Page 57

Sure as hell, I won’t be there to guide them. Once Augustus dies, I will pack my things and live the rest of my life off the fortune I made.

I see his car, a flashy red Ferrari. I instantly think of Enzo, smiling at how far we came, from me exploding his car to him making my body explode—happy times, gone forever now.

I will lose it if he keeps popping into my head every few thoughts.

The driver opens the door for me, just like the butler does at the front door. I just have to look at him and he says, “Miss Rossi, Mister Santino is in the sitting room, waiting for you.”

You have this, I tell myself. My heels click clack on the floor, echoing with rehearsed control while I am short of a breakdown.

He’s by the window and when he hears me entering, he snaps his head in my direction, nostrils flaring.

“What the fuck happened? It was an easy job.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, playing stupid, which hurts me so much that my injured ego would love nothing more than to stab his useless brain with my heel.

I sit on the velvet sofa, acting as if I’m confused. Two armchairs flank it and a table rests between them, where a tray with two cups and a coffee decanter is placed. The furniture set occupies the middle of the room while the sun floods it through the big windows.

I cross one leg over the other, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

“He’s not dead,” he seethes, fuming.

I half expect a few flames to come out his nose. In his case, it would be more like a baby dragon, one I could easily blow out.

“I killed him. I shot him right in his chest.” My steady voice doesn’t reveal my inner anguish.

He huffs. “How do you explain it, then? Has the fucker more lives than the rest of us?”

Hearing him talk badly of Enzo has me slamming the cup down. Coldness seeps through me. “I aim like I always aim. I don’t miss.”

“Our deal is off.”

I stand up, getting in his face. In my heels, we’re at eye level.

“Repeat that. I guess the jetlag is making me hear things.”

“Don’t forget your place. You’re the Council’s bitch and nothing else. I am not afraid of you,” he says while his chin quivers.

He crosses his arms on his chest in a display of wanting to erase himself from this situation.

I just keep smiling. His nervousness increases, and he blurts. “If something happens to me, Augustus will find out what you did behind his back.”

I slip my knife from under my skirt and place it straight at his dick. He lets out a small yelp, proving he’s so far away from deserving a seat at the table where you must be fucking vicious and at least appear unafraid.

Yet, this failure of a man has gotten it based on his heritage. So unfair, it’s almost sickening. And Augustus asks me why I behave the way I do? It’s that or kill them. I know he prefers the former one.

“Tell me what I want to know. Now.”

“That’s all I know,” he stammers.

No, this asshole didn’t just disrupt my entire life with basically nothing groundbreaking. The shock hits me so swiftly, I can barely keep myself upright.

It takes everything in me not to stab this cunning asshole and paint the floor in his blood.

He must sense the deadly vibe I emanate because he gesticulates animatedly, his nerves palpable. “Augustus was pressured by the Council to give them something about you when he took you in. I remembered that my father once told me, ‘She’s not even fucking Italian.’”

More information but still not enough, and the latter can’t be fully validated.

That brings me back to the fucking beginning once again. I can’t risk going back to the States and find out for myself.