Page 332 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“Well then, it looks like our business has come to a close,” he says in an exaggerated Russian accent.

“And it looks like you need to call an Uber.” I nod at Dante and Ray. “These guys will make sure you don’t get diverted.” I wrap my arm around Chella, guiding her away from the Russians, away from the smoldering metal, away from the man who took the last thing in her life that she’d been trying to protect.

It’s not that far of a walk back to where we left Frankie but good God, I wish it was miles away.

But I can see the reality lying there on the cobblestones, motionless, bloody, and void of any indication of life. Chella’s legs buckle as we approach, a strangled cry piercing the otherwise still night air.

“Frankie,” she whimpers, slowly lowering herself down to the ground. She presses her head against his chest, reaching around him to hug him tight.

My jaw tightens as I look down at him, contempt flooding me at the person he’d become.

Maybe it was the person he’d always been and I just didn’t see it until it was too late.

Chella’s body quakes as she weeps for him.

I know how she feels, how helpless you feel when shit goes sideways and you can’t stop the inevitable from happening.

And death for Frankie?

It was always inevitable.

Surprising that he evaded it for as long as he did.

Chella turns her tear-stained face up toward me. “Is he really gone?” she asks, her voice a tormented whisper.

I kneel down next to her and press my ear against Frankie’s chest, noting that his skin is already pasty. I can’t hear a goddamn thing. I press my fingertips against his throat, holding my face right over his mouth but there’s nothing.

No thump of a heart.

No thrum of a pulse.

No wisp of a breath.

Nothing.

No sign of life at all.

I pull Chella into my arms. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur.

And she bawls as the realization grabs hold that yet another piece of her heart and soul has been taken away forever.

* * *

A few minutes later, we stagger into the apartment and Chella sinks onto the couch, her head in her hands.

Bella runs into the living room, yapping and doing her play bow until she sees the tears and stops short, like she senses Marchella’s pain. Her barks turn to soft whimpers and she hops up onto the sofa and lays her head in Chella’s lap, just like she did to me earlier.

A lump swells in my throat as I watch Chella pick up Bella and hug her tight against her chest. The dog doesn’t even try to squirm or lick her tears. She just stays still, as if she knows it’s exactly what Chella needs at this moment.

Ray and Dante come into the apartment a little while later and I nod toward the office to give Chella some privacy. Ray pauses as Dante goes down the hallway. He looks at me, scrubbing a hand down the front of his face.

“Boss, look, I wanna apol—” he starts, but I hold up a hand.

“Stop,” I say. “You don’t need to apologize. I respect what you did and why you did it.”

“I shouldn’t have gone over your head like that. I didn’t trust Frankie and I was afraid shit was gonna come down on you.”

“Which it did,” I mutter. “My fault.”

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