Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Amaranthe frowned. Connected through their tangled shadows, he felt her shock. She was completely baffled by his declaration. “Traitor? You’re calling me a traitor?” Her gaze slid around the room. “Two members of the Ferraro family are in an interrogation room with two major crime lords threatening a rider with torture, and you call me a traitor? That’s rich.”
Geno heard the sneer of contempt in her voice but read the underlying fear she couldn’t hide from him in her body. He ignored both her contempt and the shiver that went through her. He added more ties to her shadow to make their connection stronger and buried his heart deeper in glaciers of ice in order to do what needed to be done.
“Did you kill or execute Viola or Marcelle Marino?”
“No.” Her dark eyes flashed fire at him.
“Were you present when they were murdered? Or executed, if you prefer that term?”
“No, I was not.”
“Do you know who killed them?”
“No, I do not.”
Geno took his time searching every connection between them, looking for any sign of deceit. He couldn’t find one, but still, there was a thread, something he was missing.
She’s telling the truth, he communicated telepathically to Stefano. But there’s something.
Instantly, Amaranthe’s gaze jumped to Stefano as if she were aware the Ferraro cousins were speaking telepathically. Geno knew she couldn’t possibly hear him.
“You knew of their deaths.”
“Yes.”
A one-word answer but no hesitation. She would know about the murders. She worked in Little Italy, and the murders were the number one topic of conversation. That question was more the setup for the next questions.
“Did you kill or execute Noemi or Caio Diliberto?” Geno asked.
“No, I did not.” Her voice was stronger, ringing with the truth.
“Were you present when they were murdered? Or executed, if you prefer that term?”
“No, I was not.”
“Do you know who killed them?”
“No, I do not.”
Geno was certain she was telling the truth, yet at the same time, there was an uneasiness growing in him. Amaranthe might not be lying to him, but she was withholding a piece of the puzzle he would find crucial. He didn’t shift his gaze to Stefano. There was no way for his cousin to do more than hear whether the prisoner was telling the truth or a lie. He wasn’t connected to her in the way Geno was.
Geno stepped back into the stream of light to allow his shadow to further compromise Amaranthe’s. The sexual jolt was far worse this time, rushing through him with the force of a freight train. It took her just as hard, driving the breath from her lungs, eliciting a muffled cry from her. She shook her head and even tried to move from the chair. When she did, the manacles fell from her wrists and dropped to the floor. Geno wasn’t in the least surprised.
Ignoring the explosive chemistry raging between them, Geno was relentless. “Did you kill or execute Margo or Eugene Ferraro?” He kept his tone low. Compelling.
There was no accusation in his voice, but he didn’t take his gaze from hers or pull his mind from hers. It would have been impossible for anyone observing him to know that the two people he named were his parents, but he was deeply embedded in her mind. She couldn’t fail to feel the volcanic fury seething beneath the surface. He might cover it with a glacier of ice, dense and difficult for most to ever penetrate, but she was right there with him, and she could see into him, so he did not try to hide from her.
“I did not.”
“Were you present when they were murdered? Or executed, if you prefer that term?”
“No, I was not.”
“Do you know who killed them?”
“No, I do not.”
He shifted gears smoothly. “Why are you in New York?”
She blinked. Her eyes widened. “I dance. I took a job with the dance company. Dancing is my passion.”
She was telling the truth, yet not. It was a partial truth.
“I told you not to lie to me. The consequences of lying to me can be quite severe. Breaking bones in your feet would be the first retaliation that comes to mind. You are a shadow rider. Dancing might be a passion, but it would be a cover for you. You are here to assassinate someone. You came into my territory without first doing me the courtesy of consulting with me. That tells me you know far more about this situation than you are letting on. Again, why are you in New York?”
He kept his tone exactly the same, even when he made the threat to break the bones in her feet. He was matter-of-fact about the penalty for lying to him, and he made it clear he meant what he said.
She took her time answering, thinking carefully. His shadow continued to compromise hers, tangling them together until it was impossible to see where her shadow started and his left off. She shook her head, trying to dislodge him.