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"I don’t know."
"What did he look like?"
"I don’t know," the man gasps out, "he…he wore a mask. I couldn’t see his features."
"Fuck!" I hold the knife to his neck and he stiffens. "You’re not helping me, asshole." I dig the knife into his neck and blood drips from the cut.
He swallows. "Wait," he pleads, "please wait." He licks his lips as he darts his gaze left, then right. I press the knife deeper and he wheezes, "Stop, please." He squeezes his eyes shut, "I have a daughter. I can’t leave her orphaned."
"We’ll take care of your daughter."
He snaps his eyes open, "Don’t you dare touch her."
"Start speaking," I growl. "You have three minutes."
"He was tall, as tall as you, and spoke with a British accent."
"As does half the population of Britain," Luca snarls. "Was he old, young? How did he walk? Any tattoos? Jewelry? Anything that stands out?"
"Wait," he freezes and glances into the distance, "he had a tattoo of a flower that peeked out from under his sleeve."
Seb swears aloud, "Fuckingcani! I knew it was them. I knew it was a mistake to be working with them."
I hold up my hand and he falls silent. "Are you sure?" I peer into the man’s face. "If you are lying...." I let the words hang there.
"I’m not," he beseeches, "I swear on my daughter, I am not."
I nod, then step back, "You do realize, I can’t let you go after this though."
"Please," he begins to sob. "Don’t do this. I am all my daughter has."
"All I can promise is that she will be taken care of." I hesitate. If I had had a daughter, and if it were me about to die, would I regret the kind of life I had led? Given that I have lived by violence, am I bound to have a violent end? Is this how I would go too? At the hands of an enemy? Worried about my family…my wife and children, and wondering who would take care of them? Is there a way out of this for me? Do I want to leave this life of crime behind?
"Capo?" Seb murmurs and I tip up my chin. I swipe out my hand and bury my knife in the man’s chest.
11
Karma
"Whiskey, please," the man a few chairs down from me at the bar orders, "Macallan’s reserve."
It’s the same whiskey that my Capo favors. I glance down at my own drink. A glass of wine. I had arrived yesterday at the Four Seasons, checked in, and slept away most of the day. I’d woken up, only to get myself a quick dinner and feed Andy—who had been provided with his own food and water bowls and a designated litter area in the corner of the vast bath. Guess that’s what money can get you. The red carpet treatment, not only for you, but also for your pet.
The man glances around and spots me. His face lights up with interest. His eyes gleam—brown eyes, interested gaze. "Hello, you staying at the hotel too?" He nods toward me, and honestly, he seems all right. Not creepy or anything. Only I’m not in the mood to strike up a conversation with a stranger, and certainly not, in a hotel bar. Not that I am in the mood for speaking with any man right now. Strike that… Perhaps one man would fit the bill, one alphahole whom I want to strangle; one bastard whom I hate…and love… Damn it, I am still in love with him. Enough to still wear the wedding ring he gave me. The man’s gaze lowers to my left hand and his features close.
Good. At least, it’s serving some purpose, considering I had come this close to taking it off so many times since I had arrived in London. Massimo had flown me to the Capo’s personal private plane in Rome. Initially, I had refused to board it, but he had persuaded me. He’d told me this was the easiest and fastest way to get out of Italy. The 'fastest' part of it had done the trick. Not to mention, the fact that Andy could travel in relative comfort had helped.
Massimo had produced a passport for Andy, and when I had thanked him, he’d said it had been Michael who had seen to it. What the—? Had he been planning this for a while then? Before I could come to grips with that thought, Massimo had handed me a check. Which I had refused… And he’d said, it was only right that I be compensated for what I had been through. That had pissed me off. I mean, could my time and emotions actually have a price put on them?
Then, he had told me not to be stubborn. That I was going to need it to get back on my feet—which was true. He said I could put it toward my fashion designing business, to think of it as seed capital, and a loan which I could return to the Capo when I was up and running.
In all honesty, I had wanted to refuse it. I didn’t want anything to do with my husband’s money, but Massimo had been insistent. He’d told me to accept it, that I owed it to myself. After all, I had lost time, which I would have used to grow my business, and this was compensation for that.
Well, the £100,000 check was much more than what I would have made in the past month if I had focused on growing my business. But I had decided not to argue that point. Instead, I had torn up the check He hadn’t been very surprised, which had surprised me, until he’d said that Michael had warned him that this would be the probable response.
He’d pulled out an envelope stuffed with money. I had stared at it, and he had insisted I take it. When I’d refused, he’d simply said that I’d need it to feed Andy, if nothing else. And of course, he’d been right.
I’d wondered, then, if this was the reason that Michael had given Andy to me… As a means of manipulating me… But it couldn’t be that, could it? Still, he’d made sense, so I’d accepted the cash… Also, I had run out of energy by then, wanting nothing more than to grab a drink—at least, I can drink now, so that’s a silver lining, eh? —and crawl into some dark corner where I wouldn’t have to think or do much.
