Page 95 of Endure the Pain

“You feel that way now,” he said with a softness that I found surprising, especially coming from the don of the Italian Mafia.

I stared down at our untouched dinner. “We should eat.”

At first, he seemed reluctant, but he nodded, and we began eating.

The tacos were amazing, and we carried on conversing with easy topics. He did try to get details on how I planned to go after the Aryans. I was vague and he got the hint that I didn’t want to share. I drank a lot and Nicoli watched each time I refilled my glass without saying a word.

After dinner, we moved to sit in the living room. Nicoli lit his glass fireplace and I found the dancing flames mesmerizing.

“Did you ever envision having a different life?” I asked randomly.

The ice in Nicoli’s drink clinked as he fiddled with the tumbler in his hand from where he sat next to me. He had switched to whiskey in the middle of dinner. “I think everyone does.”

I set down my empty glass on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. “I tried to be normal, live the straight and narrow. It was boring.”

Nicoli chuckled and set his glass next to mine before extending his arm along the back of the couch behind my head. His eyes met mine and, through my drunken haze, I became very aware of how close we were. “I’m sure it was,” he murmured, his stare dropping to my lips.

Don’t do it.

He leaned forward and I shot up to my feet. I staggered a little because the alcohol had all rushed to my head. I got my footing and walked across the living room, needing space.

“You don’t want me, trust me,” I said with my back to him.

“And why is that?”

“There are a number of reasons.” My response was met with silence and I knew he was waiting for me to explain. “All I feel anymore is pain and anger. The rest of meis…hollow.” I exhaled heavily. “We could just screw. It’d be a welcome distraction. That is, if you didn’t run for the hills after you discovered how fucked up I am.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if you were a sexual deviant, but I have a feeling that’s not the kind offucked upyou're talking about.”

I shook my head. “Even if I wasn’t, you and I still couldn’t happen. You have your own kingdom of crime and I have mine. I would not and could not ever submit to you.”

“Alliances have always worked before—“

I turned to face him. “Those women were groomed to be subservient. I wasn’t.”

He wasn’t upset but watchful—taking in everything I did or said in stride—like always. He stood from the couch and came to stand next to me. “So what you’re saying is that you’re a queen who doesn’t need a king?” He put his hands inside his pockets and stared out at the city through his floor-to-ceiling windows. “I can respect that.”

“We don’t have to be bumping uglies to have an alliance.”

He smiled. “Won’t be as fun.”

I smiled back. “No, I guess it won’t. We’ll make it work, though.”

CHAPTER 32

At three in the morning and under the cover of darkness, Dean, Asher, Finn, Brenna, and I departed toward three different destinations—each a property owned by the Aryans. I was paired up with Dean, and Brenna was paired with Finn. Asher was insistent that he could complete his task on his own. After we were done with our tasks, we were to all meet at the Whiskey Bandit—the bar owned by the Aryans.

“Weapons check,” Dean whispered after he parked the black van, which I had purchased with cash. We were down the street from a rundown house where, after a lot of investigation, we knew the Aryans liked to mix up their heroin.

I pulled each of my guns, both equipped with silencers, from the shoulder holster I had on. I released the magazine, rechecking to see it was full, then slid it back in, cocked the gun, and shoved it back into its holster. I repeated the process with my second gun before slipping on a zip up jacket with a hood and repositioning my earpiece to better hear Vincent on the other end.

I glanced at Dean as I put my hand on the door handle. He was in the process of zipping up a black bag carrying enough C4 to completely erase the Aryan heroin house off the face of the Earth, hopefully along with any Aryan inside at the time of explosion.

Dean met my eyes and nodded, and we exited the vehicle. We kept to the shadows as we moved toward the house. Our black clothing helped keep us hidden. We all, including the others, were dressed in black cargo pants, black long sleeved shirts, black boots, and black beanies.

We halted our approach at the edge of the property line, crouched behind a tall bush.

“We’re in position,” Dean whispered, talking to Vincent.