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That she’s working with Sonny, but I trust Eden and her judgment.
I’m also done playing cat-and-mouse games with my uncle.
At this point, one of us needs to die ASAP.
It’s dark when I park down the road from the brothel and cut my headlights. I have a good thirty minutes to prepare before Sonny is scheduled to arrive. I’ve never been so thrilled to killsomeone. I’m already excited at just the thought of the life leaving his eyes.
God, what a great world it’ll be without that stupid motherfucker living in it.
“Are you sure you want to go in alone?” Damien asks from the passenger seat.
I hand him the car keys. “It’s time I end this.”
“Antonio, it could be a setup.”
“A risk I’m willing to take.”
The Cabaret brothel is sketchier than Luna’s.
Less protected.
Better for me to murder someone in.
The refurbished motel has a separate outside entrance into each mini suite. No bodyguards watch the coming and goings happening.
I tuck my gun inside my blazer, grab my bag, exit the car, and walk to the brothel. Keeping my head down, I take two stairs at a time to the second level, a rush of adrenaline spiraling through me with each step. Candy answers, dressed in lacy black lingerie. She grants me access inside, and I lock the door behind us.
The room is cramped and poorly lit. The couch in the sitting area looks worn and stained—like it’s seen too many cum shots—and a separate doorway opens up to the bedroom. When I turn around, I find Candy leaning against the door with her arms crossed, pushing up her cleavage.
“Hi,” she says, her face revealing a slight nervousness as she puckers her pink lips.
“Hey.”
“Sonny texted me.” She inches her phone from under her panties. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
I grin.
Come to me, rat.
“I expect you to honor your word,” she says, her tone all business.
Sonny did well in selecting his whore. A beautiful brunette in her twenties. But I easily see through her beauty. This life has drained her.
“I always honor my word.”
“What if we marry?” As if convincing me it’s a good decision, she arches her back against the door and opens her legs, showing me a sample of her wet pussy. “I’ve heard men in your world marry women to protect them all the time.”
Raising my hand, I show her my ring. “I’m a married man.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Every married man needs a mistress, then.”
I adjust my collar and smirk. “I guess I’m not your typical married man then. Not only do I lack any desire to touch anyone other than my wife, but she’s also fucking insane.”
“Oh, come on, all men say their wives are crazy.”
“My wife is a Marchetti. It’s practically a well-documented fact in history that they’re batshit crazy.”
My stomach curls, and a pain shoots through it.
