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“You’re our fucking ticket out of this nightmare, little sister. You’re gonna tell the feds everything they wanna know about your fake husband so they can put his ass in prison while we retire to Fiji or Fort Lauderdale or something.”
Sometimes it’s hard to know which of her stepsiblings is the dumber one.
One thing is for sure.
They’re both about to be equally as fucking dead along with their father.
My heart pounds harshly against my ribcage in desperation to escape yet is momentarily soothed by Elle’s proclamation, “I won’t turn on Nero. Not now. Not ever.”
Loyalty.
Something so fucking valuable in this world.
“I love him.”
And there’s the only thing worth more.
I swiftly snap my fingers for Mickie’s attention and angrily mouth, “Call Gus now!”
He prepares to dial in front of me while I motion my hand away in fear he may be heard.
“You’ll have plenty of time to change your mind on the way to the safehouse,” he announces, voice growing closer indicating, he’s inching closer to her.
Despite the fact that I’m not there, that I can’t stop, my body naturally moves as though I can. I scoot away from Francesco causing him to gripe his displeasure at me once more until my weapon is unholstered.
“And if that doesn’t work then maybe watching the feds crash that charity ball will. Maybe seeing your new ‘friends’ and ‘husband’ hauled off in handcuffs will get your ungrateful ass singing a different tune.”
“I-”
“Let’s go!” Adam barks prior to Elle screaming for help.
The grip on my device becomes tighter and tighter the further away her cries get. As soon as I can no longer hear them, I chuck my cell across the room, sharply turn on my heels, and grab Mickie by the shirt. “Gus?”
“No answer.”
Most likely dead.
“Jaq?”
He momentarily hesitates. “No answer.”
Both of her security details aren’t answering, meaning there’s no one to stop that asshole from taking her.
The thrumming in my ears increases in intensity and severity alike. “Cancel the fish platter.”
“Boss-”
His ability to speak is cut off due to the barrel of my pistol wedged into space underneath his chin. “Cancel. The. Fucking. Platter.” Mickie’s eyes widen to new levels. “Cancel the fucking platter and help me find my fucking wife!”
This time there’s no reluctance to his response. “Yes, sir.”
