Page 23 of Venomous Throne

A monster like me should be nowhere near that woman. And yet, I was walking right behind her, shadowing her every move. For the next few days, I would use my spare time—when I wasn’t extracting myself from the contract and dealing with the fallout from the pissed off client—to be near Isabella, the one bright spot I couldn’t seem to stay away from no matter how hard I tried.

Chapter 11 – Isabella

How do I find a hitman?

Six words I never thought I would be asking. I wasn’t stupid enough to put them into Google. But I did write them on a piece of paper. The same yellow legal pad held the pro-con list for taking over the Moretti Famiglia. These pages were dark, filled with the worst thoughts a human could possibly think.

“It’s not like they just walk up to your house with a smile and a solution,” I muttered.

There weren’t job fairs to seek them out. And I was wary to go meet with potential applicants in person, if I was lucky enough to find one.

I took a long sip of my water, resisting the urge to finish the bottle of rosé. “Maybe I should just let Franky do it.”

I hated that idea. There was no way I was letting one of the best, most loyal men I knew put himself in that kind of danger. Even if he succeeded in taking out my brother-in-law, he would be seen by the famiglia as a black sheep.

The Biblical Mark of Cain.

No, there had to be another way.

The long sigh that whispered past my lips was cut off by the knocking at the back door.

I jumped.

The alarm system hadn’t notified me that there was someone at the gate. The code hadn’t been entered to allow someone to walk into the yard. And yet there was another human being at my back door.

I pulled out my pistol and approached. “Who’s there?”

“Me.”

I frowned. The muffled voice was deep, but only somewhat familiar. “I’m not going to open it until you tell me who you are,” I insisted.

The doorknob rattled. “Isabella, it’s me.” There was a pause. “Jaxon.”

My stupid little heart did a flip.

Beating the thumping organ with a lead pipe, I had the presence of mind to slide the damning legal pad into the silverware drawer before going to unlock the back door.

I kept the chain in place.

“How the hell did you sneak past the gate’s security system?” I demanded.

I kept my gun plastered to my side, not wanting a civilian to be spooked that I was armed. People were so funny about guns. They were tools, and a single woman like me needed them for protection—plain and simple.

“Your gate was open.”

“It was not!” I protested.

Through the crack, those steady grey eyes watched me. He didn’t argue, didn’t engage. Simply watched.

“Oh, screw it.” I shut the door, slid the chain out, and flung it wide open. I needed to see his whole face for this conversation.

One look at that extraordinarily handsome, rugged countenance, and my insides buzzed with a rush of excitement.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“I’m sorry.” Jaxon stuck out a bouquet of flowers, shoving them right into my face. Petals tickled my nose, cheeks…lips. A sprig of greenery caught my eyelid.

I reared back. “Um, thanks?”