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I almost hate to leave, but it’s a good thing I choose to go when I do because my phone rings before I reach the curb in front of the building. No way would I have escaped unnoticed if that happened in the apartment.
Fucking Dante.
“I told you, I have shit I’m taking care of right now,” I mutter as I cross the street on the way back to the car. “Will you ever learn to leave enough alone?”
“Is my favorite thirty-year-old toddler done throwing a tantrum, or do you need a little more time?” he asks with a weary sigh. “Let me know, and I’ll wait,” he taunts, and I have to roll my shoulders, fighting the building tension.
Not even Papa can do that to me—talk down at me and try to make me feel small. Because my father wouldn’t. He knows better. My older brother, on the other hand? Every day, he decides to test me.
“What’s the problem? It had better be good after you’ve hounded me all night,” I warn, checking the car’s interior and glancing underneath before getting inside. A man can’t be too careful.
“We have a problem,” he states as if I’m unaware of what has been going on.
“And up until now, things were going so well.” My sarcasm can’t be helped.
He ignores me. “There were Vitali spies at the club Friday night.”
My heart stops for a brief, shocked moment. “And we know this how?”
“From one of our paid guys down at the precinct. He got word of it while he was out in a Vitali bar earlier tonight. Frankie was a bigger problem than we guessed.”
“I don’t wanna hear his name,” I bite out.
“I wish I could help you with that. I really do.”
I’m starting to get a headache. “How was he a bigger problem?”
“He told you he was in over his head with gambling debt?” he asks. “That they offered to clear it for him?”
“That was his story,” I growl out, remembering how he blubbered and begged.
“It’s starting to look like that’s all it was. A story. And as soon as they got word he got picked up and taken to the club for questioning, they were there too. Waiting to see what would happen.”
I stare out the windshield, still parked, unsure I trust myself to drive when I can barely see straight for the fresh rage blazing its way through my system. In the end, he couldn’t be honest with me. It wouldn’t have changed anything. He would’ve died anyway. He could’ve at least died like a man with a clear conscience.
“And apparently, there’s been word of you flirting with some girl who ended up going into your office later on. Is this true?”
Motherfucker. How the fuck did anybody see that? “It was after. I took care of it.”
He grunts. “But here’s the thing. They think she saw something, and I’m not sure they’re wrong.”
An icy finger traces its way down my spine. “What are you saying?” I ask.
“I’m saying if they don’t get their hands on her first, we’re going to have to. We can’t afford loose ends, and she sounds like one.”
“I’m telling you, she didn’t see a fucking thing.” I should slice Vinny’s balls off for being a clumsy, stupid asshole.
“Do me a favor and explain that to the Vitali for me, would you? Because I’ve got a lot of other things on my hands.” He ends the call before I can tell him to shove his imperious attitude up his ass.
She’s not a Vitali spy. That much I know for sure. It’s instinct. No way would she get in bed with them, not Little Miss Goody Two Shoes up there. There’s still a fucking stuffed bear on her bed, for God’s sake.
But they’re going to find her. They already may have. And that’s a problem.
When they decide to pay a visit, they’re not going to stop at jerking off into her panties and moving things around so she’ll think she’s either going crazy or being stalked.
The only question left is what to do about it. Do I step back and let them kill her, thus doing me a favor in the long run by eliminating a witness? Keeping my hands clean?
Or do I watch her back since I’m the man who deserves to claim her punishment for myself?
