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“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your mama and siblings are well taken care of. They’re D’Angelos now.”
“Thanks, Don,” the man says on a harsh exhale.
I count it in my head. One second, two seconds. But on the third one, I hesitate, the uncorrupted part of my soul wanting to stop, to show mercy, to let him go. But mercy’s a privilege that doesn’t apply in my world. Mercy’s a sign of weakness. And as the top dog, I can’t afford to demonstrate any form of weakness. So I let the bullet fly and it hits him right in the middle of his head.
Barely a sound or cry, and Lorenzo Grus falls down, dead.
My breath comes out pained. I turn to my brother.
“Bury him properly,” I order. “And make sure to check on his mama and siblings. Take care of it all quietly, Carlo. We don’t want Desantos finding out about all this.”
My brother nods. I let out another harsh exhale before heading to my car that’s parked a few feet away. I breathe easier once I’m far away from it all. Once I’m sure the soul I just reaped has gone straight to hell or heaven, wherever he was meant to go.
CHAPTER7
Daniella
Idon’t understand Christian D’Angelo. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering I barely know the man. This morning, he sent one of the maids to call me downstairs, claiming it was time we had our first meal together.
We’ve lived under the same roof for three weeks and we haven’t eaten together once. In fact I’ve barely seen him, with him coming and going at odd hours of the night. It has suited me perfectly since every interaction ends with my blood boiling. Him insisting we share a meal together was weird enough. Even weirder was his refusal to acknowledge my presence or even say a single word to me.
I make an attempt to fill the silence. “You got home late last night,” I say, cutting a piece of my pancake with my fork before chewing it slowly.
Christian finally looks up at me. As always, he looks completely put together, formal, gentlemanly. Black suit, sans tie—I’ve noticed he doesn’t wear those. There’s not a single dark hair out of place. He looks just as he does all the time. But there’s a darkness in his eyes that makes my breath hitch.
“I got home around eleven. What were you doing awake?” he asks, taking a sip of his orange juice.
My teeth clench but I swallow my irritation. “I was painting. I hope you don’t mind but I’m using one of the extra rooms since there isn’t an art studio in this house.” He nods once, and I continue. “I was in the room when I heard you come in.”
“Sneak in” is more accurate, though. I watched from the top of the stairs as he entered, his footsteps light and quiet, like he was trying not to draw any attention to himself.
“It was late and I didn’t want to wake anyone,” he says, accurately guessing the direction of my thoughts.
“Oh, okay,” I say awkwardly because I’m not sure how to say what I really want to say. But I noticed the tension in his jaw and the look on his face when he arrived in the night. Putting it simply, he looked awful.
Christian cocks an eyebrow at me. “Do you want something?”
“No, why do you ask?”
He shrugs. “It just seems like you’re fishing for something.”
“I’m just trying to make conversation because this is one of the most awkward breakfasts I’ve ever had. And it’s with a man I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with.”
“Fine, what would you like to talk about?” he asks, staring straight at me.
Being the subject of his attention sends a flush of heat through me. I blink, unable to hold his gaze for too long. So I look down at my breakfast, pushing the bacon around on my plate.
“Where were you last night?”
His jaw tenses and he looks away. I watch as his hand tightens around the cutlery in it.
“Business,” is his curt reply.
“Really? That’s all I get?”
Christian drops his fork and knife. They hit the table with a clang, his expression suddenly impatient. “I’m trying here, Daniella.”
“No, you’re not. You ask me to breakfast and then you spend the entire time not speaking.”
