Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
His hair was covered in a knitted cap, but I would bet it was black or very dark brown, judging by his skin tone and brows.
His dark blue gaze moved across the room, taking in the body, the blood, the knife, and me, then looking back at Salvatore.
“Not bad. This will be relatively easy. Get the girl who isn’t bloody out,” he said, seeming to mean Wren.
“Ah, no. She’s not going anywhere without me,” I objected.
His gaze slid to me, a brow raised.
“You’re asking a favor and giving me shit?” he asked, his rough voice raked over me, making me feel like he’d grated me.
“Hey, easy,” Salvatore snapped. “They’re sisters,” he explained.
“No shit,” he said. “But they’re not fucking conjoined. They can move independently of each other, can they not?”
“It’s fine. Really,” Wren said, slowly getting to her feet, wincing a bit as some bruises twinged her. “Where do I go? Just outside?” she asked.
“My car is near the end of the driveway. Get yourself in and lock the doors. We should be fine, but just for your own peace of mind. Oh, and grab your sister’s purse off the—“
“Already got that,” Silvano interjected. “It’s in my car. You can take it out,” he added. “But before you go, did you go anywhere else in the house? Upper or lower floors?”
“No. Just in his trunk, then dragged through the lower level until we got to the kitchen,” Wren said, tone very matter-of-fact.
I had a feeling she would break down again later, but like me, she was operating in survival mode at the moment.
“Okay. You can go,” Silvano said, dismissing her as he put a giant duffle bag onto the counter and started to unzip it.
“Is he always so pleasant?” I grumbled at Salvatore as my baby sister hobbled her way to the door.
“Hey, you’re the one asking favors of me. Don’t think I need to be Prince fucking Charming about it,” Silvano said, shrugging, as he whipped out bottles of unmarked cleaners, placing them on the island.
“Silvano is part of the Family,” Salvatore explained.
“Step-child of the Family, more like,” Silvano supplied as he pulled out the biggest black garbage bag I’d ever seen.
“You were raised in the fucking Family. Stop being such a dick for five minutes, would you?” Salvatore snapped. “Anyway, Silvano has some specialized skills that come in handy in situations such as this.”
“Iron-clad stomach and a hand mixing fun chemical cleaners,” Silvano explained.
“He’s… he’s going to clean our DNA out of here?” I asked, putting the pieces together.
“That, yeah,” Salvatore said, nodding.
“And make your little murder go away,” Silvano said.
“It was fucking self-defense, could you shut the fuck up if you can’t be halfway fucking decent right now?” Salvatore grumbled, losing patience by the second.
“Was he not murdered? Self-defense or not, there’s a bunch of fucking knife wounds in the bastard’s chest and throat. Or did he run into the knife himself? Five or so times?” Silvano asked, moving around the kitchen, making his way toward me.
“We’re just going to have to fucking endure him for a half an hour,” Salvatore said, voice low, so he didn’t overhear us.
“It’s fine. I just… I just want this part over with, so I can go check on Wren,” I said.
“Sil, can we handle Whitney first?” Salvatore asked, and I could tell it was taking actual effort to keep his tone that casual. “Then we can get out of your hair so you can focus.”
“Yeah, working on it,” Salvatore said, reaching into the sink to yank out the drain catch, and slipping his own one in instead. “Alright. Over here. Scrub the fuck out of your hands. Under your nails too. With this,” he said, dropping a little scrubber into the sink. “Then you’re going to strip out of those clothes and shoes. Right here,” he added, pointing to where I was standing. Then wash again with this,” he said, pushing a small bottle of some ominous-looking murky white liquid toward the sink.
“Right here?” I asked, looking over at Salvatore.
“Don’t worry. You’re not my type,” Silvano said with his back to me, then turning to drop the bloody knife into the sink, making me jerk back.
“Why are you washing that? Shouldn’t you just… get rid of it?”
“And leave the knife block missing a knife? Think that won’t look suspicious as fuck and have the cops sniffing around?” he asked, and I had to agree that made sense, even as my stomach twisted as I watched my bloody hands drip water and soap onto the blade beneath. “Fucking knife blocks. People are out of their fucking minds…”
“Why?” I asked, looking for any way to distract myself, even engaging with the curmudgeonly Silvano Costa.
“‘Cause of exactly what happened here,” he said, waving around. “Never a good idea to leave weapons out in the open for anyone to use against you.”