Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Well, I’m not sure who he is, but if I hear anything around the bar, I’ll let you know.” He sips the coffee his sister set down for him and winces at the heat. The image of torturing him with scalding hot liquid makes me smile.
Yes, I’m a bad person, evil, in fact. I hurt people. I enjoy it. And this piece of scum sitting at my table deserves so much more.
Once again, the door flies open and right on time Gio stalks into the room. “Mr. Lombardi, apologies for interrupting, but this is urgent.” My brother sets the documents on the table in front of me and I nod.
“Thank you, Gio. I’ll be done in a few moments. I’m sure Andrea has important things to catch up on. Don’t you?” We both settle our stares on the man who seems to now be fumbling for an answer. Easy prey. He nods. Gulps down the coffee that I know must still be warm and I feel the buzz inside. I get it every time I’m about to torture someone.
The first time I felt it was when I was thirteen. My father taught me how to slice a man’s fingers from his hand. It was euphoric. Like sex, violent, yet passionate. Intoxicating. It was something I craved. Like a hit of heroin to the vein. Ever since then, I’ve been addicted to it.
“I’ve got some deliveries coming for the bar. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you find this Russo character. If I do hear anything or see anything untoward, I’ll definitely let you know, Franco.” He uses my first name like we’re friends. We’re not. Far from it.
If he were on fire in front of me, I wouldn’t piss on him. In fact, I may even be the one to light the match. “Of course.” My smile is as fake as this asshole. Offering him my hand, we shake, and Gio escorts him out. Pushing the button on the intercom, I wait for her sweet voice to filter through.
“Franco?”
“Come in here right now.” My order is gruff, more than I intend it, and I’m sure she thinks she’s in trouble. I wouldn’t mind bending her over this table and making her scream, but there are more serious matters for her to learn about.
Gio and Matteo were right. If I want this woman, I’m going to need to be honest with her. When she enters the room, her big blue eyes meet mine, filled with concern. “Is there a problem?” Shaking my head, I gesture at the chair and rise from my own. Once she’s seated, I stroll to the door and lock it.
“I need to bring you deeper into this than I wanted to,” I start, slipping back into my seat. Her scent fills the room, sweetness and innocence with a bite of dark. There’s an animal inside this girl that I want to let loose and have her devour me.
“I thought I was already in too deep?” The concern in her tone is warranted. This was the last thing I wanted. But I’ve made a choice.
“I need you to listen to me. It’s about your father. It’s about something I did.” Meeting her gaze, I reach for her hand, which she gives me without a flinch. “I know who murdered your father.” The words are out before I can hold them back.
There’s no other way to do this, so I inhale a deep breath and let the story flow from me.
“It was the first time I did something that could have been handled differently. My father had found out that Mr. Lombardi senior was stealing money from him. Your father did our taxes for a while, a long while. Since before you were born.”
She nods as if she knew this. She doesn’t seem surprised and I stop, watching her with my brows furrowed.
“You’re telling me things I’ve known for a long time, Franco. My father wasn’t above the law. I’ve seen things, heard things.” She shrugs and meets my gaze again.
“But—”
“I didn’t know it was you when you first walked into the bar that night, and after our first night, that’s when I realized it really was you.” She’s not making any sense now. The first time I saw Raina was the night in the bar when I met with her brother. There’s no way she’s seen me before.
“Raina, I think you’re confused.”
“No.” She shakes her head with a small smile. “There were photos in my father’s office. I found them the first time when I was sixteen,” she continues, but I’m still left confused. “My father kept them because he needed insurance from what he was doing, I guess. But there was one photo in particular. It didn’t have a name scribbled on it like the others. It was of a young man, perhaps in his early twenties. At least, that’s what he looked like. With dark hair and eyes. Handsome. Dangerous-looking.”