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Wolfe was wrong. Or at least, not completely right.
I was no longer hell-bent on running away from him. Not since I realized my parents weren’t going to fight for me.
Angelo said we’d be together this lifetime, but I hadn’t heard from him since. With every day that passed, breathing without feeling as if a knife had been shoved into my lungs became easier.
But I didn’t confess that to Wolfe. I didn’t utter aloud what my body spoke to him in my parents’ piano room.
I stepped out of his embrace, telling him everything there was to say.
I’m not ready yet.
“Good night, Villain.”
I ambled to my bedroom.
The jagged edge of his voice ran like fingers over my back behind me, but he relented. Accepted my reluctance to be with him like that.
“Sleep tight, Nemesis.”
Chapter
Ten
WOLFE
I watched from the back of my Cadillac as the private investigator I’d hired slammed his car door shut and walked over to knock on the Rossi’s door.
Francesca’s mother answered, and he handed her the brown manila file and turned around without a word, just as I had instructed him to.
Arthur Rossi tried to destroy the evidence against him.
I was going to destroy him.
I’d filled Chicago’s streets with more cops and moles. For the past three decades, he’d been ruling those streets with an iron fist.
And now, in only a short few weeks, I’d managed to eliminate a lot of his power.
The investigator I’d hired reported back that Arthur had been drinking more, sleeping less, and raised his hand to two of his most trustworthy soldiers.
For the first time in three decades, he was spotted leaving his own strip clubs, smelling not only like cigars and alcohol but also other women’s pussies.
Two of the women, out-of-towners, were stupid enough to allow the investigator to take pictures of them with Arthur.
I’d created more of a mess for him, and it seemed as though his Keaton problem wasn’t going to go away.
I watched Francesca’s mother’s face crumpling as she slid the pictures out of the envelope. I simultaneously clutched a letter in my own hand.
It was addressed to me from her husband. Containing anthrax, I was sure, if it weren’t too incriminating against him.
Francesca’s mother started after the investigator’s white Hyundai, but he already took off before she could question him further about the things he showed her.
I tore open the letter and skimmed over it.
It was an invitation to throw his daughter and me an engagement party.
It was suspicious, but a part of me gave him the benefit of the doubt.
I figured he wanted to put on a show and make people think our marriage had his blessing in order to try and assert more power over the situation. Furthermore, staging the fire at Murphy’s didn’t serve him well.
