Page 130 of Unravel Me

One sentence isn't enough.

Without taking my gun off him, I pull out my phone and type as fast as I can.

"Funny how criminals seem drawn to each other. Your True Mate has quite a colorful past. Even though he's an omega, he used to run with a gang as a teen. While high, he killed several people and went to prison for it. He's come to his senses now and lives a completely different life, but here's the best part… he's Sicilian. I heard you once said you couldn't imagine being with someone who wasn't. Looks like fate respected your preference. On top of that, he's really cute… but if you do anything to Jared, you'll never find out who he is."

Rocco keeps staring at the floor.

The silence doesn't break.

I lower my eyes to my phone, ready to show him the picture of the guy and to type a few more lines that might convince him even further because I still can't tell whether Rocco is the one exception, someone who truly doesn't care about his True Mate… or not.

That brief moment, when my attention shifts to the screen, is apparently exactly what Rocco has been waiting for.

He lunges at me.

I manage to fire before he reaches me, and this time the bullet strikes much higher, near his neck, glancing off the edge of his vest and ripping through the scent gland at the side of his neck, spraying blood across his skin.

A savage roar tears out of him, but he still reaches me. He slams into me with such brutal force that my back crashes against the wall, then clamps both hands around my wrists so I can't fire again. The surge of adrenaline pumping through him is so overwhelming that I realize the only way to overpower him would be to shift into my other form, and I don't want to do that right in front of him… though I may not have a choice.

Rocco's face is inches from mine now, flushed a furious red. A thin strand of saliva hangs from one corner of his mouth, while tiny drops of blood from the wound on his neck have splattered across the scarred side of his jaw. His eyes gleam with pure madness.

"If you think you can control me through my True Mate, think again. I don't have a bond with him, so if you kill him, nothing happens to me. Can't say the same about you and Jared… one snap of his neck, and you go down with him."

He hisses the words straight into my face.

With both of my wrists pinned, I can't type on my phone or sign to him.

Rocco notices that immediately. He tilts his head, his lips twisting into a warped grin. "You were always too soft. Not mafia material at all…" He trails off, as if a thought has just crossed his mind. "Funny. I never would've believed it before, but I guess I've got my own…" He hesitates. "…softer half too. My sweet little twin."

Rocco chuckles. I listen to what he says with growing astonishment.

"But I have to keep him in line, under my control, because without me watching over him, that other half of me might actually want to… spare you! Can you believe that? Hell, maybe he's whispering in my head right now, begging me to do exactly that… but, oh well…"

The stuff he's babbling sounds downright bizarre, and I'm starting to wonder if Rocco has something wrong with his head.

His grin widens.

"Lucky for me, I'm the one in charge. Which is why I'm taking Jared."

Then Rocco abruptly cuts himself off.

His head gives a sharp twitch before tilting slightly, almost as though he's wearing some kind of hidden earpiece that malfunctioned.

Maybe he is?

But I don't hear a thing, and as an alpha I should be able to catch even the faintest whisper coming through an earpiece.

Still, there's nothing.

Yet Rocco keeps reacting as if he's carrying on a live conversation with someone, receiving updates that change his every move.

Is Rocco developing some serious mental disorder, something like schizophrenia?

"Fuck," he mutters. "Don't do it, you son of a bitch!" His voice suddenly rises, his face turns away from me, his expression distant, unfocused. "You asshole! Why the fuck did you leave him? You goddamn idiot…!"

Who is he talking to?

Whatever was supposed to happen has gone wrong, though I have no idea what, and I know I have to use that one second. The momentary distraction is all I need. I slam my forehead straight into his nose.