Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Damn, why does that twist in my chest?
Matteo continues, “She’s definitely all work and no play. She’s either at work or at home.”
My phone rings before I can ask where home is. The name Crazy Joe lights up the screen.
Crazy Joe is an undercover agent who infiltrated The Long Road Diablos, a notorious motorcycle gang the Feds were after. One day while I was visiting the clubhouse to supervise a deal between us and the MC, I recognized him.
I could’ve blown his cover and he’d be dead. But I knew I’d be sitting on a pot of gold with Crazy Joe in my pocket if I didn’t blow his cover. And I was right. Crazy Joe has given us vital information when needed, and its impact has been significant.
But just because I didn’t blow his cover or the operation, doesn’t mean Crazy Joe is happy about it. He shows his appreciation by giving me the information I need, but the fucker resents the hell out of me for forcing his hand.
“What the fuck do you want this time?” he barks into the phone.
“You didn’t answer when I rang. Remember our deal? When I ring, you fucking answer.”
“I was sitting in a room with ten other Feds, and you want me to take a phone call from the don of one of the biggest crime syndicates in the country? I don’t think either of us want the lid blown off our secret. But the next five minutes are all yours. What do you want?”
“I want you to find out everything about Harrison Tork. He was an accountant in New York City. I want to know everything there is to know. His address, his family, his everything. Hell, I want to know where he eats his goddamn breakfast each morning.”
“You got any other information on this accountant?”
“He stole forty-two million dollars from an associate of mine. He managed her accounts following her father’s death and then he vanished. I want him found.”
“I’ve got a contact in white collar crime. They do this shit in their sleep. Leave it with me.” He pauses. “Tell me, will the information I give you lead to his demise?”
“Do you really want to know the answer?”
“No, I’m a federal agent, you probably shouldn’t answer that. I’ll get back to you when I have what you need.”
He clicks off the phone call.
I ring Dante, my driver. “Meet me out the front.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in five.”
He’s there in three.
“Where to, boss?”
“Lair.”
The club is thrumming with energy when I arrive. I move through the crowd, catching Bianca’s eye as I pass by the bar. Our gaze lingers, and I feel that all-too-familiar kick in my chest before she looks away to focus on her customer. Tonight, she looks stunning in a halter-neck top that shows off her tanned shoulders and pushes her impressive cleavage together. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she wears a thick black choker around her slender neck.
She’s beautiful.
Two women come up to me and immediately drape themselves around my shoulders, one whispering a blatant invitation in my ear, while the other runs her hands up my chest. But I don’t stop to talk to them; I just grin at them and keep walking so their arms fall away.
When I’m a few steps further into the crowd, an older woman wearing nothing but a glittering see-through sheath winks at me as I walk past and mouths, “Call me.” Her name is Sheri. Somewhere in her late forties, she likes to fuck hard, and her appetite is insatiable. I don’t usually go for seconds, but Sheri is an exception. She isn’t needy, she doesn’t expect more, and best of all, her feelings don’t get hurt if I don’t call.
But it’s been a while. Weeks. Months, maybe.
I glance over my shoulder to see she’s giving me a tantalizing grin, inviting me to follow. But I give her a wink and keep walking in the other direction.
When I reach my office, I take a seat behind my desk and close my eyes, letting the dull thud of the club’s music lull me into a quiet moment.
But it doesn’t last.
Dario steps inside my office, and the hair on the nape of my neck prickles with annoyance.
“Got a minute, boss?”
There’s something slimy about him.
“What do you want, Dario?”
He slides into the chair across from me. “I want a word about the new girl.”
“What about her?”
“She’s a pain in my ass, Massimo.”
Dario doesn’t realize it yet, but he is walking on thin ice.
I tilt my head. “Is that so?”
“Who is she?” he demands, forgetting his place. “She’s not a fucking bartender, that’s for fucking real.”
I glare at him. “You might want to remember who you’re talking to,” I say in a low, dangerous tone.
Realizing his mistake, Dario pales. “Of course, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect.”