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“We have the bone-deep, mouth-frothing viciousness that cannot be faked. I see it in your cold eyes.”
He stepped in front of me, tipped my chin so I stared into his eyes, and whispered against my lips, “And we are both so very lost.”
“I’m not lost,” I tried to deny, but I knew in my bones I was.
I didn’t want this job anymore.
Not the bartending one, but the one with the FBI.
I didn’t want to lie. I didn’t want to pretend. I didn’t want to know my fake covers more than I knew myself.
I didn’t want to die alone.
I didn’t want to betray the people around me.
You’d think with my job, I would be a fighter.
I wasn’t.
They taught us to run in the bureau. When our cover was blown, we ran. My cover wasn’t blown, but my heart had been torn to shreds by the truth in his words, so I did what I did best.
I turned and ran.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
To exact revenge for yourself or your friends is not only a right, it’s an absolute duty.
STIEG LARSSON
BASTIANO ROMANO
Giving myself time to fester on how close Ariana’s words had hit home would have made me hate her, so I didn’t.
She’d hit the truth.
I was angry and bitter. Not just because I rarely saw Tessie but also because I never saw Everett.
No number of private investigators or bribery had given me success in unlocking a secret I could blackmail Elsa with.
I’d exhausted all options, but I refused to come to terms with the idea that Everett would never live with me.
“Oh, this is gorgeous.”
The mafia bunny slung her arm around my shoulder, dipping her head back and fawning over every little detail of Asher and Lucy’s wedding.
I’d forgotten her name as soon as she’d told me.
Not that it mattered.
Gio had set this “date” up, and I wasn’t going to make a scene during Asher and Lucy’s wedding.
I had my limits. I wasn’t that bad. I’d give them their special day without interfering. I had a spine, but today it happened to be as tough as a limp dick.
And they said romance was dead.
“When we get married, can we do it here?”
