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"Oh, but you do, Beauty."
I lean in and every muscle in her body tenses. Good. She’s wary. She should be. She should have been alert enough to have run as soon as she sensed my presence. But she hadn’t.
I should spare her because she's the woman from my dreams... but I won't. She's a debt I intend to collect. She owes me, and I've delayed what was meant to happen long enough.
I pull the gun from my holster, point it at her.
Her gaze widens and her breath hitches. I expect her to plead with me for her life, but she doesn't. She stares back at me with her huge dilated pupils. She licks her lips and the blood drains to my groin.Che cazzo!Why does her lack of fear turn me on so?
"Your phone," I murmur, "take out your phone."
She draws in a breath, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.
"Call your sister."
"What?"
"Dial your sister, Beauty. Tell her you are going away on a long trip to Sicily with your new male friend."
"What?"
"You heard me." I curl my lips. "Do it, now!'
She blinks, looks like she is about to protest, then her fingers fly over the phone.
Damn, and I had been looking forward to coaxing her into doing my bidding.
She holds her phone to her ear. I can hear the phone ring on the other side, before it goes to voicemail. She glances at me and I jerk my chin. She looks away, takes a deep breath, then speaks in a cheerful voice, "Hi Summer, it's me, Karma. I, ah, have to go away for a bit. This new... ah, friend of mine... He has an extra ticket and he has invited me to Sicily to spend some time with him. I... ah, I don't know when, exactly, I'll be back, but I'll message you and let you know. Take care. Love ya sis, I—"
I snatch the phone from her, disconnect the call, then hold the gun to her temple, "Goodbye, Beauty."
To find out what happens next read Mafia King HERE
Read Summer & Sinclair Sterling’s story HERE in The Billionaire’s Fake Wife
Read an excerpt from Summer & Sinclair’s story
Summer
"Slap, slap, kiss, kiss."
"Huh?" I stare up at the bartender.
"Aka, there's a thin line between love and hate." He shakes out the crimson liquid into my glass.
"Nah." I snort. "Why would she allow him to control her, and after he insulted her?"
"It’s the chemistry between them." He lowers his head, "You have to admit that when the man is arrogant and the woman resists, it’s a challenge to both of them, to see who blinks first, huh?"
"Why?" I wave my hand in the air, "Because they hate each other?"
"Because," he chuckles, "the girl in school whose braids I pulled and teased mercilessly, is the one who I—"
"Proposed to?" I huff.
His face lights up. "You get it now?"
Yeah. No.A headache begins to pound at my temples. This crash course in pop psychology is not why I came to my favorite bar in Islington, to meet my best friend, who is—I glance at the face of my phone—thirty minutes late.
