Her voice cuts sharper this time. “You could’ve killed our baby. The baby you forced…”
I don’t let her finish. I kiss her. The kiss is soft but possessive. I take her lower lip between mine, tasting her. She tries to pull away, to end it, but I don’t let her. I need to feel her, so I can breathe again. I need to taste her, to wash away the bitterness of fear still clinging in my mouth.
I cup her cheek and gently turn her face toward me. She doesn’t kiss me back, but she lets me press my lips against hers again and again, savoring her. I don’t know how long I kiss her, but by the time I pull back, the chaos in my veins has settled into a stillness.
I look into her beautiful eyes and wish I could tell her how sorry I am, how deeply ashamed I feel.
But I can’t.
Why?
Because I’m a selfish son of a bitch.
***
One Week Later
I cover my nose with a handkerchief and kneel beside the bloated corpse. The stench of decay finds its way through anyway. I ignore the lifeless eyes, wide open and vacant, and focus on the mark carved into his forehead.C.B.—Carlo Bruni, that son of a bitch. A whole continent away, and yet every day, I’m finding the bodies of my men scattered across the city, each one branded with his damned signature.
This one stings more than the others. The dead man lying in front of me was the lawyer supposed to handle Lucia’s divorce from that bastard.
I get to my feet and take a step back from the body. Blue and red sirens flash across the alley, but I know no one will disturb us until we’re gone. Every cop in this neighborhood is on my payroll. I put food on their tables, and in return, they wag their tails for me like loyal dogs.
I light a cigarette, taking in the scene. Rafael, along with a few of my armed men, stands guard nearby. He catches my look and walks over.
“Give him a proper burial. Does he have family?” I ask.
“A father, mother, a sister, and a wife.”
I nod, emphasizing my point. “Make sure they’re taken care of. Tell them as long as I’m breathing, they get paid every month.”
“Understood, boss. We should clear out and let the cops do their job.”
I flick the cigarette onto the wet asphalt and slide into the backseat. As the vehicle starts moving, my phone buzzes with a message from Senator McKay,
“Heard there are irregularities in Mrs. DeLucci’s paperwork. Better get it reviewed in Rome. If it’s clean there, it stays clean here. No one wants jurisdictional issues.”
The message is clear. I can’t finalize Lucia’s divorce until Carlo lets it happen. Otherwise, he’ll kill any lawyer or judge who dares to touch the case. That’s what the senator has picked up on, and why he’s staying far away.
I chew the corner of my lip, staring at the screen, anger boiling inside me. I grip the device so tightly it’s as if Carlo’s neck is in my hands instead.
“Bad news?” Rafael asks.
I hold the phone out to him without a word, turning my attention to the street outside. The neighborhood is a wasteland, a rotting carcass of a city that looks like its residents vanished ages ago. Ironically, it generates some of my highest revenue streams.
“The senator’s right. With Carlo’s reach in Italy and the killers he’s got here, there’s no way he’ll let Lucia divorce him legally.”
“Carlo’s definitely getting help from Noah’s crew,” I say. “Start asking around, find out who’s seen what.”
“And then what?”
I glance at him. The tattoos snaking up his neck peek out from under his collar, a stark reminder of the violence he thrives on. “Find out who’s involved. Then make sure every person over thirteen connected to them loses a trigger finger before the month is over.”
Rafael raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin curling at the corner of his lips. I turn back to the window, my voice low as I mutter, “Let’s see who’s got the balls to pull a gun on my men after that.”
“Good idea. I’ll collect the fingers and send them to Noah in a nice box.”
I’m not in the mood to even smirk.
