Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I hesitate.
Then—fuck it. Might as well drop the rest of the bomb on his lap.
“You’re an uncle.” While technically Matteo isn’t my brother, he is.
I’m met with silence. Then a smile.
“Fuck. I’m an uncle.”
And for the first time in a long time, I feel hope.
Tonight, we end it.
67
Lorenzo
Tonight feels different.
Matteo walks beside me, hands in his coat pockets, eyes locked forward.
I haven’t seen this version of him since he retired, and I took over. But here he is, the scary motherfucker I need him to be.
“This is fun. We should do this more often.”
I glance over, letting my mouth twitch without committing to a smile. “Pretty sure your wife would be pissed if you came out of retirement.”
Matteo’s gaze drags over the dark corners, and he sees my men gathering in the corners to back us up. “Cute. You even brought bodyguards. What happened to the man who insisted on doing everything alone?” Low blow. He’s still pissed I didn’t tell him. He’ll get over it.
“We have kids.” I step to the door, ready to bust it down and end this for good. “They’re here so we don’t do anything stupid. Like die.”
“‘Bout time you finally got a head on your shoulders.” He winks.
I push open the door to the house and silently creep inside.
Hope Jax is right about this spot because it feels abandoned. When I turn the corner, I know he was. There, in an oversized recliner, is a man, and by the way he watches me, he’s the man I want.
He’s not panicking.
He lifts his chin as I stop in front of him, like he’s greeting a business partner instead of the end of his life.
Matteo drifts to my right, snagging a second chair and turning it backward before sitting. He folds his arms across the back, posture casual, expression anything but.
“Alright.” Matteo gestures to the man. “Let’s meet the last asshole on the list.”
The man’s mouth twitches.
I let the silence stretch, watching him and letting him feel the weight of my attention. Then I lean in.
“Name,” I prompt, voice soft.
He swallows. “You already know it.”
I tilt my head. “Humor me.”
His gaze lifts again, calculating. “Real name or alias?”
Matteo makes a face. “Seriously, I don’t have time for this shit.” Matteo turns to me. “You already know his name. Drop it and just kill the fucker.”
Marcus’s (Because yes, I do in fact know his name) lip curls like he wants to laugh, but he doesn’t.
I straighten, slow, and pace a small circle around Marcus’s chair. My boots echo across the wood floors in steady beats.
Every time I pass behind him, his shoulders tense like he expects the first strike.
He’s not wrong.
I stop directly in front of him again, bending at the waist, lowering my voice.
“You know why I’m here?”
His eyes glitter, dark and stubborn. “Because you’re obsessive.”
Matteo laughs once. “Oh, he is. You should’ve seen him when he was twenty. He once hunted a guy for a week because the bastard scratched his car.”
Marcus’s gaze flicks to Matteo. “That true?”
I don’t blink. “It was a nice car.”
Matteo points at me like he’s presenting evidence in court. “See? He doesn’t deny it. Psychopathic behavior.”
“I’m not a psychopath,” I respond, straightening. “I’m a romantic.”
Matteo’s brows shoot up. “No. Don’t. Don’t ruin the word romantic.”
I glance back at Marcus. “You know what you people did?”
Marcus’s mouth tightens.
“Grant Jacobson put the order out,” I continue, letting the name hit the room like a thrown knife. “He thought if he couldn’t have her, no one could. But he underestimated me.” I take a deep breath.
My throat tightens, but not because it hurts. Because I’m so close to closure.
I grab the bag Matteo is holding and start pulling things out.
Marcus’s eyes track the objects one by one, his throat moving as his body finally remembers fear.
Matteo’s voice follows the movement. “I hate to break it to you, Marcus, but if you thought your death would be fast, surprise, it won’t.”
Marcus swallows. “You’re really doing this?”
I pick up the rubber tubing, weigh it in my hand, as if I’m deciding whether to use it.
“You’re really acting surprised?” I turn back toward him. “Did you think the man who spent years erasing your whole network would rush the last kill?”
Marcus’s jaw sets. “I figured you’d want to end it and live happily ever after,” he scoffs.
I stop in front of him, letting the words hang between us. Then I nod. “Yeah. That would be smart . . . but no one has ever called me smart.”
“Nope. They haven’t.” Matteo’s voice slips in.
I let the tubing tap lightly against my palm.
“Every time Victoria jumped at a knock.” Tap. “Every time she couldn’t sleep.” Tap. “Every time she smiled, and I saw fear behind it . . .” Tap.
“She was safe. You had her well-guarded, apparently.”
“Safe,” I repeat, tasting the word. “You think safe means living?”