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The memory forces a grunt out of me, and I reach down to palm myself through my jeans.
I can’t help it. I hate him. I hate him like I’ve never hated anyone before, and it’s partly because I want him so much. He’s been on my mind constantly these last few weeks. His scent, his touch, his goddamn smirk.
And his skills.
My dick dies as I think about those. Who knows what he’ll do to Roxy when he gets his hands on her. She won’t be so composed when she’s getting her face cut off, that’s for fucking sure...or whatever Julian decides to do with her, the sick little freak.
She doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve any of it, and Gino doesn’t either, especially since Dad’s orders were to make sure he got the message. That means Julian will make sure Gino finds her once it’s done, and make sure Gino understands who ordered it.
It’ll completely destroy Gino.
Unless I destroy Julian first.
CHAPTER29
JULIAN
I’ve hada bad night’s sleep, tossing and turning as I try to identify whatever this feeling is inside me. So when I’m woken at eight a.m. by a knock on the door, I’m annoyed.
Max Pedretti sticks his head around my bedroom door and says, “Hey.”
“Do you have a death wish?” I demand.
He just grins. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Boss has called you down for a meeting.”
I groan and flop back onto the bed. “Did you at least bring coffee up with you?”
“Nope. Now get your ass up. Boss is on the warpath.”
That does make me sit up. And when I wander downstairs, I find the inner circle huddled in the grand salon: Silvano Rizzo, Al Montanari, Vito DiPietro, and Gene Lombardo. I give the latter a non-blinking stare.
He just looks tired. As usual.
Jack is there too, keeping to the background, and I march over to him. He looks at my rumpled robe and sighs, “At least you’re decent.”
“What’s going on?” I demand.
“Meeting,” he says briefly.
“Yes, but—“
Jack holds up his hand and nods to the doorway, where Sandro has appeared. I turn to take him in. He seems even taller and darker today, a malevolent black hole in the middle of Redwood Manor. His eyes are burning and I can smell the fever-heat of his rage rising and rising.
“Come,” he says, and we all troop after him to the study as usual. I take a seat in the bay windows as usual, and everyone ignores me, as usual.
“Last night, two of our soldiers were murdered and left in the streets,” Sandro announces. His eyes settle on me briefly before returning to Jack, who stands at the back of the room as usual. The whole room goes quiet as we take it in. I can just about hear all those blood pressures hiking up.
“These two men were from Legs Liggari’s crew,” Sandro goes on.
“Goodmen,” Silvano Rizzo growls.
“Capable,” Sandro allows. “I want to know anything you’ve heard to suggest who might have done this.”
“It’s the fucking Bernardis,” Montanari shouts. “Old Aldo knows we got him in a death grip. He’s flailing around, striking where he can. Time to put him down.”
“Where did it happen?” As usual, Jack is the calmest voice in the room.
“Downtown. Imperial and West Eighth.”
