Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
And I got to hear the one-sided conversation with this lunatic. And Soren.
Soren, who he was clearly familiar with.
Soren, who had just as clearly been keeping just as many secrets from me as I’d been from him.
I wish I’d found a way to get a warning to him before the man hung up. To tell him to get in touch with Bastian. To urge him not to come down here himself.
While we waited, the man ranted and raved, dragging me around with him as he paced the stage, occasionally dropping random threats about what he was going to do to me if Soren didn’t show up in time.
I didn’t know this guy, but everything about him screamed that he was some sort of criminal.
What did that say about Soren? A man that I’d been so sure was morally white, who walked on the right side of the law, who didn’t keep such giant secrets from me?
Was it hypocritical of me to be upset with him for doing to me what I was also doing to him? Sure.
I guess I just… didn’t want to believe in any darkness in Soren. The man who’d shown me nothing but goodness.
“Get back here,” the man snarled, fingers digging into my arm so hard I couldn’t help but wince.
But it was right then that the door opened.
Relief and worry muddled into a heady cocktail in me as he looked at the man. And I watched him.
If I hadn’t been looking so closely, I never would have seen it.
A flash of metal in the waistband of his pants.
A gun.
Soren had a gun.
That was a thought I never thought would cross my mind.
But he did.
Which meant that if I could just get to it, this would all be over.
I yanked against the duct tape, creating just enough space for me to turn the knife in my palm and start to saw at the tape with it, the blade cutting my skin just as much as it was slicing my binds.
But there was no time for pain, for weakness.
The conversation between Soren and Alen was escalating—old history and new betrayals tangling into a noose big enough to hang them both with.
The next part moved too quickly to process anything.
The tape broke.
I stabbed Alen’s hand.
Then I flew off the stage, grabbed the gun.
Then Renzo was there.
And Bass and Serano.
Then, like some insane plot twist, Elian’s cousin— Teresa.
“Bass, Serano, take our friend here and shove him in the office,” Renzo said, making the two men rush up toward Alen, grabbing him, and dragging his bulky frame down the steps and into the hallway. “Alright. We’ll deal with that later. You good?” he asked, gaze moving over my face.
But Soren was already moving toward me, grabbing my chin, and angling my face up. “Is it broken?” he asked, meaning my nose.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“He’s got a mean punch but bad aim,” I told Soren as Renzo approached. “He mostly hit my cheek.”
“Yo,” Renzo said, waving his gun between the two of us. “What the fuck is this?”
Not knowing that Renzo would never shoot me, Soren stepped between us, blocking me from the crazy man with the gun.
“Renz, I can explain,” I said, moving to stand beside Soren.
“I knew you were being shady,” Teresa said, heels clicking as she moved forward. “I just knew it. Granted, I didn’t see this coming. But I’m eating up my ‘I told you so’ moment here.”
“T, I think you got some explaining to do too,” Soren said.
The guy looked like his head was spinning.
“What? You think I’m only a wife, mother, and secretary? I got layers. Connections. And one of those connections is my cousin through marriage Elian. Who happens to be a capo in the Lombardi crime family. When you flew outta the office like your ass was on fire, I got a bad feeling. I made a call just in case…”
“And Elian called Bass, who called me, so here we are,” Renzo said, finally putting his gun away.
“Lombardi crime family,” Soren repeated, looking from Teresa to Renzo, then—finally—me. “Lombardi crime family?” he repeated.
“I can explain,” I said, my heart feeling like it was crushing in my chest.
Soren exhaled hard. “You’re trying to wash your money through the club.”
Well, shit.
I guess I didn’t have to explain.
“For fuck’s sake,” Renzo said, sighing as he tipped his head back to look at the ceiling.
“How…” I started.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Soren said, sucking in a deep breath, “but this isn’t my first rodeo with money laundering.”
“Wait, what?”
“Guessing the name Alen Hakobyan doesn’t ring a bell to you,” Renzo piped in.
“Should it?”
“He’s more of Primo’s problem than ours.”
“Primo Esposito?” I asked, brows scrunched.
But it all fell into place, little pieces I hadn’t realized I’d been collecting for years.
Soren telling me about kicking around The Bronx when he was younger.
Soren’s “friend” who gave him a leg-up in life when he’d been struggling.