Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“I just saw the email,” he answers.
I exhale a tired sigh. “It should lead us to whoever set up the deal with Davies.”
“I’ll let you know when I find out anything.”
“Thanks, brother.”
“How are you holding up?” he asks.
I’m not, and I’m getting fucking tired of everyone constantly asking me how I’m doing.
Every lead I chase delivers nothing of substance we can use to find whoever’s behind the trafficking of organs.
Joe, the fucker we caught in the alley, couldn’t get any information, and after his seventy-two hours were up, I had Carlo kill him.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, my tone laced with impatience.
“I got the cameras you asked for. Want to swing by and get them?”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
We end the call, and I listen as Elio negotiates terms for a shipment of Uzis with the Yakuza.
When he finally puts his phone down, he mutters, “Fucking bastards. I’m tired of them always trying to negotiate a discount.”
He looks exhausted.
“Are you okay handling the workload? I can get Carlo to help out.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll manage.”
“Thank you.” My words have his eyes flicking to mine. “I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”
Letting out a deep breath, he nods before asking, “Did you get anything from the fucker?”
“An email address. I’ve sent it to Dario.”
The corner of Elio’s mouth lifts. “Good.” His gaze narrows on my face. “What are you doing about the doctor and the Davies family?”
“I’ll deal with them soon.” Climbing to my feet, I leave the office and give Vincenzo and Fabrizio a chin lift so they know we’re heading out.
They’re busy cleaning their guns and quickly assemble the weapons before jogging to catch up with me.
“Where to, boss?” Vincenzo asks.
“Dario’s place.”
I climb into the back of the Bentley and pull my phone from my pocket again. Bringing up the photo I took of Skylar Davies, I stare at the woman.
I haven’t seen her since I left the message in the notepad for her.
As soon as I know which group is behind the trafficking of organs, I’ll kill the doctor. I’m leaving Harlan and his daughter for last.
Especially the daughter.
Honestly, I’m torn between cutting the fucking kidney out of her while she’s conscious or making her suffer for the rest of her life.
I’ve memorized every stand of ginger hair on her head, but I still stare at the photo.
She looks vulnerable and weak. It would be the easiest thing to snap her neck like a twig.
I imagine my fingers wrapping around her throat and squeezing until tears spill down her cheeks.
She’d whimper and beg for mercy.
She’d fucking gasp for air, and I’d show no mercy.
“Boss?” Vincenzo says to get my attention.
I’m so deep in thought I didn’t realize we’re at Dario’s place already.
Shoving the door open, I climb out of the vehicle and stalk to the elevators. I let out a sigh as I step inside, scanning the access card for the penthouse.
I have a key for Dario and Franco’s homes. It’s in case shit goes sideways, and we need to get inside.
The doors slide open, and not seeing Dario in the living room, I head to the kitchen.
“Where are you?” I call out.
“Taking a leak.”
I open the fridge and help myself to a bottle of water. As I take a sip, Dario calls, “Where the fuck did you go?”
I swallow the water, then answer, “Kitchen.”
A few seconds later, he comes in with a small box and sets it down on the island in the middle of the kitchen.
“I got four cameras. Make sure nothing obstructs their view, or we won't see shit.” He tilts his head. “Maybe I should plant them.”
“No. I’ll do it.”
I take a look at the cameras lying on a bed of bubble wrap. They’re no bigger than a button. There are also double-sided adhesive pads.
When I pick up the sheet, I ask, “Will this work?”
“It’s either that or you take a glue gun. Those will work just fine, though.”
“They better,” I mutter.
“Ungrateful ass.”
The corner of my mouth lifts, and it has Dario smiling as if a miracle just happened.
“Need anything else?” he asks.
“Not that I can think of. I’ll be in touch.” Taking the box, I head toward the elevator.
“My ballet company is performing this weekend. Want to come to a show?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Opera and tutus are your thing, brother.” Stepping into the elevator, I shake my head. “You’re the only one who likes that shit.”
“I’m the only one with taste,” he shouts before the doors shut.
There’s an actual smile on my face for the first time in two weeks, but it quickly fades when I think about breaking into Harlan Davies’ house so I can plant the cameras.
I want to see every move Skylar makes.
After using a wireless alarm jammer that cost way too fucking much, I enter the mansion through one of the windows.