Dark Knight (Torrio Empire #4) Read Online J.L. Beck

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Dark, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: Torrio Empire Series by J.L. Beck
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Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
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“Mrs. Cooper?” I call out from the back steps. “Are you okay?”

Her head snaps up, like I’ve startled her. Her wrinkled cheeks are red with emotion. “Oh, Tatum. Hello.”

“What's wrong? I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be nosy, but I heard you out here when I was in the kitchen.”

“These little bastards.” She shakes her head with a hopeless little sigh that goes straight to my heart. “Look what they did. Hopping the fence so they can cut through my yard.”

Her mums were a beautiful yellow, orange, and purple yesterday. I was admiring them and wanted to compliment her on them the next time we ran into each other. I even considered asking Romero if we could get some for the front porch—I’m not trying to go so far as to plant them in the ground, since I don’t know the first thing about planting, but a few pots might be a nice start.

It hurts to see what was so beautiful yesterday trampled and broken up this morning. “Oh, goodness. I'm sorry!” I cry out, approaching the fence to get a better look at the wreckage.

“I don't mind them cutting through. It's a shortcut, I understand. But why do they have to trample on my flowers?” She draws her thick cardigan tighter around her trembling shoulders, and I gently pat her arm over the chain link fence.

“Do you want some help cleaning them up? I was thinking about finding a lawn and garden store around here to get some flowers for myself. I'd be happy to—”

“No, no, not at all, dear. I can head out and do that.”

“At least let me help you clean up a little. Please?”

“Well, I’m a bit overwhelmed, and the cool, damp weather doesn’t do my joints any favors,” she admits with a soft laugh. Romero could easily look out the window and see me on the other side of the fence. I don’t know why it matters that I’m visiting with the old neighbor. She’s as innocent as can be, so why does he appear to be so bent out of shape every time he sees us together? What he thinks or wants doesn’t matter. I walk through the gate that connects the two yards.

“Here’s a pair of gloves. We don't want to ruin those pretty hands of yours.” She smiles, and I gratefully slide my hands inside. With gloves protecting my delicate hands, I gather the broken blooms. “I’m going to go inside and grab the broom so I can clean this up.” I give her a nod. I don't know how successful she'll be if everything is wet, but I don’t say that.

“Do many of the kids around here behave like this?” I ask when she joins me again. “I noticed a group of them riding their bikes around a lot. They’re always yelling and cursing at each other. They seem kind of...I don’t know…rough?” I shrug for lack of anything better to say. These kids are nothing like the kids I grew up with.

“Oh yes! They prowl around this neighborhood looking for trouble, I swear. In fact there was a rash of tire slashings just last spring. Up and down the block. Everyone had a tire slashed.”

All I can do is shake my head. “Those little fuckers!” She lets out a startled laugh. “Sorry, but seriously, fuck them kids. Someone should teach them a lesson.”

“Oh, I agree, sweetie, but that's how kids are. Harry and I weren’t blessed with any of our own children, but I helped raise my younger siblings. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that children don't understand the value of things.”

“I didn't understand the value of much when I was a kid, but I would never slash people's tires for the hell of it.”

She raises a brow in question, “I'm sure you were always a nice girl, just the way you are right now, huh?”

I snort. “I had my moments.” We share a smile that makes me feel warm all over. Now that I’m thinking about it, she sort of reminds me of Sheryl. Kind, gentle, but willing to cuss you out if you deserve it. She never had to do that to me, but I overheard her snapping at more than one of Dad's guards over the years when they made the mistake of making themselves a little too comfortable in her kitchen.

“Let me guess, was Romero one of those kids when he was younger?” I ask. Now that I have picked up the broken blossoms, I dump them into a paper bag she left near my feet.

“Romero?” She wrinkles her nose, her expression clouding with guilt. “Like you, he also had his moments. Not that he had a very easy upbringing. I can’t really blame him for some of his behaviors.”

The back of my neck tingles, and I have to keep myself calm in the face of a possible clue about his past. “What do you mean? He's never told me much about how he grew up.”


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