“It’s clear,” Angel says.
“In that case, duck.” And then Killian fires the weapon, his finger around the dead man’s trigger finger.
A bullet hits the brick wall, sending a smattering of brick raining down on the ground.
But Killian isn’t done. “I’ll take your weapon, Angel. Go ahead and put footprints in the dust of the brick and then call the police. You heard gunshots. Came out. Found your uncle dead.”
Angel gives a single nod. “We are trusting each other, aren’t we?”
We are.
Not that I’m making any plans with these men. “Am I going to have any problems with the Sinclairs and my wife?”
“None.” Angel tips his chin. “Giulia is free of any obligation to us. And I must say, I’m impressed how well she’s done for herself. Didn’t know she had it in her.”
I don’t know how these men could stand by and watch a woman like Gigi be abused like that. “Her name is Gigi, and she found the strength to leave when that piece of shit whipped a small child.” I point down at the dead man at our feet.
Angel grimaces, either because there is actually a heart in his massive chest or because he knows it’s a bad start to our relationship that I consider him a heartless piece of shit. “Vigo was never stepparent material. He was a shit uncle too.”
I let out a long breath. Because maybe Angel pulled the trigger for reasons other than entering my good graces. “Are we done?” I ask Killian.
“We’re seriously not going to just dispose of him?” Gris asks. “Isn’t a body problematic?”
Angel and Rock wait for Killian’s answer.
My brother grunts softly, “Gigi will sleep better knowing he’s dead. And…” He looks at Rock and Angel. “New York will sort itself out a whole lot faster if no one is holding out for his return.”
Angel gives a single nod. “Any chance we might schedule a meeting?”
“Call my assistant,” I answer. “Her name is Gigi. She’ll see if I can fit you in.”
Angel gives me a cold smile. “My fate in her fucking hands. How fitting.”
I thought so.
I look at Killian who nods back. “Good luck with the police,” he says reaching out to take Angel’s gun. “I can promise you that this will never be found.”
Angel nods in return.
We turn, pressing back into the shadows, making our way to the car. Killian drives this time, Gris in the passenger seat, I lay down in the back.
Killian doesn’t turn on the lights. How he drives like that, I have no idea, but I don’t want to watch.
Besides, now that Vigo is taken care of, every muscle in my body fucking aches like I might never move again.
He parks the car and I start up the stairwell to my apartment, my brothers following behind. Twenty-six flights are a small form of fucking torture.
I leave them at my place—they can’t access their apartments tonight without tripping an alarm—and I make my way to Gigi’s apartment.
I slip in, locking the door behind me and then move into the bedroom, shucking off my clothes. My sweatshirt has some blood…Vigo’s.
Tomorrow, I’ll get rid of it. Now, I carefully fold it, disguising the stain. “Where were you?”
I look up to see Gigi up on one elbow, looking sleep tousled and so fucking good, that I ache to crawl in next to her. “I have news.”
“What news?” she asks, fully sitting up. Killian was right. This is better.
“Vigo is dead.”
