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My breath hitches in my throat. “What did he find?”
“Bodies. A lot of bodies. Blood everywhere. I only know what he told me, but I believe him. I brought that kid into the crew and I’ve been working with him ever since, and I can swear to you, the kid doesn’t have it in him. Not that sort of killing. No way in hell. Not many people can slaughter a room full of living, breathing humans and walk away from it without losing their minds.”
I shift in my seat and raise my glass to my lips. A terrified shiver runs down my spine. I’m about to drink—but I stop myself. God, I’m not used to being pregnant. I fake a swallow and put the glass back down. “How many dead?”
“Five men. All of them with connections to our southern friends. There weren’t supposed to be that many to begin with, much less all of them with bullet holes and cut throats.”
“Spare me the gore, please.”
“You’re about to get knee deep in some filth, Sara. You better start strengthening your stomach.”
I narrow my eyes. He’s right, but he doesn’t need to be a prick about it. “What did Nicolas do after he found the bodies?”
“He did what anyone would do: he got the fuck out of there. Cops caught him an hour later as he was driving to the airport freaking the fuck out. He called me losing his goddamn mind the second he saw all that shit, and I could barely make sense of it, but I told him to get on a plane and get the fuck home, and we’d sort it all out from there. Instead, the cops caught him before he could reach the airport, hauled him in, and accused him of doing it. The lead detective said they got fingerprints or DNA or some shit, and now here we are.” Angelo leans forward, staring into my eyes, and I get a flash of him pulling my hair as he slides deeper and deeper between my legs. A shiver of lust and fear rolls down my back. “I’m telling you right now, he’s innocent. If you heard him when he called me, there’s no way in hell you’d think he did it.”
“I believe you,” I say because I don’t have any other choice, but it does seem implausible that one guy managed to murder five Mexican cartel members. “The question is, why don’t the police?”
“That’s where you come in.” He sits back and finishes his drink in one long gulp. “I have no clue what they’re thinking.”
“I’ll start the process of getting the evidence from the prosecutor’s office and I’ll build a defense from there, but I need to make sure Nicolas is going to be entirely forthcoming with me. Which means a visit.”
“Whatever you want.”
“And as for you—” I raise an eyebrow. “You can go back home.”
That surprises him. He tilts his head in confusion. “Carmine said you’d need help.”
“Carmine’s wrong. I need help from experienced defense lawyers, not from street thugs. You’re not needed, Angelo. Go back to Philadelphia.”
He stares at me for a beat before he bursts out laughing. I grind my jaw, frustrated and annoyed by his reaction, but I’m not backing down. Angelo is only going to get in the way and potentially make my life that much more difficult, and I’m not interested in having him hovering over my shoulder.
Besides, the longer he’s here, the more likely it is he’ll find out about my baby, and I can’t let that happen.
“There’s no way in hell I’m heading back to Philly without Nicolas.”
“Like I said, you aren’t needed. If I have to hire a private investigator to aid us with gathering evidence and following leads—”
“You’ll have me do it,” Angelo says, his smile disappearing. “You really are a frigid princess, aren’t you?”
I sit back for a second like he knocked the wind out of me. That’s what he called me the night of the wedding, his frigid princess. I have to steady my racing heart and gather myself—I won’t take this bait and let him mess with me until I say something stupid.
“I’m doing you a professional courtesy by taking this meeting,” I say and keep my tone as neutral and serious as I can, “but I told Carmine and I’m telling you, I don’t want you getting involved.”
“Too bad, princess. I’m not going anywhere.” He swirls his drink and keeps on staring at me like he’s waiting for me to get up and come sit in his lap. My stomach’s twisting, half with rage and disgust, and half with a strange and sickening desire. “You know, I keep thinking that you’re playing some kind of game, but it really isn’t. You’re really not going to talk about it, are you?”
I grimace and lean forward. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
