Page 32 of Kept

“Yeah?”

“Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll call you when I can, okay?”

“Okay.”

I disconnect the call.

This is fine. Totally fine.

I’m kidnapped by the smoking hot head of the fucking mafia, who I almost saw kill someone, and I can’t stop thinking about the way his lips taste. Or the way his palm on my ass felt.

Yep. Totally fine.

CHAPTER 17

Vincent

Alessandro, Marco, and I are sitting in my office. It will always feel like my father’s office, just like most of this house will feel like my father’s house.

“Well,” Alessandro says, slapping his knee, “who is trying to kill you this time?”

“You could try not to enjoy it so much, you know,” I mutter, sipping my whisky.

“I could.” He gives me a shit-eating grin.

Marco snorts, choking on his own drink just a bit.

“Fantastic. Do either of my brothers have anything useful for me?” I groan.

Marco nods, clearing the whisky from his throat. “Aldo found where the sniper was set up. It’s clean. Policed his brass, no camera footage, nada.”

“I own every fucking building that’s the same height or taller than the penthouse for more than six blocks. Where the fuck did he shoot from?”

Marco deadpans, “About seven blocks away.”

“That’s more than a fucking mile.”

He nods.

“Jesus Christ. We know anyone who can pull that off?”

“Nope.”

“So a hit?” I ask.

“Seems like. Though apparently, he didn’t know your fence wasn’t standard glass. My guy says the right bullet would have gone through it. Doesn’t sound like he was particularly well informed.”

“So who did you piss off, brother?” Alessandro asks, calmly drinking his tea.

“This week, or in general?” I ask.

We all sit for a minute, before Marco clears his throat. “One more thing. I got a call from Giuseppe.”

Alessandro laughs. “How’s that old bastard doing? I keep expecting to see his obituary, but he’s goddamned immortal.”

“Can priests say that?” I ask.

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