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“I never needed you. There are a million of you out there and only one of her. For your information, I couldn’t wait to get rid of you. Let’s just say old goods tend to stink after a while and you were seriously past your use by date.”
“How could you be so cruel?” She sobs as I say icily, “You forget who you’re dealing with, Gabriella. I would be a little more accommodating if I were you.”
She glances up and I note the hope in her eyes, and it pisses the hell out of me because even now she is looking at me as if she wants to fuck me.
“Tell me the name of my father’s contact.”
“You said you knew.”
Her eyes are wide, and I shrug. “I have my suspicions, but I need to hear his name from your own mouth before I deal with him.”
She starts to laugh, and I watch a little of her old fire rekindled as she snaps, “You will get nothing from me until you reinstate me as your personal assistant, and we go back to business as usual.”
“Business as usual.” I sigh heavily. “Now, why would I want that when you have nothing I want?”
“You want a name.”
She crosses her legs suggestively and purrs. “I could whisper it in your ear while you fuck me. Would that work for you, Kill? For old times’ sake.”
“You always were a cheap fucking whore, Gabriella and I would seriously consider my offer of employment with Mrs. Collins.”
I sigh heavily. “Enough. I want his name now.”
“I don’t know who he is.” She says with a sigh, and I fix her with a deadly glare and say roughly, “Then you will find it. You have exactly–” I peer at my watch and smirk.
“Four hours at a guess.”
She looks confused.
“Why four hours?”
“Because that’s how long the cops will probably take to arrest you for murder.”
“I don’t understand.”
I go in for the kill.
“The murder of my father. Benito Vieri.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” She stands and I watch the normally composed woman crumble before my eyes.
“I have it all, Gabriella. The arranged meeting with an assassin. The notes you passed him, the bank transfer from your account in Switzerland. An eyewitness placing you at a bar in town while you arranged the hit and a signed confession from the hitman himself. All I need is a name and you will be spared dressing in orange for the rest of your life.”
“You’re bluffing,” she says, not really believing her own words for a second and then as the last word spills from her lips, a loud explosion rocks the building and she screams, “What’s happening?”
I lean back and peer out of the window and say casually,
“It appears that somebody just attempted to assassinate me. It’s just a shame they got my father instead.”
“You fucking bastard.” The tears stream down her face as she rushes to the window and stares out in disbelief at the scene below.
“You blew your own fucking father to hell. You’re sick, Killian.”
Moving behind her, I wrap my fingers around her neck and apply a hard pressure, and she gasps as I whisper in her ear. “Four hours, Gabriella and I would run if I were you.”
I release my hold and like a frightened gazelle, she races for the door and, as she slams it behind her, I am empty inside.
I wander back to the window and lean my head against the glass and close my eyes because despite everything he was still my father, and I must live with this for the rest of my fucking miserable life.
