Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Ah, okay. Well, I, ah, I know who you are,” she admitted, then immediately raised her glass, taking a big gulp of the wine that cost more for a bottle than my entire suit did. Which was saying something since I was wearing designer.
“Massimo Grassi,” I said, nodding. “Owner of this winery,” I added.
“Right. Well, I sort of mean… I know about your other business,” she told me, keeping admirable eye contact for someone who was confronting someone she knew was in the mafia.
“I invest in several other ventures,” I told her since everyone knew that you never owned up to being a member of the “family” even if someone was confronting you with actual proof.
“That’s not what I meant either.”
“Then what did you mean?” I asked, wondering how daring she was going to be.
“Oh, cut the crap,” she said, agitation overtaking the nerves she was clearly dealing with. “We both know you are in the mob.”
“There is no such thing as the mob,” I informed her, because that was always how we were supposed to answer.
“No?” she asked, brows raising. “Then explain Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, John Gotti…”
“Hardworking Italian-Americans who suffered from a smear campaign against them,” I told her, finding the irritated flush that crept up her neck a lot more endearing than I should have.
“So are you going to deny that you are a hitman too?”
“I think you’ve been watching too many action movies, sweetheart.”
“Are you going to deny that you killed my boyfriend?”
Fuck.
There it was.
I swear the impact of her words almost sent me back a step.
Because while, yes, I had done it, and, yes, I knew who she was, she was never supposed to know it was me who had done it, or who I was in general.
Secrecy was the most important aspect of my job. No one could ever know who I was. If they did, I would have to quit. And then where would the Family be?
“I don’t know your boyfriend,” I told her since, technically, I’d never met the guy.
“Didn’t know. Past tense. Because you killed him. Four years ago.”
In my mind, I couldn’t help but flash back. To a rooftop in a bad neighborhood. To top-floor apartment. To a man sitting on a couch with a bullet through his head.
Then the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen rushing out and looking right at me through the window.
“Sweetheart, I don’t—“
“May seventh,” she cut me off. “Kind of hot for May. You were across the street on a rooftop. That building conveniently didn’t have cameras. You can’t deny it. I know it’s you. I’ve been looking into it almost every day for four years. I don’t have any doubt that it was you.”
“And yet you are here, talking to me, instead of pleading your case to the police.”
To that, she snorted.
Shaking her head, she said, “What case? You wouldn’t be who you are if you weren’t good, right? Almost perfect, in fact. Almost. But the funny thing I’ve learned about police in my life is that they mostly only succeed at their jobs if the evidence is practically dropped in their laps. They would never work as hard as I’ve needed to.”
“You’ve asked?”
“No,” she admitted, making some of the tension ease.
“Then why are you here? To try to blackmail me?” I asked, thinking of how that wasn’t as far-fetched as I might’ve once thought.
Josie had blackmailed Matteo.
Sure, she thought it was the only way for her to survive, but she’d used it. Successfully, even. For a time.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. Taking a deep breath, her gaze skittered down to her feet for a long moment before they rose again.
I couldn’t say for sure exactly what I saw there. It seemed a mix of several things. Fear, uncertainty, hope, and desperation.
That was a lethal combination in and of itself.
It seemed even more deadly given the situation we found ourselves in.
Her light green eyes held my gaze for a long moment as she struggled to force the words out.
When they did, fuck, a light wind could have knocked me over.
“I need your help.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Cammie
If you had told me that I might someday be seeking assistance from Cody’s killer, I would have probably laughed in your face.
It was interesting how life worked, I guess.
I mean, however surprised I might have been to admit I needed his help, Massimo looked even more shocked.
His head actually jolted backward at my words. His lips parted. His lovely, mismatched eyes widened.
“What?” he asked, sure he misheard me.
“I need your help,” I repeated.
“Help with what?” he asked, brows pinching.
“I’m going to need another drink before we get into that,” I said, moving forward toward the bar. “May I?” I asked, waving toward the bottle of the best-tasting wine I’d ever had in my life.
Granted, I was no judge. I generally didn’t even like wine unless it was the ultra-cheap, mostly sugar, type. More fruit juice than wine, really.