Page 84 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption-

I narrow my eyes, but though I want to stay still, excitement swirls in my veins.

He wants me to follow, and I involuntarily move toward him, unable to help myself.

The moment I’m near him he continues walking until he hits the kitchen. There, he sets the glass in the sink and leans his hands on the island.

Once more his eyes slowly skim over me.

But all he does is straighten up. He takes off his hoodie and sets down a gun, his gaze hard on me as he removes the clip and pockets it. Then he slaps down a white card covered in dirt on the counter and slides it to me. “Recognize this number?”

I stare at the business card. “No.”

He sighs. “A thug had it, claimed some little punk from Greenpoint gave him the card with the number to call. The thug took the shots at Salvatore.”

“And us?”

He shrugs. “I’m at a loss for who’s doing this. Maybe Salvatore’s double bluffing. Maybe it’s someone we haven’t thought of, someone up-and-coming. Or someone closer to home.”

Me. He means me.

“I don’t know anyone. I’m not important in the grand scheme of things. And with the women, it’s not a lot of them, and I’m just one of many points of first contact, I imagine.”

He closes his eyes a moment. “You are important. But you’re right. If someone was coming after the railroad, they’d want the top.” Then those intense eyes hit mine. “I need to speak to my brother. Wait here.”

“I’m your prisoner, where am I going to go?”

“Not a prisoner, Harry,” he says, “unless you want to be.”

Torin leaves the room and I stand in that kitchen, a sense of foreboding clawing at my heart and stomach. The card is sitting there, and I look at it. The curve on the logo almost looks like the shape of a petal.

God, what would Mom think of any of this? Dad?

In a different world, this is where Torin would tell me he’ll keep me safe.

I almost laugh. Torin? He’s the man who…

Who complicates everything. And my heart hurts because of him.

I take the glass with the whiskey and top it off, then I go into the bedroom, sink onto the sofa, and let the fire of the booze work its magic, warming my tummy and limbs, softening my mind.

As a substitute for the warmth of Torin, it’s not even close. But it manages to make up for that in the fact it doesn’t twist me into knots.

Like forgetting that Torin killed Dad and was going to kill me and Mom.

Even if he wasn’t there to kill us, he was there for a reason, and he only came in at the end, which says to me maybe he had a change of heart or maybe he needed to deliver me alive.

It’s just… I’m having a hard time reconciling the cold-blooded killing of my family with the man I’m getting to know.

“He shot Bernardo. He shot those men in the street, Harry.”

I swallow hard as I say those words out loud.

But he killed all those people for me.

I drink some more.

Something snags my attention, a sixth sense, and I turn. Torin is there, in the doorway. He steps into the room and closes the door.

“What am I supposed to do with you?”