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It doesn’t make me happy that if Alessio’s men spot me they’ll look right past me because she lied about my description. This bitch is going to get some poor guy, matching this description, killed. She’s just as damned evil as the rest of them.
Does she get her thrills this way? Does it turn her on to watch destruction in her wake?
My jaw flexes, annoyance and anger threatening to bubble over as I shove the fucking paper in my pocket and leave the restaurant.
Chapter 8
Madelene
“That’s not the point,” I hear Alessio growl into the phone.
I deduced very quickly that the call is from his father, and the man isn’t happy about this entire situation. The yelling I catch every once in a while from the other end tells me he’s not an emotional wreck over the news of his son’s death. Maybe the family has seen and taken part in so many deaths that even the loss of one closest to them doesn’t register the same way it does with normal people.
Alessio’s face turns a variety of shades of red as the call continues. More than once, I’ve felt his eyes on me as I sit on the couch. It’s where he pointed when we got back from his meeting with Raul Cortez. If I had to guess, Lucian is more livid about the boys going against his direct orders about building a relationship with the cartel than anything else.
Even Alessio seems angrier about the audacity someone had in killing his brother than lost to grief over it happening.
Last night went nothing like I expected. The door to my room didn’t open once. I know this because I stayed awake all night, fearful of Alessio’s return to the hotel.
The man has barely said a word to me. Although it’s not unusual for him to ignore me, he’s definitely looking at me more often than usual.
I feel the suspicion in his eyes, feel the blame. His anger hasn’t been directed at me in any other way, but I know it’s only a matter of time.
Alessio speaks of revenge and retribution, of disrespect and how this will look for people back home as he raises and lowers his voice to a growl, speaking with his father. I hear him confirm his need for reinforcements from Chicago, requesting men from New York and Boston as well.
I’m honestly surprised that Lucian hasn’t demanded that he come home. I know the blame for this will be placed on Alessio’s shoulders. His father is a brutal man. He thinks all the bad that happens is Alessio’s fault. He’s second-in-command and shit rolls downhill. If something happens that Lucian feels could’ve been avoided, even if it would require being a mind reader or predicting the future, the fault lands on his oldest son.
Alessio speaks of family and respect as the call continues. By the time it ends, he seems more upset than he was last night when he pulled me out of the SUV covered in parts of his brother.
He grips his phone, leaning his head back as he stares up at the ceiling. A calm, controlled Alessio is a terrifying thing. Anyone can rant and rave to get their point across. When the world is in utter chaos and someone stays calm, that’s when you know they’re a threat.
I swallow as I watch him pace, longing for my phone as I watch him put his in the pocket of his slacks. My phone was in my purse in the vehicle last night. I didn’t even consider grabbing it before leaving the scene. I know better than to ask for it, despite having daily contact with my father being one of the conditions of this fucked-up arrangement our families have. It wouldn’t surprise me if Alessio wasn’t planning to text my father, pretending to be me. It wouldn’t be the first time I was punished this way.
My fingers grow extremely interesting as one of the men enters the living area of the suite. I sense more than see him approach Alessio. The conversation they have is spoken much too low for me to decipher.
I happen to look up at the same second Alessio looks over at me, but I’ve learned not to dart my eyes away. Playing stupid never works out in my favor. It’s a fine line between not acting afraid and being scared just enough that the man doesn’t see it as a challenge, but I know my time is limited in that regard.
“Leave,” Alessio says, his upper lip twitching in barely caged rage.
I stand immediately, walking toward the front of the room.
Before last night, it wouldn’t be unheard of for me to take a walk outside even when traveling. The Severinos know I’d never walk away from them. It would guarantee my father’s death, something I’ve been diligent to avoid triggering.
