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But if I said that, we’d fight to the death right here.
Vito and his goons would pull their guns and I’d be forced to let out the beast inside of me, to throw myself at them with bloody intent.
Maybe I’d win, maybe I’d slaughter Vito and his men.
But then what? The Franzese family would be forced, out of honor, to hunt me, and I’d be forced to run or fight to the death.
Who would take care of my sweet Rosie then?
I need to play this right.
Vito grunts as he knocks back the last of my whisky, slamming the glass down.
“So, we’re sorted?” he says.
I collect the photos and drop them into the envelope, along with the driver’s license, slipping it into my inside jacket pocket.
Whatever happens now, I know this is the end of my hitman career. Lying to the mob carries a death sentence, and there’s no way I can get out of this without lying or killing them all, which also carries a death sentence.
“Yes,” I tell him.
Vito tilts his head at me, a vicious smirk smearing across his addict’s face. He’s looking at me like he owns me like he’s the big fucking dog.
He has no idea that I could end his life in the time it’d take him to blink.
I could grab that whisky glass and crush it against his face, and push, and keep pushing until shards of glass were embedded in his damn skull. He has no right to look at me like that. He has even less right to put a hit out on my goddamn woman.
I let this simmer beneath the surface, the beast in my chest beating a brutal drumbeat as I keep my face passive.
“You know, Ryland, some of the fellas thought there’d be a problem asking you to do a woman,” he says. “But I told them, nah, we just need the right price. How’ll you do it?”
I grit my teeth, my jaw pressing painfully against my cheeks.
“That’s none of your concern,” I tell him. “All you need to know is you’ll never see her again.”
He looks at me for a long moment. I can tell he thinks I’ve spoken to him disrespectfully, which is always the way with weak bastards like Vito. He’s so fragile, so terrified, that he has to act tough because he knows he really isn’t.
I stare at him, my face hard, and I see he’s debating whether or not to make something of my tone.
Then he chuckles and shakes his head.
“Just make sure to get it done quickly, alright? Can’t have some—”
He’s about to say bitch or slut or something else that’ll turn me feral.
“It’ll get it done,” I growl, interrupting him.
If I heard him speak about her like that, I know I’d lose control, and then I wouldn’t be able to protect her. I’d punch him so hard his jaw would dislocate by the time he’d hit the floor, and then I’d leap over the bar and go for my gun, stowed away in my padded secret jacket pocket where they never think to look when they’re searching me
“Well, alright then,” Vito grins. “Thanks for your time.”
I nod and stand up, making my way over to the door.
As I stride onto the street and over to my black sedan, my heart slams deafeningly in my ears. My stomach swirls and my seed roars at me, almost like it has a voice.
Nothing is ever going to be the same now, it growls. Protecting Rosie is all that matters.
What the hell am I going to do?
I don’t want to kidnap my woman.
I want her to need me as badly as I need her.
But I could just grab her. I own her, after all. I possess every curvy inch of her.
I pull out her photo as I sit behind the wheel, my cock getting stiffer each moment as I gaze at her luscious juicy ass trapped in a pair of jeans.
I let the photo drop and grip the steering wheel.
I need to speak with her.
Chapter Five
Rosie
“He should be here any minute,” I murmur, sitting at my mom’s bedside as she groans and moves her hands over her belly.
One thing that helps with mom’s illness is a warm shower, so of course, our hot water has decided to go bust after we got back from her last bout of chemotherapy.
Now it’s time to wait—and hope.
“You’re such a good girl,” Mom groans, her eyes closed as she sinks into the bed.
I smile and give her hand a squeeze.
“And you’re such a good mom,” I tell her.
She grunts out a twisted laugh. “I’m an old mom,” she says.
“You don’t look a day over ninety-five,” I joke, giggling in the hopes to make her laugh with me.
It works, and her laughter is like a warm glow of sun after a storm.
