Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Antonio holds up his hands, his expression blank. “She wouldn’t shower.”
“So you took one with her?”
Alexis lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “So I get the piss, and you get the shower. Nice.”
I don’t bother entertaining his jokes. “You fucked her?”
Antonio plants his scarred hands on the counter. “No.”
I study him with my instincts tuned to every flicker of deception. He’s telling the truth, but something isn’t sitting right. “So, what? You washed her?”
He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the tray, the chicken and potatoes in the pan resting in bed together like husband and wife. “Yeah.”
“And?”
His shoulders rise and fall, the movement tight. “And she tastes sweet.”
Alexis whistles as the hair rises on the back of my neck. “You went down on her?”
Antonio scrubs a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “I lost my head.”
“Damn right, you did. And what about you? What did you make her do for you?”
“I didn’t make her do anything. Fuck. She was crying, and then she wanted me to. And I handled myself.”
Alexis folds his arms over his chest, eyes gleaming. “An unselfish lover. Good for you, Tonio. I didn’t think there was a man in our world who would give pleasure to a woman without taking something for himself.”
Antonio’s nostrils flare. “It was a mistake.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “The only mistake was letting yourself get attached.”
Antonio turns his back on us, gripping the edge of the counter. “She’s different.”
I exchange a look with Alexis, and for once, my younger brother is as serious as I am. This is dangerous. Antonio never lets himself feel—not like this. He’s a soldier, built for this life, trained to be cold and efficient. But now? Now he’s looking at the girl like she’s more than leverage.
Before I can say more, my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen and curse under my breath.
“What?” Alexis asks, already reading my expression instantly.
“Enzo,” I say, shoving the phone into my pocket.
Antonio straightens, his entire posture shifting into his lethal stance. “Her uncle cares, but her father doesn’t give a shit. Is he making a move?”
I shrug, pressing my lips into a serious line. “I doubt it, but maybe we should move her.”
Alexis whistles low. “Where to?”
“A safe house. Small place on the outskirts of the city.”
Antonio doesn’t react right away. He looks past me, toward Aemelia’s closed door. He knows what this means. Being a prisoner is easy here—luxury at her fingertips, space to breathe. The safe house will be different. Basic. Cramped. Mattresses on the floor, soldiers visible at the perimeter, no privacy. She’ll be trapped with us in isolation.
Antonio’s jaw flexes, but he nods. “It’s an option. Let me talk to Enzo… see where his head is at.”
“Okay, but take some of your crew. I’ve got a bad feeling about him.”
I rub my jaw and head over to the liquor cabinet to pour myself some whiskey. We always knew this plan was going to bring rats out of their tunnels.
Aemelia cannot be our weakness. But as I watch Antonio turn away from me for the first time, I’m not entirely sure where his loyalties lie.
13
ANTONIO
CUTS LIKE A KNIFE
When Luca needs something done, I am his go-to person. We need intel, and so I work my contacts, visiting places around the city where business is done.
At Emilio’s Pork Store, the butcher’s shop frequented by many families, the scent of raw meat mingles with the iron tang of blood. The saw hums as a man in a stained apron carves through bone with practiced ease. The place is dimly lit, a single overhead bulb flickering slightly, casting shadows that stretch unnaturally along the walls.
My men step inside, the bell jingling above the door to announce our arrival. Vito’s first, with his fearsome face, followed by Andre who scopes the place, his hand on his weapon. Gabe Ferrano sticks close to me while they size up who’s inside—only one elderly customer who’s selecting two pork chops. Gabe’s twin, Matteo, follows me, keeping watch for an ambush. We can’t leave anything to chance. Outside, four of Alexis' men wait in cars, ready to step in if we need them.
Carlo’s brother, Enzo, is waiting for me in the back, standing near a counter where fresh cuts are laid out like pagan offerings. He’s older than Carlo, shorter, thicker in the waist maybe—who the fuck knows after all these years—but just as sharp-eyed. As a made man of the Mesina family, he’s protected and wealthy enough that he doesn’t need to take a hands-on role at the store his father founded, but he does because he enjoys carving up the dead. He wipes his hands on a rag, his mouth twisting into something like a smirk. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back, a deep scar cutting through one forearm which wasn’t earned in the butcher's shop but on the streets. He doesn’t look nervous, but I catch the way his fingers flex around the handle of his knife.