Page 87 of His Puppet

“Are yousureyou haven’t been using?”

His lips tremble, and my face pinches with disgust when I think he might cry.

“Not our product, sir.Neverour product. A couple days ago, one of my buddies, h-he brought some glass over, and I had a bowl, but I mean, I’m good, boss, I—”

“That was a yes or no answer,” I say, stopping his ramble.

“I didn’t steal nothing,” he says, his lip quivering.

I consider telling him how it doesn’t matter and that there are consequences to breaking the rules but that I’ll be easy on him this time. It’d be a lie. He was dead the moment he came up short on the money he owed, but I hate it when they leave kicking and screaming. It gives me a headache.

When the tears start spilling from his eyes, and he sniffs, my lip curls.

I look over at Franco and gesture to Spider. “Would you please get this fucking trash out of my office?”

Spider’s eyes widen with panic, and he spins just as Franco brings the butt of the gun over his head. Spider falls to the floor in a heap, and Franco gives him a disapproving look before bending and working his forearms into Spider’s armpits.

“Why does the fucker have to be so heavy,” Franco complains.

“Make sure you don’t kill him until he’s outside city limits.”

Franco heaves Spider up and groans. “You got it, boss.”

A pounding sounds on the front door, and Franco and I both turn our heads toward the noise as if we can see through the wall.

“Las Vegas Police, open up!”

Franco drops Spider’s body, and it lands on the floor with a thud. His eyes go wide as he whips his head toward me. My brow furrows, and I frown.

What the fuck?

Wood splinters, and my guys working here scatter like roaches while I step from my office. Some head for a window and some sprint toward the back of the house. They’re idiots. It isn’t necessary for them to run because the police aren’t here for them. They’re here for me.

That isn’t what has me confused. What has me confused is that they’rehere, on Gruco property.

They actually have something on me.

I put my hands up as the woman cop comes at me, gun raised like she’s G.I. Jane, and I squint with confusion.

“Against the wall!” she screams, and I have to roll my eyes at that one. This isn’t my first time being arrested, but with her intensity, she must not know that. The whole thing is intense. There must be ten cops who have burst into here, guns raised as they scour through the house. Shit,arethey here for the familia?

Franco puts his hands up as well, but no one screams at him. I flatten my palms against the wall, and Miss Badass shoves my torso into it. My jaw clenches, and annoyance flares as she roughly jerks my wrists down and cuffs me like she’s enjoying this.

“Little rough, baby girl. Not in front of the boys.”

“Shut the fuck up, you piece of scum!” she snarls, jerking me back.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me why you’re arresting me? What is this, your first day?”

She keeps shoving me toward the door, and images of holding her head under water fill my mind. Annoyance turns to anger.

“Riccardo Bianchi, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping and imprisonment of Emily Wilson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be—”

“What?” I scoff, jerking back against her. “How the fuck do you figure that?”

She talks over me, eagerly reading me my rights as I stomp to the car and let her forcefully shove me inside, thinking about the day I’m going to break my ‘no hurting women’ streak and bury her body in a six-foot hole.

“This is obviously a mistake,” I say when a different officer climbs into the driver’s seat. “Emily is my fiancée, you fucking morons.”

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