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I forced my tense lips to tug upward in a smile I didn’t feel. Not when my plans of seducing Emily, pumping her for information while I pumped into her, had just come to an abrupt halt.
Could I chase her around Europe? Yes. But it would be a hard thing to explain, me suddenly showing up wherever the hell she is. Then again, it might charm her enough to give into me faster. I’d have her in the palm of my hand, pliable and willing to share whatever I ask of her.
If I find Jackson innocent, she’ll be my consolation prize. Something to enjoy as I seek the real murderer. And if I judge Jackson to be guilty of murder, my revenge will be much easier to enact.
I’ll make her suffer. Break her. And demand his life to set her free.
She would hate him for what happened to her once she learned the reason. And he’d die knowing that she suffered because of him.
In the end, I decide patience will be my friend. It’s the most important element of a clean hit. When you rush into something, things get messy.
Three months may seem like a long time. Sylvia certainly thought so when I told her I had a lead but couldn’t make a move yet.
Perfection can only be achieved when you take your time. Even though my body demands I take Emily, the sooner the better, my brain still controls me. Not my dick.
As I think it, an image of her licking her lower lip flashes through my mind, and my dick twitches. My abdomen tightens and I catch my breath.
I shut my eyes and count to five, willing myself to relax.
My mind controls me, not my dick,I repeat in my head.
When yet another image of her, this time, a self-created one where I see her cheeks flushed, her mouth parted as she rides me, I begin to wonder if I might just be a fool.
It’s the sound of Joaquin’s nasally voice behind me that finally snaps me back to myself. “Thought I’d find you here.”
I cringe and swivel my head toward him. “You could have called.”
“Nah, I was in the area.” He lifts a finger toward Otto. “Garcon! A beer, please. And put it on this good man’s tab.”
Otto’s gaze flicks to me. “Jou okay this?”
With a sharp nod, I say, “Only one.”
“Ah, bitch, you’re no fun,” Joaquin says.
“What are you doing on my side of town? I thought you’d be busy fucking something today.”
He grins, his gold teeth glinting in the dim light as he sits on the stool beside me. “I was. But then I got some news. Had to come find ya and share.”
“What?”
“Tony Sinacore is dead.” He hits the lastdin dead with so much pleasure, spittle sprays on my arm.
“What?” Disgusted, I pause with my beer halfway to my mouth and turn to him. I grab a napkin from the dispenser in front of me and wipe the nasty shit off, swearing never to roll up the sleeves of my button-up shirts again.
“The fucker is dead.” He chuckles almost giddily. “Please tell me it was you.”
“Why the fuck would—” I pause just as Otto sets my cousin’s beer on the bar and wait for him to move away before continuing. “I kill Tony?”
“Because I ordered you to kill Luca.”
I shut my lids tightly for a moment, praying for patience. But God doesn’t grant anything to men like me.
“You dumb fuck,” I grit through my teeth. “Even if I’d accepted the order to kill Luca, I would’ve killed only him. Not Tony.”
“Easy, bitch. I was kiddin’.” Joaquin clucks his tongue. “So who do you think it could have been?”
The Ferryman comes to mind, and I wonder. Could it have all been a coincidence, or was he taken out by this unknown actor.
