Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
The gates opened the instant I approached, like they all expected me. I pulled around the fountain onto the cobblestones, seeing the guys armed with their rifles at all their posts. Their postures were relaxed, and the barrels of their guns were pointed to the street instead of me.
I left my Range Rover and approached the steps that led to the large entryway.
Santino stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing a collared linen shirt and dark jeans, giving me a hard expression as I walked up like we hadn’t just had dinner together a couple days ago.
I walked up the steps and faced him. “I’ve got a busy day, so let’s get this over with.”
He nodded then turned to the guys who guarded the doors.
They opened one of them, a fifteen-foot door that was on strong hinges bearing the thousands of pounds to make it easy to open and close. Santino headed inside first and I followed him, my eyes adjusting to the darkness after standing in the brilliant sunlight.
He continued to lead the way down the hallway.
I made eye contact with the men on the way.
They looked at me like I was a fucking stranger.
I’d been one of them since I was a child. Had been part of Cosa Nostra longer than almost all of them.
Santino escorted me to Don Russo’s office, where I would meet him and his trusted cronies in a room with a gold mantel and artwork both from local artists and from the Renaissance on the walls bought off the black market.
I stepped inside the office where I used to speak with Don Russo in private all the time as his top lieutenant. The place looked and smelled identical to how it’d been before, but it felt like a place I’d never been.
Don Russo leaned against his desk, arms crossed over his chest.
Uncle Marco wasn’t there.
Albert wasn’t there either.
It was just the two of us—alone.
Santino closed the door behind him.
Don Russo continued to stare at me across the large room, far too big for an office, more like a small ballroom. “Thank you for coming.”
I took a few steps forward, approaching the seating area with the couches and tables on the enormous hearth rug. “That’s quite the change in attitude.” I smirked. “What was the last thing you said to me, Don?” I asked as I cocked my head. “Do you remember?”
He remained still, his dark eyes not reacting to the provocation.
“No?” I cocked my head the other way as my grin widened. “Then let me enlighten you.” I took more steps forward until I was in the center of the room, still a great distance from him. “You said if we crossed paths again, you would carve me into strips of meat for a charcuterie board…”
His face remained blank as if I hadn’t said anything at all.
I moved farther forward, passing through the seating area until we were twelve feet apart. “And feed me to the hounds.”
His espresso-colored eyes didn’t blink. He didn’t draw a breath. A man I’d known my whole life looked at me like I was a stranger.
“You asked me to come all the way out here to gaslight me with your silence?” I raised my voice slightly, my impatience starting to bleed through. “At least offer me a drink, asshole.”
He finally pushed off the desk and straightened, two decades older than me but still fit and strong. He didn’t participate in drops or deals or combat, but he maintained his physical superiority in the gym. “What would you like?”
“The usual,” I said coldly. “Unless you’ve already forgotten…”
He walked to his private wet bar and turned his back to me—a gesture of trust—and made two drinks.
I stared at the back of his head and listened to the ice cubes clink against the glasses and then the twist of the bottle cap when he opened the whiskey. He made two old-fashioneds, added slices of orange and bitters, and then turned around to face me.
He stepped toward me, coming the closest he’d been since before I left, close enough for me to slip my blade between his ribs.
The guys hadn’t patted me down, so he knew I was armed.
He was definitely trying to kiss my ass.
He held the drink out to me, and it hung there for a second.
With my eyes locked on his, I took it. Raised it in a gesture of gratitude before I took a sip.
He took a drink of his as he stared at me. Then he nodded to the couch before he moved to take a seat.
I sat across from him, elbows on my thighs, holding the glass by the rim against the inside of my knee.
He took another drink before he set it on the black marble coaster on the table.
I stared him down like an enemy, because as far as I was concerned, we still were.