Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
The assassin gripped a knife in his left hand, the blade short. Geno had no idea of the material, but it didn’t look like any knife he’d ever seen before, only that the blade was very sharp and looked lethal enough.
“Get on with it, bitch,” the man snarled.
The accent startled Geno. Definitely Australian.
“Who are you?” Amaranthe asked. Calm. Voice low. Compelling. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. If you plan on killing me, the least you can do is introduce yourself.”
“You shouldn’t have interfered.”
No trained assassin engaged in conversation. They got the job done. Geno would have killed Amara without hesitation. This man wasn’t a professional as much as he’d like to think he was. The plan in the dining room had obviously been worked out ahead of time, but it was amateur hour. Now the Ferraros had two prisoners to interrogate, and Geno would bet neither prisoner had poison capsules to use the way Amaranthe had. They would wish they did by the time Dario finished with them.
“I couldn’t let you kill Stefano Ferraro.” Amaranthe sounded innocent, sweet. Even puzzled. One of her gifts. Her voice continued to be compelling.
She looked smaller and more delicate and fragile than ever. The Australian rider took a step closer to her and she appeared not to notice. She tucked her hair behind her ear. Geno noticed she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring. What had she done with it? She was barefoot. She’d somehow kicked off her shoes when she’d hit the assassin’s chest, leaving the heels behind in the shadow tube as she entered. How many hours had she practiced that move?
“Stefano Ferraro is a traitor to all riders and deserves to die.”
Amaranthe frowned. “Do you have proof? If you do, you need to take it to the Archambault riders in France immediately to have him investigated.”
The Australian halted all forward swaying and remained still the moment she sounded alarmed, as if she were willing to believe him.
“They would do nothing. He’s too powerful.”
Amaranthe bit her lower lip and gave a small shake of her head. “Did you try? If not them, then certainly the International Council would listen. They would have to listen. They govern all riders, including the Archambaults.”
There was a hint of doubt in her voice, masterfully played. Geno focused his attention on the Australian’s posture. He was much more relaxed. He had even released enough tension in his arm that it dropped slightly and the tip of the knife was no longer pointed upward toward Amaranthe’s heart. She needed to keep talking to him in the sweet, innocent way she had, luring him in.
Geno sensed his brother Salvatore in the shadows to the right of him. Lucca was behind him. Both were utterly still, and he willed them to stay that way. The Australian made three of Amaranthe. On one hand, her diminutive size was a major part of the reason the assassin had relaxed, believing he had the upper hand, giving Amaranthe the advantage, but on the other hand, Geno knew if the man actually got to her, sheer bulk would count.
“They won’t listen,” the Australian said decisively.
“Did you already go to them and were turned down? There must be someone who would listen,” Amaranthe returned, frowning, and biting on her lip. “The Archambaults are sworn to be impartial. Why would they be afraid of the Ferraro family?”
“Are you afraid of the Ferraro family?”
“I am just meeting them for the first time really. I met Stefano briefly. We barely spoke. Mostly, I think he wanted to ensure I was good enough to become engaged to Geno. Geno is head of the New York family, but Stefano is head of all the Ferraro families. Everyone defers to him, which you obviously know, or you wouldn’t have targeted him.”
The Australian indicated the shadow behind her. “I’m going to give you a chance to walk away. You aren’t a Ferraro, and you have no part of this. Get rid of his ring permanently and get as far from that family as possible. Go back to being what you’re born to do—dancing.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked again. “Someone other than you should know the truth.”
The Australian narrowed his eyes, studying her face. “Why would you want to be with someone like Geno Ferraro?” Suspicion colored his voice. “Money? Power?”
Geno saw the tension creeping back into the assassin’s body. If he could see it, Amaranthe had to see it as well. If she did, she didn’t show it. She looked exactly the same, innocent and very disturbed over the things the man had revealed to her.
“Family,” she supplied. “I’ve never had a family, and Geno has a very large extended family. I can feel the tremendous care he has for them. I can’t help but want that for myself and my children.”