Page 94 of Die for You

“Anything else?”

“Nope,” Robert replies, popping the P. “I think that sums it up.”

Nico can insult me all he wants. Nothing can hurt me more than the fact that he raised my daughter as his own and that he has Valentina’s heart. If it wasn’t for this, he would be dead by now. But I can’t do that out of respect.

But if he hits me again, I won’t be so understanding.

He looks me dead in the eye and snarls, “Where is Valentina?”

It seems love is the universal language because I understood him loud and clear.

My cell rings, and I wish it was a case of saved by the bell, but it’s Romeo, my bodyguard. When he calls, it usually isn’t with good news.

“For the love of God, what has happened now?”

“Sorry, boss, but you might wanna come down to Mario’s Deli.” Romeo’s thick Brooklyn accent is what you expect to hear out of every gangster movie.

I hang up and walk back to my office. I pull the infamous oil painting ofThe Last Supperaside, revealing the hidden wall safe beneath. I punch in the code and retrieve some guns and cash. I don’t know what I’m walking into, but weapons and money always seem to help in one way or another.

Once everything is packed into a duffel, I charge out the door and bump straight into Nico. He makes clear he’s not done. His tenancy is about to get him a black, or rather, a blacker eye.

“I don’t have time for this shit.” Without warning, I knock Nico out cold.

I leave him on the floor. One of my men will ensure he is detained until my return. And then I’ll decide what to do with him.

Jumping into my Mercedes, I make the forty-five-minute drive downtown. I keep to the speed limit. I don’t run any red lights. Even though a lot of cops are on my payroll, I don’t want to draw any attention my way. After the day I’ve had, odds are I’ll end up getting pulled over.

It’s hard not to think that even with the power I wield and the people I know, I can’t find my daughter. It seems it’s one shit show after the other, with no hint of things getting better.

And when I pull up at the deli, I just add this establishment to the shit pile.

I put money into this place when it was on the brink of bankruptcy. Mario makes the best meatball subs in town. Too bad his gambling problem saw him flushing his profits down the toilet. He sold to me for cheap. I said he could stay on the proviso that he turned a blind eye to the unlawful dealings that took place.

I needed a legal business to throw my illegal money into. And what better place than a business that actually makes money? This shop is just a front for me. The more property I own, the fewer questions I get asked by the IRS.

There isn’t a whole lot of money in selling crystals.

But who doesn’t love a hoagie?

No cops out front. Maybe my luck is changing.

However, when I enter the deli and see Romeo standing off to the side, turning all shades of green, I know I’ve spoken too soon.

I make the sign of the cross because, what in the ever-living fuck have I walked into?

Hell, that’s what.

The polished white floors are now smeared with bright red. The immaculate silver counter is blotted with puddles of red.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

This only adds to the puddles.

Peering upward, I see Mario hanging from the silver, cured meat rack above the sandwich bar. He’s been strung up by his feet like a slaughtered pig. His throat is cut, and he’s disemboweled.