Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Check this out,” Enzo calls from the bedroom. I find him sitting on the bed, frowning at a stack of papers in his lap. He’s flipping through them and inspecting something at the top.
“An electric bill?” I frown as he hands me one of the pages. It looks like basically any other official document.
“Look at the address in the top corner.”
“It’s for a different house.”
“Exactly.” He holds up the stack. “There are like five different addresses in here.”
“Why the fuck would there be mail for a bunch of different houses?”
“Because I think Corrado used to live here, but he left when shit went down. He tried to clear out, but—” Enzo shakes the papers. “He missed some stuff. And now we know which properties he owns, or at least where he’s paying their bills.”
Stefano comes stomping down the hall, looking pissed. “We came all this way to this shitty little town for some fucking bills?” He picks up a lamp and throws it against the wall. It smashes into a million pieces. “I’m tempted to wreck this whole fucking place.”
“Another time.” Enzo gets up and shoves the pages into his back pocket. “Relax, you’ll get another shot at them soon.” He pats Stefano’s arm as he walks past.
“Who knew war could be so boring?” Stefano glares as he lightly knocks a small porcelain cat statue onto the floor. It clatters and rolls into the corner.
“If you really want to break shit—” But my words get cut off by the sound of shattering glass. Enzo shouts something and I’m running toward him, gun drawn and ready, with Stefano at my back.
The living room is a sudden mess. I don’t know how, but there’s fire everywhere. Enzo’s screaming and throwing shit at the flames, trying to douse them, but it’s too late. The couch is already ablaze, filling the space with thick smoke way faster than I thought possible.
“Out the back!” Stefano roars and we’re racing after him. There’s another crash and another loud whoosh as more fire spreads behind us, engulfing the entire front of the house.
We burst through the ruined back door and into clear air. I’m coughing roughly and spitting while Stefano goes storming around toward the front. I hear him yelling and I run after, but it’s too late. I get there in time to see a black van peel out and drive off, its back door slamming shut. It careens around a corner and is gone.
“Molotov cocktail,” Enzo says, hacking something ugly up from his lungs. “Came right through the window.”
“There are eyes on this place.” I shove him away and we go staggering back down the sidewalk.
The guy mowing his lawn’s still there, sucking away on his cigarette. He barely glances over.
“Almost,” Stefano laments as we part ways and get back into our trucks. “That was almost fun.”
But once we’re driving back to the city and I feel like I’ve coughed enough to scald my lungs to bloody ribbons, Enzo looks at me and pats the bills he’s got still tucked into his pants.
“We’re on to something,” he says with a grin and a gleam in his eye.
For all the shit he gives Stefano, he likes the thrill just as much as the rest of us.
Most of my life was spent chasing the high of a good fight. But now all I can think about is getting back home to Fiorella. I can picture her tent on fire, her car burning, her screams echoing through the night. It fucks me up how badly I need to see her. And I know this distraction isn’t doing anyone any good.
I drop Enzo off back at the depot but don’t stick around. “Give Davide those addresses and see what he can find.” I head back to the city, driving straight for home. When I park, I get out and have to fight the urge to go sprinting into Fiorella’s tent.
Relief floods me when I finally step inside and find her with her head under the hood of the Spider. She’s doing something to the engine, cursing loudly and creatively the whole time. “You donkey dick licking, sunburn of a fucking piece of shit belt, I’m going to choke you to goddamn death with my big fat—”
She yelps when I grab her from behind. I nearly get smashed in the face with a wrench, but at least I was expecting it and manage to catch her wrist before she brains me. “Hey, baby,” I say, holding her tight.
“Jesus Christ, Luca, you scared the hell out of me. What are you—”
I silence her with a hard kiss.
God, I needed that.
I needed her taste. Her whimper. The way her hard body turns soft against mine like she melts into me. Everything about her is pure perfection, and seeing her safe makes something lightly unclench from around my heart.