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“That is fucking bullshit! We talked a lot and got along great.”
“On the phone, you pretended to be a different woman.”
“I did not!”
“Listen,” I bark. “Do not raise your voice to me. I’ve had enough of this shit. You lied about everything. Your entire past was a fabrication. And lies were all I got while we were together, too. You said you sideswiped a car while reaching for your phone, when you actually fucking rammed it on purpose. And you failed to mention you’d been detained for cutting a girl with a broken bottle because she tripped and spilled a drink on you. What a fucking crazy thing to do.” I shake my head. “Get out.”
Even though everything I’ve said is true, she’s seething with rage, as if she’s the wronged party.
“You think that’s it, huh, Liam? You think you can get engaged to a Di Luccio and call it off? And humiliate me? I’ve got news for you. That’s not happening! I’ll kill you first.” Her hand dives into her purse.
I move fast but not fast enough. The shot tears through my side before I knock her bag to the floor and the gun with it.
She reaches for the firearm, but I’m not playing now. I shove her hard enough to send her flying, so I can get there first.
Blood spills from the wound, soaking the top of my pants as I straighten up.
“You'd better change your tune, Liam,” she says wildly. “Or I’ll have my brothers find that little bitch and cut her into a hundred bloody pieces to use as fish food.”
My eyes narrow. “I’ve told you before threats will not work on me.”
“They don’t need to. When every girl you sleep with ends up dead in the river, I guess you’ll have to decide whether you want to be with me or alone.”
“Your family won't go along with that. Killing innocent women would be very bad for business. Especially, when I retaliate.”
“Fuck off, Liam. You think I'm afraid? I slapped your little twit bloody, and she ran out into the street crying. And I’m not kidding. I will fucking kill her.”
No fucking way.
One moment, the gun is pointed at the ground. The next, she's staring down its barrel. Time stands still for an instant as shock registers in her dark brown eyes.
I pull the trigger.
CHAPTER8
LIAM
Ilie in a hospital bed where the smell of antiseptic hangs in the air above the blood-soaked sheets. At least the bandage wrapped around my ribs is clean and dry. It covers a half a dozen stitches in my left side that close the deep gash left by the bullet.
In the corner, my shirt is balled up in a brown paper evidence bag, waiting for the forensic team to arrive.
My right wrist is handcuffed to the metal rungs of the hospital bed’s side rail. I’m in police custody, but the officer assigned to watch me has seen his way to step out into the hall. Arrangements to pay him need to be made to keep him helpful.
Aiden stalks into the room with his face furrowed into a scowl. A thick strand of hair has come loose from his ponytail and is hanging over his cheek. There’s a handful of hair on the side of his head that’s raised where he must have shoved a hand in it. Despite his measured silence, the unruly hair tells me news of the shooting hit him like a Nor’easter.
He looks me over and raises a ruddy eyebrow. With a quick glance toward the door, he walks closer. In a low voice, he says, “What we heard is there was an exchange of gunfire?”
It couldn’t really be called an exchange, but I say, “Yeah.” My voice is level because I’m calm now. I have been ever since Francesca Di Luccio hit the marble floor.
Monitors beep, and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes can be heard as someone passes by the door.
“Gunfire just inside the front door? Where the neighbors could hear the shots?”
“Couldn’t be helped,” I answer in a whisper. "Listen, I need you to do something.”
“Name it.” Aiden nods encouragement.
“I need you to check on Olivia. Make sure she’s all right, and if Francesca lied to her about anything, set the record straight for me. Or at least tell her I will, once I’m free to see her.”
