Tobias’s death was the proof I’ve been seeking the past eleven months. Rimi isn’t working alone. He doesn’t have the means nor the ability to pull off the sting he did almost three months ago. He’s getting help, and if the inkling in my gut is anything to go by, it isn’t just from our side of the law.
The only reprieve I was given the past three months was news that despite her hankering for public hookups, the teen in the alleyway skipped prosecution. It probably helped that Smith erased the surveillance footage from the security company’s servers faster than Erkinsvale detectives drool their way through a box of glazed donuts.
Although Smith works at a lightning-fast pace, the quality of his work is never diminished. The fact he works fast and clean is the main reason he’s on my team. Trust is a very close second.
My intuition about Justine understanding Italian is proven spot on when she mutters, “Sono contento di quello che hai ordinato.”
“Ah, so you do speak Italian?”
The genuine surprise in my tone awards me my first smile of the night. “Amongst other languages,” Justine replies as her smile picks up.
Her eyes shine as brightly as the diamond drop necklace I gifted her at the commencement of our date when I scoot to her half of our booth so I can lay her napkin across her lap. I’m bringing out all the charm tonight, hopeful the glitz will hide my wolfish insides well enough, she’ll be convinced her brothers’ worries the past three months were nothing more than them being overprotective ogres like all good siblings should be.
I can’t say I don’t understand their approach. I had a similar neurosis with my siblings before all but one of them perished. Roberto has been missing for a little over four years. Ophelia was killed in a traffic accident years ago, and CJ would rather live as a recluse than endure another two decades under our father’s command. He says he’s happy in his log cabin miles from the closest town.
Until Fien is returned, I’ll never discover if he’s telling the truth. My daughter is the only reason I’ve remained in this godforsaken town. Just like she was the very reason I strived so hard to leave it a year ago.
Part of me wonders if that was why Audrey was taken. Did rumbles of my wish to cut ties with my family reach my enemies’ ears that they were left with no choice but to respond before they lost the chance? Or did the rumors only reach my father’s ear, and he did everything in his power to ensure his legacy lived on?
I don’t want to believe the latter is true, but until I’m proven otherwise, I’m looking at everyone with the same tainted set of eyes—blood included. It wouldn’t be the first time my father has gone against his children. I doubt it’ll be the last.
My thoughts shift back to friendly territory when Justine runs her hand down my arm. “Are you okay?” She keeps her tone low, aware there are more than just her eyes on me. My family’s reputation isn’t what it once was, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t notable.
Fear is often more respected than gallantry.
“I’m fine.” Needing to ease the tension strain creasing her forehead, I add, “I was just wondering whether we should eat dessert here or order it to go.”
Although Justine shrugs like a nightcap isn’t on the agenda right now, I know that’s far from the truth. Her eyes aren’t twinkling from the waiter setting down our scrumptious-looking hors d’oeuvres. Interest is responsible for some of their gleam.
While laughing at something wittingly intelligent I said, Justine dabs at her saucy lips with her napkin. Petretti’s isn’t as elaborate as the first two restaurants we dined at, but the quality of its meals and service is undeniable. If Justine wasn’t seated across from me, I’d be convinced I was in Cefalù, a coastal city in northern Sicily. It’s the only place I run to when I’ve had enough of life. I’ve not been back there since Audrey was taken.
Some days it seems as if I’ll never get back there.
My moping isn’t saved by Justine this time around. The waiter who’s working super hard for an impressive tip has returned to our table to offer us the dessert menu. Although my earlier comment about us taking dessert home to eat was in jest, the slightest smell of Justine’s heated skin has me reconsidering my objectives.
In my industry, the smell of a woman in need is sampled as regularly as a fresh brew of coffee. It’s never had this edge before, though. Justine has a pure, unaltered smell, and although she isn’t fawning for my attention, her interests are undeniable.
I slant my head to hide my devious smirk before asking, “Have you decided what you’d like?”
If she replies with one of the many options on the menu she’s perusing, I’ll continue portraying the gentleman I’ve been feigning the past three months. However, if her reply is anything close to the vulgar ones running through my head, all bets are off. Women have practically thrown themselves at me the past year. I’ve yet to accept a single offer. I want any exchanges to be on my terms, when I’m ready, and not because my father is convinced a woman’s cunt wrapped around your cock is the answer for everything.
My mother’s body wasn’t even cold before he moved on. I’m not solely talking about sex, either. He married his favorite whore a month after my mother’s death. Wife number three lasted exactly thirty-eight days. She no longer occupies my father’s bed, but the rose garden at the front of my family’s compound is well-fertilized.
I peer at Justine beneath lowered lashes when she mumbles, “Umm… I’m not sure what I want.” I won’t lie, when she returns my glance, my cock twitches. It isn’t the same full-blown throbbing erection I got while watching the blonde get fingered in the alleyway three months ago, but it most certainly wouldn’t have any issues getting the job done. Justine is beautiful, and although I can’t replace Audrey, I can forget her for a night or lose myself in someone with almost identical features.
After handing my dessert menu to the waiter, I request him to place our meals on my tab. He almost shits himself when I suggest he add a hundred-dollar tip to the tally. His excitement is as high as Justine’s when I scoot out of the booth before offering to help her out.
She accepts it, albeit hesitantly.
Little Red Riding Hood knows she’s being stalked by the Big Bad Wolf.
While guiding Justine to the car I requested the valet keep close by, I silence my cousin, Demi’s, third call of the night. She’s most likely calling to gripe about the fight she had with Maddox earlier tonight—a fight I instigated with the hope it would keep Maddox off Justine’s tail long enough for me to slip her away for a secret rendezvous.
Did it work?
Justine is being guided to my car, isn’t she?
Once I’ve assisted Justine into my low-riding car, I jog around to the driver’s side door a second valet is holding open for me. I gunned down a man in cold blood only a week ago, yet my heart rages more when I slip behind the steering wheel than it did back then.
Monogamy has never been my strong point, but it feels different this time around. My woman isn’t holed up at home waiting for me in a toasty chiropractor-approved bed. She’s most likely buried in an unmarked grave, her stomach still open and barren.