Page 5 of Blind Devotion

“Life’s more fun this way.”

“Careful you don’t die because of it.”

“Would you miss me then?”

“Not on your life.”

He barked a laugh as I waited quietly for him to get over his jollies and tell me the news. In the last three years, I did my best to avoid anything to do with that family. We left each other on poor terms almost five years ago, but as long as they stayed on their side of the pond and we De Villiers stayed on ours, we kept our bad blood quiet.

Which meant as long as I could help it, I made no effort to go looking for information on Elio Iannelli, the don of the most prominent California mafia famiglia, his asshole of a son, and his angel of a daughter. When information came to me freely, though, I ate that shit up and savored every detail as if it were the finest foie gras served with fig jam and a chilled glass of Monbazillac.

I tapped my fists against the railing with impatience. The fucker just cackled more.

“Spit it out.”

“You sure you want to know?”

Yes. No. Probably better for all concerned that I didn’t.

“Trouble?” I asked.

“Doubt it.”

“Will it affect business?”

“Maybe.”

“Putain, Erel. I don’t have the patience for this.Merde!”

“You steal the fun out of everything.”

“Maybe I just have better things to do than play games after last night.”

The high from ending Bogdani’s reign, self-appointed as the Dreq, aka the Albanian devil, should have boosted my mood for days to come. Thirty minutes of socializing and one matchmaking conversation with my mother crashed it to oblivion, leaving me jittery and volatile.

“Funds posted to the account.”

“Good.

“At least he’s dead. Wish I’d done it myself.”

Me too. His death was far too quick and painless. It hadn’t been enough to calm my unrest by a long shot.

“Let me know of the next interesting request that posts in Endgame.”

“You know—” He tapped a nail to his glass. “I love a good kill as much as the next person, but it doesn’t ease much of anything in here or here.”

His finger pointed to his heart, then his head.

“Hitman, business owner, and second to the Caïd not enough for you? You add psych in there too?”

Erel clicked his tongue. “You should call her.”

“You know I can’t. It’s done. Finished.” I gazed back out at the blinding sea in a silent dismissal.

“If you really thought that, you wouldn’t stick to paid escorts. I don’t think your father knew how miserable his last order would make you.”

“I’m not, Erel. Never have been, never will. Certainly not because of a slip of a girl who was too young for me anyhow.”