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‘And a box of ashes,’ John added, a feeling of utter dread forming in the pit of his stomach and travelling like icy tentacles to every part of his body, until he was consumed by the feeling. His heart beat faster as he imagined the countless horrible fates that would befall the woman he loved, should she try anything so stupid as to murder Emilio Ross in his own building, surrounded by security and family and no doubt his own fucking son across the desk.
Mariana’s voice came through clearly. ‘Emilio needs to die. Then we can all be free.’
She ended the call. John looked at the screen in disbelief.
‘Call Dornan,’ John said to Guillermo, as he pocketed the phone and picked up a heavy brass vase that sat in the foyer.
‘And tell him that Mariana’s on her way to kill Emilio?’ Guillermo asked in disbelief.
John looked at the floor-to-ceiling window that butted up against the front door and prayed it wasn’t bulletproof. ‘No,’ he said, gripping the neck of the vase with two hands and rearing it back like a baseball bat. ‘Tell him you got clumsy again and broke the fucking window.’
Guillermo looked up from his phone. ‘Huh?’
John swung.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARIANA
I’d put on my best calm voice on the phone, but as soon as I’d ended John’s call, a mile from the Gypsy Brothers clubhouse, I had started to shake. I drove down Abbot Kinney and turned onto Venice Boulevard, passing tourists and moms pushing strollers with one hand, Starbucks firmly gripped in the other. People liked to think of Venice as a hip, grungy place, but if they knew what happened inside the nondescript warehouse I was pulling up to, they’d drop their pumpkin spiced lattes onto the pavement and run.
I parked in front of the clubhouse and gripped my steering wheel, trying to catch a breath. Dark desires stirred within me, ones that had lain dormant for years, the spark of the girl I had been when I was first thrust into this life. The girl I had been forced to be when I killed first Murphy, then his partner, Allie.
Breathe in.
I was probably going to die in the next thirty minutes.
Breathe out.
I was going to die because my shock had worn off, and in its place, a violent rage had taken hold of me. I was its willing hostage, its dutiful foot soldier, its vengeful lover.
Breathe in.
It spread through my veins like poison, an elaborate network of arteries and organs that ached for reprisal. My pale shocked cheeks were now flushed with anger as I placed a palm on the office door and pushed, not bothering to knock.
***
Emilio Ross sat behind the great wooden desk in an office he occupied for two hours every week. He didn’t need anything so elaborate, but he insisted for the other 166 hours a week, that this room was off-limits. Normally, I knocked and waited for his gruff invitation to enter.
This time though I walked right in, shoulders squared, eyes steeled, every ounce of me screaming with silent rage.
I didn’t even glance at Dornan, who’d replaced Murphy in these financial meetings we had every Sunday. No, in that moment, he didn’t even exist. I went straight for Emilio, who didn’t look at all surprised that he’d finally hit a nerve in me that I couldn’t ignore.
‘Mariana,’ Emilio greeted me, amusement written all over his face. ‘You’re late.’
I smiled thinly, the box in my hands far heavier than its actual weight. ‘I am. I had a very busy morning.’
In my peripheral vision, I could see Dornan staring at me, and I knew he was probably dying inside that he wasn’t in on whatever Emilio and I were discussing.
‘I suppose I should be lenient, since it’s your birthday,’ Emilio said sweetly, his sugar-laden words failing to cover the poisonous barbs that lurked beneath. ‘I trust you got my gift, darling?’
Darling? He’d never called medarlingin ten years. The word sounded like cursing coming from his mouth.
I dropped my smile, but didn’t turn my gaze away. To be able to out-stare a powerful man is a very rare gift, and I intended to use that gift. I stared at Emilio Ross until my eyes were burning, begging for me to blink, or look away, but I refused.
I’d assumed that I would place the box neatly in front of him and step away, but in that moment, the way his cold eyes surveyed me with an almost amused look, that shock I’d been experiencing subsided. In its wake, a tsunami of rage swelled through me, unbidden, uncontainable.
‘I got your gift,’ I replied, opening the cardboard box. ‘I’m returning it.’
