Page 1 of Perfect Vengeance

Chapter One

A soft click shattered the silence.

Gina punched off the tiny penlight, plunging the room into darkness. She froze, crouching before the floor safe inside the closet and praying her ears were playing tricks on her. Instinct told her those prayers were about to go unanswered.

The crush of shoes on carpet. Breathing, not just hers. Then, a click.

“Don’t move a muscle.” The deep, masculine voice sliced through the early morning stillness, eliminating any doubts Gina may have had about what she’d heard—a gun’s hammer being drawn back. It was like no other sound in the world. One she’d never forgotten…

And never would.

“Do exactly as I say,” the voice growled, “or this will be the last safe you ever lay hands on.”

Her heart raced, the beat pounding in her ears. Somehow, the intel on Rocco Lambrusco’s whereabouts was wrong. Dead wrong, and now the mobster had caught her inside his apartment, breaking into his safe.

I am dead meat.

“Get off the floor.” The way he spat out the words told her he was pissed. Really pissed. “Now!”

And she was in deep, deep shit.

The metal ridges of the old safe’s combination dial bit into her fingertips as she gripped it tighter.

“Are you deaf or just stupid?” Unbridled fury didn’t begin to describe the undertone of Rocco’s question. “If you don’t get moving, I’ll ram my boot straight up your ass.”

“Okay, okay.” Her throat was so tight she could barely choke out the words. Her voice had sounded raspy, more like a man’s than a woman’s.

In a heartbeat, she ran down the list of possible weapons on her utility belt.

Lockpick set.

Screwdriver.

Pepper spray.

Better yet, the stiletto strapped around her ankle. With luck, she could slide the knife out, bury it in Rocco’s gut, and be out the door with the cash before he knew what hit him.

Quietly, she clipped the penlight to her belt. Her arm brushed the strap of the empty black duffel bag slung across her chest. She slid her hand down the inside of her thigh to her calf until her fingers grazed the stiletto’s ebony handle. One more second and she’d have it. Then drive it into Rocco’s beefy belly.

“Quit stalling and get off the floor.”

Her gut clenched tighter than she thought possible. Any wrong move and he’d kill her. Two bullets to the back of the head—the same way Franco Falzone murdered her father.

“Keep your back to me, and don’t even think of going for that blade on your ankle.”

She dropped her hand from the knife. How could he see anything? The bastard must have the eyesight of a panther.

So much for Plan A.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. Her breaths quickened, along with the crazy pounding in her chest. As she got to her feet, she eased her hand toward her utility belt until her fingers contacted the hard plastic handle of the screwdriver. Another inch and she’d jam that into Rocco’s belly.

“Stop,” he bit out. “Make another play for one of the toys on your belt and your life ends here.”

With a sinking feeling, she let her hand fall from the screwdriver.

There goes Plan B.

She hadn’t heard Rocco move, not even a rustle of clothing, but his voice had come from a different direction this time. He was circling her as if she were prey about to be mauled to death. Why didn’t he clip her and be done with it? Maybe he didn’t want to bloody his plush pile carpeting.