“Good,” I said just before I lifted my dress shoe, angling it under his chin and forcing him to look at me. “Don’t piss me off again. The next time you do, you will go home to your wife with your balls shoved down your insignificant throat.”
I straightened the lapels of my suit jacket and turned back to Romano.
According to the medical staff, Gwen Davenport missed his heart by half an inch. Half an inch, and everything I'd planned would’ve been destroyed. He laid there in the dead center of his dark, wood, four poster bed, dressed in his signature red silk pajamas, his eyes closed. His hand was hooked up to a monitor just beside the bed. The pathetic excuse of a man finally got up off the floor and made his way around to the opposite side of the bed.
Away from me.
Smart.
I shoved my hands into my slacks to avoid the urge to choke him again. I cracked my neck quickly before growling, “Well, get on with it.”
“Right—right,” he stammered nervously, clearing his throat. “Mr. Romano suffered a tremendous amount of blood loss during the process of you moving him. Given the circumstances, it would have been ideal—”
“Let me stop you right there, Doc,” I said, holding a hand up. He swallowed, his throat bobbing up and down with fear.
I took a long drag of my cigarette before speaking again. “You will lose that judgmental tone when you speak to me, or I will rip out your tongue with this hand,” I explained, pulling out my free hand and giving a small wave. I took another drag, soaking in the smoke in an effort to settle my bloodlust. I hadn’t smoked this much in years. It was the only thing that felt good anymore, after everything had fallen apart. I came to stand in front of him.
“Yes, sir. I do apologize.”
I waved my hand dismissively. I didn’t need him to explain to me what the chart said, and I grew tired of his annoying presence. “Get out,” I snapped as I snatched the tablet from his hands.
The man all but ran out of the room as I opened the medical chart. I focused on the notes in front of me, scanning through the medical jargon. He would survive—for now. He would be up on his feet within the next two weeks. I tossed the tablet on the bed and took one more look at the King.
How the mighty have fallen…
His kingdom was crumbling around him, his prince now dead, and his army was dispersing across the world, going into hiding. Of course, there were still the loyal dogs, a hundred of them or so, standing by and awaiting orders. I had a phone meeting with the region leaders tonight, income spreadsheets to analyze, and drop off routes to organize.
Then, there was the report sitting on my desk. A test. The mafia king loved tests, and I was anxious to see if he would pass this one.
So much to fucking do.
But she was asking for me.
Did she come before this—before your plans?
Images of him standing above me formed in my head, and my muscles began to ache from the future lesson I was sure to endure, something that I had to do to play the part.
But she was asking for me.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, letting out a groan of frustration. My arm flew out and knocked the bedside table over, but my teacher didn’t stir.
“Fuck!”I threw my palms behind my head and stared out the window… Night covered this island like a blanket, concealing us in the darkness. This was my sanctuary in hell, and my angel called to me, beckoning me into her light.
Fuck her light.
I would drag her into the darkness with me.
I dropped my hands and left the King to his healing slumber.
Five minutes later, I was standing in front of her door, which opened into the suite I had designed with her in mind years ago.
I wouldn’t knock.
This was my house, after all.
I twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. My eyes went to her bed, only to find it empty, frustration crawling up my spine and rearing its ugly head. My eyes snapped to the window to find my angel looking out into the darkness. The moonlight illuminated her, causing her blonde hair to shine brighter, her fair skin glowing.
She was standing, and that pissed me off.
