Page 29 of Widow’s Walk (Women of the Mafia #1)
Chapter twenty-four
Blackwell
I t’s been months without her.
No contact. No leads. No sightings. Just left reaching for her in the middle of the night, only to come up empty. Her side of the bed, cold to the touch. Left chasing shadows.
It isn’t the fact that she left without a trace. Or that she ran from me. It’s the fact that I still have no clue what goes on in that beautiful, twisted head of hers that is the most infuriating of all. That she can so easily play me.
She led me to believe she was oblivious. She gave absolutely nothing away. No cracks. Never wavered. She knew, and yet she withheld her reaction. Bottled up her vengeance. She kissed me back with every kiss. Shook with every orgasm. Curled into my side when she slept.
I’ve kept eyes on her family’s estate around the clock, thinking that’s where she may have run to take cover, but there hasn’t been any detection of her. We haven’t flat-out asked the Ortizs if she’s there, in case she’s not. They don’t need to know that she’s out there somewhere. No one does.
Once word gets out, there’ll be a pretty price on her head from all their enemies.
As predicted, when we informed the Bozzellis that there would be no marriage arrangement between our families, the deal was taken off the table. There hasn’t been anything brought forward about whether they went to another family or not. But it doesn’t matter.
Deal or no deal, it’s time to rid the world of the Ortizs. Sinclair excluded. Tonight is the night.
We come with no mercy. The Ortiz estate folds like paper. The gates are breached, the perimeter swallowed by our men like a tide rolling in to cleanse the land. Their men scatter like roaches when the floodlights slice through their manicured facade.
Screams echo, ripping through the dead of night. Gunfire cracks from all ends.
I stare up at the highest point of the house, half expecting to see Sinclair there, perched like a queen with a bag of popcorn, watching us dismantle her past with wicked delight. But only the ghost of her remains.
By the time I step foot in the foyer, the fight is already over.
Smoke still lingers from the flashbangs. Blood streaks with boot prints cover the marble floor. Windows are shattered, and doors hang from their hinges. Taking on the look of what this place has always been.
A well-decorated grave.
“Anything?” I ask over my earpiece.
“She’s not here,” Scout replies.
I already knew it. I knew she would rather burn than crawl back to the people who set her on fire. But their takedown was inevitable. And there might be some clue here to help me find her.
“Round up the staff!” I shout. “Anyone still breathing, bring them!”
Minutes later, the remaining help are lined up. Frightened, confused, barely clothed. I walk the line with slow, deliberate steps.
“Is there anyone Sinclair talked to on the staff?” I ask, studying everyone closely. Every twitch and tremble. “Anyone at all.”
The more I pace, the more they tremor. The women are crying. A few whisper prayers under their breath. But no one speaks up.
I’m about to give them an incentive using someone’s blood when an older man steps forward at the end of the line. I stand in front of him, and he bravely meets me in the eye. “I’ve known Miss Sinclair since she was a child. She would hide away in the kitchen a lot.”
I watch him for another heavy moment before deciding he’s telling the truth. I nod to Scout. “Take him. We’ll question him later,” I tell him.
The rest of the staff are free to go. We already have enough bodies to dispose of. And it’s finally time to deal with the real infestation.
They kneel before me, stripped of dignity, fallen from grace.
All of them, and I wish Sinclair were here to witness it herself.
Lincoln is bleeding from his nose. Royce can hardly breathe through his fear.
Anthony has a few cuts and bruises of his own as he glares at me. And her mother reeks of piss and shame.
My blood boils hottest when I stand directly in front of her father. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with,” he sneers.
My grin is slow. “I’m not here to kill you.” He frowns, obviously confused. “Not tonight, that is.”
“Then what do you want?” he snaps.
I crouch down. Letting a moment of silence make him squirm.
“What was it you hated so much about her?” Lincoln starts throwing curses at me, but I let them bounce off.
Still, Scout clubs him on the head with the butt of a gun.
“Was it because you envied her strength and tenaciousness, or because you wanted her so badly in such an unnatural way? That if she ever told you to kneel, you’d fall right then and there. ”
I struck a nerve. He’s frothing at the mouth now. “If you don’t kill me now, I will kill you later,” he hisses.
I stand up smiling, then I look at her mother and see how she’s shriveling up on herself. Pitiful. Then I look at Lincoln and he bares his teeth. And, when my eyes move to Royce, I laugh.
I side-step to stand in front of him. “I think she’ll have the most fun with you, ripping you to shreds.
Peeling your skin off one layer at a time.
” A tear escapes, trickling down his face.
A puddle forms between his knees, and I scowl in disdain.
“Not because she hates you the most, because she’d have to care to hate you, but because you’ll probably scream the loudest.”
I give Scout another nod, and he barks orders to take them all away. Lincoln and Anthony resist and curse at me, Royce and her mother start begging for mercy and sobbing, which falls on deaf ears.
They’ll be tossed in cells to rot while they wait for Sinclair to bring justice down on them. A fitting wedding gift. Hers to unwrap and dissect at her leisure.