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The manager crawls to me on his hands and knees, his breaths erratic. All traces of resentment slide off his face, replaced with terror. When he reaches where I’m sitting, his skin is already glistening with sweat. “I’m sorry.” He stares down at my feet. “You came in with your hands covered with flecks of dried paint. Seeing you so happy stirred something in me—envy, I think, because I never had a talent for art.”
My gaze darts to Roman’s, who still looks like he wants to strangle the manager. I turn back to the man whose head rests on the floor by my feet and gulp.
“Please, forgive me.”
“Stop making people feel inferior, and we’re even,” I say.
“Of course, miss,” he rasps.
Roman flicks his head toward the door. “Crawl the fuck out.”
As the restaurant manager scurries into the hallway like a desperate animal, Roman and Gil continue their conversation, discussing a strategy if our enemies tracked us to the restaurant, as well as the best route back to avoid getting blown to pieces.
I stop listening halfway because the pulse pounding between my ears drowns out all the sound.
Why the hell is this situation with Jim spiraling so desperately out of control?
FORTY
ROMAN
Emberly was silent on the journey home, but relaxed the moment we stepped through the door. I understand why she was so shaken by the news of Sal’s death. It was shitty of me to claim that Callahan’s colleagues were killing my men to make me release her, but now she’ll never want to leave.
The gamble I made by giving her a sense of freedom paid off, but what good is getting back our assets if we fall to those assassins? Something needs to be done about the Moirai Group before Emberly uncovers my bullshit.
I put her to bed, hugged her to sleep, and then spent several tense minutes on the phone with the Moirai bastards. They want me to release their operatives or else. I reminded them of their refusal to remove the hit on our lives and hung up.
Something tells me they won’t stop coming after us until I’ve dealt with Tommy Galliano.
My spies tell me he’s lying low, already anticipating our next strike, and will probably stay behind the closed doors of his hideout until all three of us are dead.
Fuck him.
There are more firms of assassins than the Moirai out there, and I’ve hired each of them to target Galliano. The moment he resurfaces, he’s dead.
When I return to Emberly, she’s facing my side of the bed, her dark hair spread over the pillow like curling cobras. I stand at the headboard and sigh.
If I’m the king of this operation, then Emberly is my dark queen. My heart swells at the memory of my pretty little gorgon kicking and punching Lafayette in the back of the car.
Emberly isn’t like other women who only enjoy the rewards of organized crime. She doesn’t just accept its brutal parts, but revels in them. Emberly has seen me murder twice, yet she’s still here in my bed.
Violence is in her blood.
That’s why we’re so evenly matched. It’s also why I made that asshole at the restaurant show her some fucking respect.
After undressing to my boxers, I climb into bed and wrap an arm around her waist. Emberly’s head rests in the crook of my shoulder, and her hair drapes over my skin like silk.
I kiss her forehead, inhaling her cinnamon and vanilla scent. She smells of freedom, of comfort, of home. Being so close to this sweet creature almost makes me forget the years I spent on death row.
Emberly is mine, and no one will ever take her away.
* * *
Hours later, I’m still slumbering when Emberly stirs, withdrawing her body heat. I crack open an eye to find her sitting up in bed with her arms pulled up in a stretch.
As usual, her hair is a nest of tangles that enhances her wild beauty. Sunlight streams in from the balcony doors, lighting up her stray curls like a halo.
The cream camisole stretches over her breasts, offering me a tantalizing peek of her nipples. In response, my cock pushes against the fabric of my boxers, aching for another taste of her.
