Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
For the past ten hours, I’ve tried to process Giulio’s death while trying to figure out how I’m going to approach this shit show.
If I wipe out the Davies family, I won’t get to the fuckers who are peddling organs in New York. That’s my priority right now.
Nearing the room, my fingers curl into fists, and no matter what I do, I can’t brace myself enough when I walk inside. The lights are dimmed, and the moment my eyes land on the redhead lying on the bed, the pain is excruciating.
A part of Giulio is still alive.
Slowly, I move closer until I stare down at the woman’s sleeping face. For a split second, I realize she’s beautiful even though she’s thin as fuck.
Her hair is on the lighter side and more ginger than red.
The moment passes, and my eyes narrow on her.
You’re the reason my brother was killed.
Her breathing changes and her eyelids flutter open. The most striking blue irises are revealed, but it’s clear she’s out of it as she tries to focus on me.
My voice is soft but filled with a world of rage as I say, “The kidney belongs to me.”
A frown forms on her forehead as she mumbles, “Huh?” Already passing out again, a soft smile tips her lips up as she whispers, “Thank you.”
I watch as she falls back to sleep, and pulling my phone out of my pocket, I open the camera and take a photo.
“Don’t get too attached to the kidney,” I growl before I turn around and walk away.
Heading down the hallway, my eyes land on Harlan Davies as he comes from the opposite direction. He glances at me, and a second later, his eyes widen with recognition.
I’m not surprised.
Most of the rich fuckers in New York know about the Cosa Nostra because we have our fingers in every fucking slice of pie.
He tips his head, but I don’t bother acknowledging the greeting. Right now, it’s taking all my strength not to kill the fucker in this hallway.
I can’t lose my shit. I have to focus on finding every single person involved with Giulio’s death.
Leaving the hospital, I climb into the Bentley and steer the vehicle toward Dario’s place.
Usually, I’d go to Franco, but I really can’t handle crying babies right now.
My phone vibrates again, and pulling it out of my pocket, I answer, “What!?”
“Where are you?” Vincenzo asks, his tone tense as fuck.
“On my way to Dario’s place.”
“We’ll meet you there.”
The call ends, and I toss the device on the passenger seat. Driving through the busy streets, the horror of seeing Guilio on the operation table rips my soul to shreds.
Giulio’s dead.
My eyes start to burn with unshed tears, and after I park the Bentley, I grab my phone and take the elevator up to Dario’s penthouse.
When the doors slide open, Dario’s head snaps to me from where he’s sitting on a couch in his living room. He shoves the laptop off his lap and darts to his feet.
“Jesus, Renzo.”
My feet move, my burning eyes locked on my friend.
Without having to say a word, Dario grabs me in a crushing hug. “I’m so fucking sorry. We’ll find who did this and kill them.”
Bringing a hand up, I grip his shirt as I struggle to breathe through the excruciating pain.
Somehow, I remain standing.
Somehow, the tears don’t fall.
I pull away from Dario and walk to the table where a bottle of Macallan stands next to five tumblers. I open the whiskey and pour a couple of fingers before bringing the tumbler to my lips, and dowing the amber liquid.
I hear the elevator doors open, then Elio’s voice snaps, “I was worried out of my fucking mind! Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
I pour myself another glass of whiskey before I turn around.
Vincenzo and Fabrizio stand next to Elio while Dario’s walking toward me to pour himself a drink.
“Anyone else want a drink?” Dario asks.
“No, thanks,” Elio answers, his worried eyes locked on me. Letting out a sigh, he walks toward me and places his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
Not by a long shot.
I take a sip of the whiskey, then nod.
‘Thank you.’
The memory of Skylar Davies slams into my gut, and I quickly drink the rest of the amber liquid.
She won’t be thanking me when I cut Giulio’s kidney out of her body.
Setting the tumbler down on the side table, I walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows and look at all the lights of New York City spread out before me.
Pushing my hands into the pockets of my pants, I say, “I want to know every single detail about Harlan and Skylar Davies.”
“On it,” Dario replies, and I hear him move as he takes a seat on one of the couches.
The fact that he’s not asking who they are tells me he’s already started digging for answers regarding Giulio’s murder.