Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Holy hell. Grandmother apologizing and admitting a mistake. I’m having trouble forming thoughts. I almost miss that little dig at the very end, which is pretty standard for her.
“Thank you?”
“Don’t say it like a question, dear, it’s weak.” She gets up and begins clearing the tea. “I’ve said what I wanted to say. You’re dismissed.”
I stand up automatically. What does this mean? What exactly did she promise that Yilmaz man and how does it involve me? I want to ask her to explain, but I’ve been dismissed. I know better than to linger. I grab my dresses and leave the room.
I find Kennedy in the hall. She seems concerned. “Are you okay?” she whispers.
“I’m fine.” I glance over my shoulder. “She apologized.”
Kennedy looks stunned. “Seriously?”
“I know. I’m kind of in shock.”
“Is she sick? Oh, god, she’s finally dying, isn’t she?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did the laws of physics flip upside down? Oh, no, I get it. Pigs are flying.”
“I think she just regrets a choice.” The weight of that conversation slowly settles on my shoulders. “And I have a feeling it has to do with that car bomb last night.”
Kennedy’s grin fades away. “Should we be worried?”
“Definitely.” I heft the dress bag. “But for now, let’s just get packed. I’ll figure this out later.”
Chapter 15
Adriano
My fist thuds into the Gray Wolf operative’s chin. His face snaps sideways, and he groans. Blood leaks from a wound in his gut.
Fucking Vittorio did a number on this guy. He’s sliced up and barely alive. The other man is in better shape, only a few broken bones. I have him chained to the wall and drugged into unconsciousness.
This one, though, doesn’t have very long.
“Did Demir send the car?” I ask and hit him again. It sends a thrill of pleasure into my veins, hurting him like this. I’m twisted and broken, and all I know is death and suffering. Like my father, like his father before him. I am hell. I am sin and suffering. And anyone who gets in my way will break.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, groaning, his head lolling. He’s tied to a chair set over a drain. The floor beneath him is stained a light rusty red.
“What relationship does Demir have with my wife?” I walk to a nearby table and lift up a rusty carving knife.
“Please.” The man’s eyes widen. He’s in his early thirties with a thick black beard and a scarred face. Clearly, he’s one of Gray Wolf’s street thugs. “I don’t know.”
I stab straight into his hand. He screams, arching his back. I feel the blade scrape over bone.
“Did Demir send the car?” I ask, leaning into the blade. The man’s thumb slices off with a wet sucking noise. It falls to the floor, and he starts shaking in terror. “What relationship does Demir have with my wife?”
“The car!” the man shrieks. “He sent the car!”
I step back, frowning. Blood’s welling up down his midsection now, and he’s very, very pale. “How do you know?”
“I stole it for him. I saw it on the news later. Definitely the one I took. They have explosives—in a warehouse—please, no more. No more!”
I cut off his pinky finger. He sobs as I kick the severed flesh toward the drain. “Give me names. As many as you can think of.”
He starts rattling off Turkish men. I write them down the best I can. His head begins to loll, and I have to slap him to keep him going. But he’s obviously at his limit. I get six names before he fades, his breath coming fast and shallow. Blood’s dripping to the floor, more red stain gathering around the drain.
I step back and consider. Confirmation that Demir sent the car bomb is good, and more names mean a clearer idea of his network. But these men aren’t going to know the important information.
Like was Demir lying about what he said? Did Helena really cut him some deal that involved Lucille?
The car bomb suggests this is about much more than just money.
I toss the bloody knife onto the table, wipe my hands on a towel, and head upstairs. That bastard will die shortly. I’ll have Luca get rid of the body while I work on the other man, but I doubt he’ll give me much more than names.
I wash my hands upstairs. More blood runs from the water. I scrub until it’s all clean and make my way toward my room. I’m running on fumes, exhausted and working through a dozen different problems at once.
And I stop in my tracks when I find my wife unpacking her things.
I watch her silently. She doesn’t notice me at first. Lucy is so graceful and calm as she folds some sweaters and puts them into a set of drawers I left out for her. Each motion is contained and controlled. She hums to herself softly, and my heart stutters.