Kisses Like Rain (Corsican Crime Lord #4) Read Online Charmaine Pauls

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Corsican Crime Lord Series by Charmaine Pauls
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Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
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His skin turns pasty white. “Whatever you think is going on—”

Pop.

Blood and gray matter splatter the white headboard, covering the gold and creamy browns of the hand-painted angels.

Emilia screams.

I turn the gun on her. “Shut up.”

She clamps her lips together and raises shaky hands.

“How long have you been fucking him?”

She steals a sideway glance at the mess on the bed and pinches her eyes shut. “Since the casino.”

I cross the floor. When I speak closer to her, she jumps.

“What did he tell you? I know you’re not just a pretty face.” I tap the barrel against her temple. “There’s brains in here too.”

“Please,” she whimpers. “He paid me. That’s all.”

“To do what?”

She opens her eyes a crack and stares at me through the slits. “He paid me to sleep with you.”

“Why?”

“He was going to take pictures.”

“Why?”

“To show them to your wife,” she says, trembling from head to toe.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she yells hysterically, snot and tears mixing with her words. “He just told me to do it.” She sniffs. “To make her jealous, I guess.”

Or to ensure the rift remained between us. It would’ve given Sabella more motivation to sell me out and run.

“I only did it for the money,” she says through sputters of breaths. “I don’t know anything else.”

“Did he pay you to play the maid? Was that his fantasy?”

“Y-yes.”

I believe her. She wasn’t in cahoots with my uncle. She was only an instrument in his plan to overthrow me.

I motion at the door. “Get out of here.”

She doesn’t let me invite her twice.

“And Emilia?”

She stops dead on the threshold, not turning to face me.

“If you ever say a word about this or show your face in town again, you’ll end up like him.”

She runs, stumbling over her own feet and righting herself before disappearing down the hallway.

One down.

Three to go.

My next stop is Uncle Enzo. Like at Uncle Nico’s house, my men take out his guards before one of them can sound an alarm.

My uncle is having breakfast in the sunroom facing the pool. His mouth pulls into an O when he spots me through the glass doors.

My ringtone breaks the peaceful chirping of the birds. My uncle gets to his feet. I take my phone from my pocket and check the screen while walking. It’s my driver. He should’ve dropped the kids off at school five minutes ago.

Keeping my gaze trained on my uncle who stands like a statue behind his breakfast spread of caviar, strawberries, and champagne, I answer the call with a swipe of my thumb.

“What is it, Waldo?”

“It’s not Waldo,” an unfamiliar male voice says.

I stop in my tracks. “Who the fuck is this?” My scalp pricks. “Where’s Waldo?”

“Don’t worry. We have Waldo and the kids.”

“Motherfuc—”

“They’re fine. For now. If you want them back in one piece, you better do exactly as I say.”

I bite back the threats and insults on the tip of my tongue and push down the wild rage that bleeds into a violence unlike any I’ve felt. If he has my niece and my nephews, I can’t risk angering him. In any event, he’s dead. I’ll fucking skin whoever is behind the kidnapping before I slice his guts open. When that graphic picture manifests in my mind, deadly calm takes over.

“What do you want?” I ask, already calling up the app that tracks Waldo’s location via his phone.

“Ten million in cash. Unmarked bills. Tomorrow morning at eight. That’ll give you enough time to get creative with your banker during the all-nighter the two of you will have to pull. I’ll confirm the delivery address.”

I ball my hand at my side, imagining the crunch of the motherfucker’s windpipe as I squash it between my fingers. I don’t even argue the fact that I can’t scrounge that kind of money in unmarked bills in twenty-four hours. It doesn’t matter. I’m going for him with everything I’ve got. Come eight o’clock, his body will be chopped into pieces and fed to the pigs.

“Do you understand, Mr. Russo?”

“Yes,” I say, grinding my teeth.

The sick fuck says with a grin I can hear in his voice, “If you come after me, your sweet little niece will pay.”

I swear to God, I’ll make him—

Beep.

The silence on the other end of the line rings in my ear. My uncle and I watch each other, our gazes locked through the glass. His face is ashen. His expression carries both knowledge and a question. He knows why I’m here, why some men surround me while others went ahead and checked the house. But he also saw my face when I took the call.

I check my screen, a part of me not wanting the only connection I have to the kids severed. The line is dead.

Motherfucking fuck.

The tracker app shows Waldo’s location a short distance north of the village. They’re on the move, going toward the mountains southwest of Bastia. Judging by their speed, they’re traveling by car.


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