Page 63 of Venomous Throne

“And does she know?” Chase pressed.

I pointed a knife at my partner. “Not another word.”

“Okay, well, forgive me, but I have to tell you one more thing.” Chase crossed his arms over his chest.

A groan of dismay strangled my throat. “Yes?”

“I’m continuing to monitor the situation. Right?”

“Right.”

“So we’ll stay in touch,” Chase said happily.

“For now.”

Chase waved his hand as he pulled a massive cell phone, more like a tablet, from his jumpsuit pocket. “For always, motherfucker.”

He was right about one thing. I wasn’t going to lose touch with the best computer genius in the world, no matter what the future held.

“Chase?”

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up, lost in whatever he was seeing on his screen—typical of the kid who existed more in the digital world than the actual.

“Wedidhave a good run, and I’m going to miss us,” I offered.

His pale face brightened. “Ah, shucks, don’t make me cry!”

I snorted.

“This girl is lucky to have you, Pestilence.”

Lucky? Isabella would run screaming if she ever learned the truth about who I was, what I did, and what almost happened.

That was why she could never know my secrets.

No, not lucky. She would hate my guts. And that wasn’t a risk I was taking. One little vodka drinking bastard to take care of, and then the sole focus of my existence was on the queen of the underworld.

Chapter 25 – Isabella

“You can’t do this!” the old witch shrieked.

My arms ached from yesterday’s labor, but it was a good feeling. Watching my men throw the material belongings of a vile serpent into boxes, seal them with tape, and toss them into the back of a truck was even better.

“I’m doing it right now,” I breathed, cocking my head to better take in the raging fiend in front of me.

My mother-in-law was three inches taller than me. She shook her fist in my face, but I stood my ground, refusing to back off an inch.

“You ungrateful girl! You are the worst thing to have happened to my sons,” she shouted.

I brushed my palm over my cheek, wiping away the droplets of spittle.

“The worst thing?” I repeated.

Something about her tone, the same inflection, the same volume as her older son’s…it cracked a dam inside me. One, I had kept built tight for my own safety.

“The worst! They were good boys; they didn’t deserve the poison you brought into their lives!” Signora Moretti raged.

Then that large crack split in my chest.