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“Alright, fine!” Colin hollers, then pauses to take a few heaving breaths. “I was plotting it, alright?” Another few pants. “But that doesn’t mean I went through with it. I’m telling you here and now that I didn’t do it.”
“You’re still going to sing that song after what I just played?” I ask him with a little chuckle. “I have to say, your stubbornness rivals my uncle’s. But I have to ask, do you think I’m stupid? Do you think selling me that story will convince me? Or are you the stupid one, who thinks that I will listen to the cries of a man plotting my uncle’s death? Do you think I’ll be moved? Do you think I’ll show mercy after you’ve already kissed that chance goodbye?”
“I swear to ya,” Colin croaks, tears bubbling from his eyes. “I didn’t do it. Someone got to him first.” When I tut at him and reach for my waistband, his face turns to the ceiling. “Forgive me for my sins, Holy Father—”
“The only ones here are my men and me,” I interrupt his prayer. “If God does exist, he abandoned you long, long ago.” My hand pauses. “I will ask you only once. Who did you plot his murder with?”
“Holy Spirit, please guide me to the gates of Heaven. I am but a mortal, rife with sins worse than my brothers. But I am requesting mercy—” he goes on praying.
“Last chance,” I warn.
“For the Lord died for all our sins, including my own. I am your humble servant, Dear—”
I roll my eyes. “You’re boring me.”
Withdrawing my gun, I swiftly aim the barrel at the center of his forehead and pull the trigger. The silencer is enough not to make the gunshot crackle like a firework, but it’s enough of a noise to cause it to echo through the massive room. Colin’s head jerks backward one last time, and blood pours from the fresh hole in his face. Letting out a sigh, I tuck my gun away again and adjust my jacket.
Michael steps into the light, his eyes analyzing the body. “What a mess of a man,” he snorts. “Think he thought prayer would actually save him?”
“Possibly. He was an idiot,” I mutter.
He looks over at me with curious eyes. “Why didn’t you give him a while longer to admit who his accomplice was?”
“I told you. He was boring me,” I huff. “If these two were stupid enough to plan their scheme on a landline, without considering my uncle would keep his men’s phones tapped, then they are likely sloppy enough to leave some other sort of evidence about.” I sniff and look at the body one last time. He looks so weak and pathetic, just as he had in life. “Besides, they narrowed down our list of suspects in that recording. There are few men that would be anobvioussuspect.”
If there is anyone they are going to look at first, it’s gonna be you.The words buzz about my head like hornets, stinging my mind. Someone was bold enough to orchestrate a hit on my uncle with his best friend—someone we would easily point the finger at.
“Fair enough,” Michael chuckles. His lips curling into a grin make the lines on his face more severe, his hazel eyes a little brighter. There was a time that Michael and I could have passed as twins—both dirty blonde, brown-green hazel eyes, and tall. However, there’s five years between us and age is starting to catch up with him. I’m no spring chicken myself, but he’s more cemented in time. Thirty-six looks good on him.
When I look down at myself finally, a deep sneer appears on my face. I curse under my breath and pivot to leave the room. A great annoyance has blossomed to life in my chest, cursing Colin right to Hell for his indiscretion.
“Everything alright, Boss?” Michael asks.
“He got blood on my fucking shirt,” I spit. “Burn his body, sink it in the river. Do whatever you have to do so I don’t have to lay eyes on him again.”
The heavy metal door slams shut behind me.
CHAPTERTHREE
Anna
“What do you mean my soul?” I ask Andrey breathily. “Are you going to sell me or something?”
“Tempting,” Andrey replies, tilting his head side to side. “Though, I would have to buy you up myself.”
Don’t show the disgust on your face. “Then what is it?” I question.
He stubs out his cigar in an ashtray, sets it down, and folds his arms in his lap. “Are you aware of what has recently happened to Sean Mullen?” Alarm bells start blaring in the back of my head. There is no good reason for him to discuss the murder of a rival mafia leader with me. I only nod, unable to form a response over the anxiety swarming my bloodstream. “Well, rumors have it that he has a nephew. A man by the name of Liam Mullen.”
Despite the distance I try to force between myself and the mafia, I stay close enough to know a good bit about its families. My brow scrunches. “I didn’t know Sean had nieces or nephews.”
“No one did,” Andrey snorts. “And that’s the issue we are facing. Why keep him a secret and hide him away? What’s his deal? And why have we not heard a single peep from the Mullens since rumors of him have started circulating?” He clicks his tongue and sighs. “We have it on good authority that Liam has arrived in the city to take control of the Mullens family. With that being said, we need to figure him out. See what he likes, what he hates, what makes him tick, and what excites him. There’s speculation he’s a beast of a man, that he’s been locked away because he’s a dangerous, loose-cannon type of guy.”
My throat tries once again to clamp shut from my nerves. It says a lot about thisLiamguy that Andrey Robinson describes him as dangerous. And I don’t like where this conversation is going. “And what does that have to do with me?”
Standing in front of the desk, Andrey paces toward me and then circles my chair. When he is directly behind me, his hands grasp my shoulders firmly, and he even rubs them slightly. I eye the window behind his desk and fantasize about diving through it. “Because, sweet Anna, you are going to help me get this information. We’re going to get you close to him. As close as you need to. You’ll use your… heavenly, supple assets,” he purrs as his hand brushes against the length of my neck. I clutch the armrests to fight the shiver that’s daring to roll through me. “If it’s required of you. But don’t worry, it won’t be for long. Just long enough to figure out if he’s a potential friend, or a foe.”
My head is spinning and it’s growing harder and harder to keep my composure, especially with his hands on me. Being around him is like being trapped in a perpetual panic attack. I fear my words being too pointed will trigger him to do something awful. Yet at the same time, I worry being too feeble will make him think that I am welcoming his passive advances. “Why me?” I mutter. “Why not someone better versed in spying, with more experience being in the mafia?”
