clinic, and that Charlotte won’t smell the rot.
I get back to my Mercedes and open my hand. The ring is there.
I’m confused. I have no name for what I’m feeling. I only know that I’m fascinated by the way she took the hit. And I’m fascinated by the way I’m going to make sure she never has to again.
A part of me sure hopes little Charlotte knows what she’s doing, because it appears that she and I are both about to be dragged into hell.
Chapter Seven
Charlotte
Sometimes, I hate this job.
I stare at my reflection in the small vanity mirror. The welt on my cheek is still visible, no matter how much I try to cover it with concealer. Sarah Gomez’s only talent is spending her husband’s blood money and hitting people who can’t hit back. Her husband is mid-level mob royalty; if I retaliate, I’m the one who ends up in a landfill. So I sat there and took it like a little bitch. All I was able to do was cut the session short.
One of the few things that reminds me why I enjoy this job is the man currently sitting in my waiting room.
Valerio.
The dress I chose to wear today is tailored just for him. It’s shorter than anything I’ve ever worn in my life, stopping just where the curve of my ass begins. Beneath it, there’s nothing but bare skin—no panties or bra. This is a violation of every ethical code I’ve studied. But with Valerio, I find myself wanting to break my own rules as much as I want to break his.
God, what am I doing? My nipples pebble against the silk regardless of my doubts.
I’ve never done this before. But there’s something about Valerio that brings out the worst in me. The idea of being the one to make him feel something is intoxicating.Power. That’s what this is about. The power to be the first.
When I open the door, he’s standing there with his usual unnerving stillness. His eyes, usually flat and predatory, widen almost imperceptibly as they take me in.
“Come in, Valerio.”
His gaze follows me as I walk to my desk. It burns me like a type of worship only sinners know.
He sits, but his posture is rigid. His eyes remain fixed on meas I cross my legs, the silk sliding up to reveal the lace tops of my stockings. I know he can see everything—or rather, nothing at all. If he squints really hard, I’m sure he can take a peek at my pussy.
A second after I form that thought, I see him squint. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
“We touched a nerve last time,” I start, my voice professional despite me sitting in a puddle of my own fucking juices. “Your father. We’ll leave him in the cellar for today. I’m more interested in the present.”
Valerio’s eyes are glued to me in an attempt to see a sliver of my cunt.Not so soon, Valerio.
“Your father,” he repeats, dazed. “Yes.”
He’s trying so hard to focus, and it’s not working. Poor thing. Stifling my laughter isn’t easy. I clear my throat, and that seems to snap him out of it, a vein in his temple pulsing as he notices the bruise peeking through the makeup.
“Does it hurt?”
“Why do you care? You don’t feel empathy, Valerio. Remember? Is it because you’re the only one allowed to break things in this office?”
I don’t want to discuss the slap, or how weak I felt because I couldn’t defend myself. To get him right back where I want him, I lean forward, letting the neckline dip until my left nipple makes an appearance.
