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“One last birthday drink?” Monique says, holding up a salt-rimmed glass.
“I have to go,” I remind her, pulling my dress over my head.
“It’s my freaking birthday.” She stomps her foot on the floor for effect.
I sigh, taking the margarita from her. “See how much I can drink in thirty seconds.”
“I bet I can down mine way faster than you, Moretti.”
Narrowing my eyes, I scowl. “You really think?”
“I know.”
“Huh.” I lift the glass to my lips, tip my head back, and down the entire cocktail in one gulp. When I look at her, she’s grinning at me, her drink still untouched.
“You not even going to try and beat me?” I ask, but my words sound like they’re coming from underwater. Now Monique sways on her feet. Or is that me?
“W-wha?” My legs buckle and I drop to the floor. The glass tumbles from my hand. The sound of shattering glass comes from a distance as my head smacks the marble.
“Never could resist a challenge, could you, Joey?”
My eyes flutter closed, but I manage to reopen them long enough to see her take a gun from a small locker.No!I try to shout for Ash, but my mouth won’t open.
Everything goes dark but I can still hear.
The door opens. “Is everything okay?” Thank God! Ash is here.
A muffled gunshot is followed by a sickening thud.
I try to move, screaming at my body to get up and run, but I’m paralyzed. My heart races. Where’s Ash? What the hell is Monique doing?
Drifting in and out of consciousness, I can’t make sense of the snippets of conversation floating above me.
“Hey, baby, it’s me… move fast… take her home… don’t know… he’s dead… there’s another one outside… as soon as you can.”
Then nothing.
ChapterForty-Three
MAX
Michael Fiore’s face is a mask of shock when he opens the door to me and Dante. Maybe it’s our fierce expressions that communicate our willingness to ruin lives to get what we want. Either that or the fact that I just threatened to shoot the guard at the gate if he didn’t let us through.
“Where’s Toby?” I demand.
“T-Toby? He’s here. Why?” Michael stammers.
I pull my gun from the waistband of my suit pants and hold it against Michael’s temple. “I can shoot you right now and go inside and get him. Or you can call him out here.” I press the cold metal into that little indent at the side of his forehead, and his lip starts to tremble.
“D-Dante?”
“Don’t fucking look to him for help, you piece of shit. You have five seconds to get him out here or your brains are going to decorate this porch.”
“Call him, Michael. You know he’ll do it. If Toby’s here, there’s every chance you’ll both get out of this alive.”
Michael keeps his eyes focused on Dante. A man he’s worked for ten years—a man he trusts.
“Toby. C-come out here, son,” he shouts into the house.
