The Woman in the Warehouse (Costa Family #9) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Costa Family Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
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“Is that…” I whispered.

Elio’s gaze cut to mine, something chilling in his dark eyes.

“It’s a bone saw.”

Unwanted images flooded my mind, making my stomach twist and flip over, making me suddenly glad that we hadn’t had time to eat anything before catching the ferry. I was pretty sure if I had, it would all be making its way back up my throat as I stood there, imagining these men and their horrible deaths, then someone bringing them upstairs and dismembering them. Not with a power tool. With a fucking surgical, manual saw.

The amount of work that would take.

The coldness in someone’s soul that would require.

I was suddenly thankful for Anthony’s voice of reason, his prudence, in holding me back from rushing across that street and trying to take on a small group of these men.

Even just one of them was capable of this kind of savagery.

I didn’t want to imagine what they would have done to me before they finally killed and dismembered me as well.

“We have to check the basement,” Elio said as we all carefully stepped back out of the bathroom, then down the hall.

My stomach was twisting into painful knots as we moved down the steps, knowing how exposed we would all be if someone happened to come in right then, how there was nowhere to hide.

Sure, we were armed.

And I was a hell of a shot.

But shit happened in life-or-death situations.

We made it back to the main floor without incident, though, and we all moved in three positions around the basement door as Elio used the same toilet paper to open it as he had the shower curtain, then moved down sideways. I was right at his heels, aiming down. Anthony was behind me, aiming up.

These steps were blessedly silent, but shallow, and part of me was terrified that Anthony might trip then take all of us down with him.

I reached up with my free hand, pressing it into him as we kept moving down.

The basement was bisected by a wall down the center of it, a single brown door in the center, an old poster of various bodyweight exercises tacked to the back of it.

This side of the basement was unassuming. A washer and dryer were against the wall, several economy tubs of detergent in a garbage can next to them, and an old recliner set near the machines with a paperback book opened on the arm like a bookmark to keep the reader’s place.

I felt a sudden gut-punch of sadness at the idea of the person never being able to finish that story.

Anthony nudged me, making me turn to see him nod toward the ground where several stains were dripped across the floor. In the low light, they could have been paint or oil or various household fluids. But everything about this crime scene of a house suggested we not believe that, so I nudged Elio and pointed toward where they disappeared into the other side of the basement.

We inched closer, careful to avoid the spots. Elio produced the toilet paper again, reaching up over his head to undo a simple hook & eye lock, then reaching for the knob as he gave us a nod.

My breath stuttered in my chest as he threw open the door and charged inside.

I was one step behind, with Anthony right behind me.

And we charged into another dark, windowless room that reeked of blood, piss, body odor, and that acidic undercurrent of fear.

Behind me Anthony used his sleeved arm to flick a switch, and stark fluorescent light filtered through the space, lighting up even the darkest corners.

Not that any of us were looking there.

Not when faced with what was right in the middle of the room.

Or, rather, who.

Right there, bound to a steel support beam by a tight chain around his wrists that had his shoulders arching backward into the beam, was a man.

He was slumped on the floor, exhaustion, dehydration, and pain likely making it impossible to stay on his feet any longer.

His head was slumped, and all I could see of his face was a straight nose, and a mass of thick brown hair, though some of it was matted down to his head with thick dried blood.

There was more blood on his shirt, down his arms, on the chains behind his back, on the floor around him.

And there, just a few feet from the man’s leg, was a molar.

“Matej,” Elio exhaled, eyes wide, as he looked down at the man.

At the sound of his voice, Matej’s head shot up, wincing at the light, and blinking before he seemed to focus on Elio.

“Elio?” Matej asked, something suspicious in his voice. Like he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

I don’t know what I expected of Matej. But I guess I figured he would be older. But I would put him at about Elio’s age, maybe just a little older than Anthony. With classically handsome features—high cheekbones, a sculpted, narrow jaw, warm brown eyes with thick lashes and full brows, and facial hair that was more than a five o’clock shadow, but less than a full beard. Though, it was getting closer now, likely thanks to being held down here for an unknown period of time.


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