Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
He’s covering his eyes, which at least proves he has some sense. If only he’d used it and stayed out of here in the first place.
“Get out,” I shout, but he doesn’t move.
“I would love to,” he says. “Really, there’s nothing I want more than to walk into traffic and forget what I just saw, but this can’t wait.”
“It can wait five goddamn minutes,” I snap.
“No,” he says, lowering his hand carefully to check that we’re both decent. “It really can’t.”
That gets my attention. Rafe’s been egging me on with Sofia since day one. He wouldn’t be pushing his way in now if it weren’t important.
I turn to Sofia. She’s facing the wall, buttoning her blouse with shaking hands. I hate how embarrassed she looks, but not as much as I hate that I can’t do a damn thing about it with Rafe standing there.
“Sofia,” I say quietly.
“Nope,” she shoots back, not turning around. “I’m fine. This is fine. Everything here is perfectly fine.”
Rafe lets out an awkward cough. I shoot him a look that could kill him, and he drops his eyes to the floor with some modicum of respect.
“Sofia,” I try again.
She finally turns around. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, her lips are swollen, and her eyes are bright. There’s a small bruise forming on her neck that I probably put there with my lips. The sight of it nearly undoes all my self-control.
“I need you to go home,” I tell her. “But this isn’t about you.”
She nods, but I still catch the embarrassment on her face. Fuck, I hate watching her leave like this. We should talk about it, or at least have more than five goddamn seconds to breathe.
“It’s late.” She shrugs. “I was leaving anyway.”
“There will be a car waiting downstairs in two minutes,” I tell her.
“I don’t need a car,” she argues, her resolve finally breaking. “It’s been too much. I’m fine with the subway.”
I shake my head. “I’m not asking you. Like I said, it’s a new policy. Take the car.”
Her jaw tightens, but she nods anyway. I watch her walk toward the door, my heart pounding, reprimanding me for letting her go.
“Goodnight, Rafe,” she huffs as she walks through the door.
“Take the car,” I shout to her as a reminder. She throws up a thumbs up as she rushes away.
“What. The. Fuck?” Rafe says the second she’s gone. “Jesus Christ, I knew you had a hard-on for her, but in the fucking conference room? Anybody could’ve walked in.”
“But anybody didn’t walk in,” I say through clenched teeth. “Just you.”
I push the door open and we head toward my office. He knows better than to talk while we’re walking. Even with the floor mostly empty, there are certain conversations we don’t have in the open, just to be safe.
“What the fuck was so important?” I ask, turning on him as soon as we’re back in my office.
I slam the door in frustration before rushing to my computer to check the security cameras. I find Sofia in the elevator, covering her face with her hands. The second it chimes, she straightens up and walks out, like she’s totally unbothered by what we just did.
I watch as she exits the building, then thankfully gets in the car that’s waiting for her. Once it pulls away from the building, I turn my attention back to Rafe.
“What happened?” I ask him.
His face is devoid of any humor. “Carlos was taken.”
Carlos is one of my best drivers. I use him for everything because I know I can trust him. He’s even driven Sofia home a few times.
“What the hell do you mean he was taken?”
Rafe nods gravely. “He was on a dock run when two SUVs boxed him in, and the men dragged him out of the car. We’ve got the whole thing on video.”
“When did this happen?”
“About an hour ago.”
My jaw tightens. “Then why the hell did you wait so long to get me?”
“We were still confirming. He missed his check-in, which is what made us look in the first place. Then Tomasso went over there and found his phone two blocks away.”
“Who took him?” I ask, though I’m pretty certain I already know the answer.
“Calderone’s men,” he says, confirming my suspicion.
“Do you know that for a fact?” I ask slowly, between gritted teeth.
I’m ready to burn their whole operation to the ground, but I’m not going to do that without proof that they threw the first punch.
“They wanted us to know,” he says carefully.
“What do you mean?”
“They already gave him back,” he answers. “About fifteen minutes ago, one of our men found him near the Queensboro Bridge.”
“Is he alive?”
“Barely. They roughed him up pretty bad. Not bad enough for us to escalate, but he’ll need a few days to recover.”
“Why would they do that?” I ask.