Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“How do the stolen girls fit in?”
He hesitated. “I took a percentage.”
“You had no qualms about kidnapping and selling human beings?” I asked, disgusted.
He simply lowered his eyes to the floor, perhaps realizing it himself.
“My brother,” Gia said.
Roman met her gaze. “Mateo was…uneasy with the girls. Beating up some asshole who doesn’t pay what he owes is different than taking young girls—”
“Because he had a conscience,” Gia cut in.
“He went to the feds, but he got unlucky. That agent happened to be on Angus Scava’s payroll. That’s how Angus found out. Needless to say, he was not pleased with his nephew’s agenda, but he’s family. He couldn’t bring himself to kill him outright, I guess. And he smelled money. Angus Scava took over the operation. He left Victor in charge, at least for the sake of appearances, but he made all the decisions.”
His eyes bored into Gia as if he would make sure she understood that part.
“Angus Scava wouldn’t have ordered my brother’s execution,” Gia said quietly.
“He not only did that, but he ordered yours.”
She shook her head beside me.
“No. I don’t believe you.”
“Victor was supposed to kill you.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Rebellion against Angus. Lust. Who knows? He’s completely unreliable.”
“What about the agent? Why kill him?” Salvatore asked.
“All human life is expendable to Angus Scava. And there’s more than one corrupt agent employed by the federal government. And now that Angus took over the operation, he wanted me out. He had no use for me, and that presented an opportunity to put the Benedetti family out of commission for good. Franco and/or I would be picked up, and that would be the end of us. Feds don’t take the killing of their agents lightly.”
“Angus Scava wouldn’t have ordered my brother’s execution. He wouldn’t have ordered for me to be killed.”
I glanced at Gia, who had her eyes squeezed shut, her hands on her face, fingers pressing against her temples.
“He did.”
He said it so coldly. I raised my gun and pulled the trigger, putting a bullet into his other shoulder.
Roman cried out in agony.
“Get him up,” I ordered the guard behind him, who lifted him back to his knees.
“A deal!”
“So before Angus stepped in, you’d agreed to help Victor overthrow his uncle for support for yourself, for money, for power, so when the time came that Franco Benedetti died, you’d be ready to take over more than the Benedetti share, the mourning Consigliere, a man like a brother to the fallen Benedetti whose sons deserted him.”
“Mercy, Dominic,” Roman begged. “I made mistakes—”
“You ordered Sergio’s murder. You betrayed my father. Those things cannot be forgiven, Uncle,” I spat.
“Please, Salvatore—” He turned to him, his final plea.
Salvatore remained silent.
“I can drag this out for hours, but because you gave me this, I’m going to show you that mercy,” I said.
“Please, Dominic. Please, I—”
“I’m sending a message today, Uncle. I’m letting everyone know that if you betray me, you die. You die a very slow, a very painful death.”
Roman sat on the floor in a bloody heap, crying like a fucking baby, begging for his worthless life.
I turned to Gia and held out the gun. “Do you want to finish him?”
She stared at him, never once looking at me. Tears ran down her now alabaster face, all color having drained from it as she watched the horror before her. She shook her head and turned to me with a look of such utter desperation that I faltered.
“Take her away. I’ll finish this,” Salvatore said.
“I need to—”
Salvatore turned to me. “No, you don’t. Take care of her.”
I looked once more at my uncle, who now began to beg Salvatore. Tucking the pistol into the back of my pants, I took Gia and walked her quickly out of the room and up the stairs, lifting her into my arms and carrying her when she shook too badly to walk. I closed the door to my bedroom behind us and set her down in the bathroom, wanting to clean the blood that had splattered onto her bare legs, her shoes, her dress.
She trembled as I stripped her, talking to her, not sure she heard a word I said as tears poured from her eyes.
“He is partially responsible for your brother’s death. You shouldn’t feel sorry for him.”
“I know.”
She said it on a sob as I turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm.
“It’s not that. I don’t—”
“He killed my brother,” I said. “He would have killed Salvatore.”
“I know,” she said again, clinging to me when I tried to move her into the shower.
I took off my jacket and set the pistol on the counter. Her gaze closed in on it. Her tears came faster. Holding onto her, I stepped into the shower with her. I stood fully clothed and forced her beneath the stream as she held me, as if she would fuse us together, as if she were unable to stand on her own.