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)
His eyes go impossibly wider. “No—please—”
I look at Rafe. “Get whatever else you can out of him. Cross-check what he said. If it all lines up . . .” I glance back at him. “Make it quick. He did talk, after all, so no reason to torture him . . . too much.”
Relief and terror cross his face in the same breath.
Rafe nods once. “You got it.”
I step away, dropping the knife on the table before wiping my hands on my jeans.
As I reach the door to leave, the man croaks, “You’re going after them.”
I pause, looking back. “What do you think?” I ask.
His throat works. “They’re not ready for you.”
I grin, dark and sharp. “No one ever is.”
I step into the hall with Rafe on my heels.
He stays quiet until we clear the threshold into the main warehouse. “You want to loop Matteo in?”
The question hits like a warning shot.
Matteo’s my brother in everything but blood. My closest thing to a conscience. Also, and most importantly, the son of the man who would put a bullet in my skull if he ever learned what secrets I’m keeping.
“No,” I say flatly. “He’ll want to question him, and I’m not sure what this idiot knows. He said he knows I’m distracted . . .”
“That could mean anything.”
“It could also mean they know everything.” I don’t say anything about Victoria, but by the way Rafe’s eyes narrow just slightly, he understands what I mean.
“Then we keep it clean,” he says.
“We kill him fast,” I correct, stepping toward the light spilling from the open door.
Rafe huffs a laugh. “Want to handle Boston on our own? Quietly.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell my uncle I want to spread my wings and handle this. Then we’re going to fuck shit up.”
Rafe snorts. “You planning to kill them all?”
I slide my sunglasses on and smile. “Not all at once,” I answer. “I’m not greedy.”
Rafe turns to walk in the opposite direction to start making calls.
“Rafe?”
“Yeah?”
“Get me everything on the Gallaghers,” I order, voice carrying across the distance. “Ports, fronts, lieutenants, accountants, girlfriends, enemies. Including when they shit and what type of toilet paper is used.”
Rafe’s smirk turns wicked. “This should be fun.”
I open the steel door to leave. “Everything.”
A few moments later, I’m in my car, hands on the wheel.
Connor Gallagher wants to be a problem.
I know exactly how to solve problems.
Permanently.
39
Victoria
I find the asshole in the foyer, shrugging into a black jacket.
Guess he’s going somewhere today . . . again.
It’s not that I like his presence, but I don’t like being alone in this big estate.
At least when he’s here, my brain is busy thinking of ways to avoid him. If he’s gone, I’m just bored.
Lorenzo doesn’t notice me at first, or more likely, he does, but chooses to ignore me.
“Where are you going?” The question leaves my mouth sharper than I intend because apparently, my self-preservation clocked out with my wedding vows.
He is still mid-button. Slowly, he turns his head like a lion acknowledging a fly that is trying to annoy him.
Lorenzo’s gaze slides over me. It moves from my head to my feet, then trails back up. It feels like he’s cataloging me, for what? I don’t know . . . maybe to measure my casket?
“Business.” The word lands clipped and final, like a stamp on an envelope. The last step before it’s shipped off.
“That’s not an answer.”
“That’s all you get.” His mouth twitches.
I step closer, because standing back feels like surrender. “I’m your wife. I think that earns me more than a single syllable.”
He drifts past me, tugging on his gloves like he’s dressing for war instead of leaving his house. “If you were looking for transparency, Little Bird, you married the wrong man.”
“I didn’t choose anything,” I hiss. His brows lift, but he doesn’t respond. “And what am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” I follow him to the door, heat climbing up my throat.
He pauses with his hand on the handle, then looks over his shoulder like he’s considering whether to toss me a bone. “Stay put and behave.”
“Behave?” The word comes out bitter, like it tastes rotten. “I’m not a pet.”
“No . . .” He leans in until he is close enough that I feel his breath against my cheek. “Because pets get affection.”
The sentence shouldn’t hurt. It does anyway. It hits some old bruise I didn’t know was still there.
He steps back, and I feel like I’ve been punched.
“Don’t test the perimeter. My guards won’t take it well.” His tone is colder, and his jaw is stiff like steel.
“Are you serious?” I demand.
He opens the door, and the morning light slices across the foyer, bright and stupidly cheerful. It doesn’t belong in this house, especially right now. “Deadly.”
Then he’s gone.
A heavy final thud echoes through the cavernous space as the door slams shut. The silence that follows isn’t peaceful. It actually feels predatory.