Page 23 of Shot For Mercy

Armando whimpers again, shaking his head as he pleads for me to just kill him. Emiliano chokes from behind me, and when I look at him, one of his eyebrows is raised.

“Since when do you speak Spanish?” he asks me, curiosity lacing his voice.

“Prison.” I shrug. “Comes in handy nowadays.”

Emiliano hums, striding slowly toward me. “Tell me something.” This time, I tilt my head to the side, questioning him. “Anything at all.”

I want to ask him why. What does he get out of this? Except I know it’s the perfect opportunity to pounce. Maybe if I tell him how I feel…

“I love you to the moon and back.” I whisper.

Armando chokes, but Emiliano’s eyes stay steady on mine. His breathing turns ragged, and he closes the distance between us. Before I can even blink again, he’s dragged me out of my chair and hauled me toward his body by my black t-shirt. Our chests collide, my breath whooshing out of me, but I stay stock still as his lips come to the shell of my ear. The contact makes me shiver, and when his hand comes to my lower back to push me against him, my body lights up with want and ardent need.

“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean,” Emiliano whispers against my ear.

“I don’t lie,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Careful, my prince.” I suck in a sharp breath at the pet name. “Or I’ll think you’re mine and ruin your fucking life.”

“Ruin me then,” I taunt. “Unless you’re okay with someone else taking your place.”

Emiliano’s hand shifts to the back of my neck, and I look into the dark depths of his eyes defiantly. Something seems to snap inside of him because the look in those dark orbs could only be described as feral.

Bingo.

My eyes follow the movement of his tongue as it wets his bottom lip, and it takes everything inside of me not to propel myself forward and close the small distance between us. It’s an act of defiance against the universe, rejecting the gravitational pull between us. But I do it anyway, planting my feet firmly on the ground and refusing to move.

His hand on the back of my neck tightens impossibly more, and he says, “I think you know what will happen if you test that theory.”

I shake my head. “Enlighten me.”

“There will be rivers of blood flowing through New York City—and possibly even innocent lives will be on your hands.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t have a conscience,” I tell him. “Do you?”

Something like pain flashes in his eyes, and he lets go of me, taking a healthy step back. I immediately miss the warmth of his body pressed up against mine, and it takes a monumental amount of strength to not follow after him. This pain has a first and last name—and I can’t hold it against him. Matteo Colombo might just be the end of us. Maybe we are doomed with no hope for a future. Maybe I’ve just been delusional, believing I could change Emiliano’s mind.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I’m sick of not knowing.

Emiliano goes back to his place against the wall, and I take that as the dismissal I know it is. My place is next to Armando, anyway. He needs to die and soon. I’m already anxious to get it over with. I usually enjoy drawing it out, but I don’t feel like being in Em’s vicinity right now. I feel naked under his gaze. Exposed. Raw. I told him I love him, and he dismissed me. And that stings like a bitch.

I sigh, taking my gun out, and press it against Armando’s forehead. His eyes widen in fear, and his teeth begin to rattle as he gets the shakes. At least he’s still looking at me. At least he’s not crying. I can appreciate that.

“Do you know why you’re dying today?” I ask him, and he tries to nod, but I shove the gun deeper into his forehead.

“I do.”

“Then you should’ve known better than to double-cross The Colombo’s.” My finger dances along the trigger, the gun already loaded, and I tense in anticipation of the recoil.

“Maybe you should be more worried about what is going on in your warehouses,”Armando says, his bottom lip quivering. I raise an eyebrow at him, as if sayinggo on. He takes the hint. “There’s going to be a bust tonight.”

I frown. “And how do you know that?”

“People talk.” Armando shrugs, and I lower my weapon and put it back in its holster. “You have cops on your payroll, right?”

“Obviously.”

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