Page 329 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“Yeah, why don’t you tell her the truth about that, Frankie?” I stand up and Dante grabs me to pull me back. I shake my head. “Let me go, Dante,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m fucking tired of this guy and it’s time to shut him the hell up!” I stalk over to Frankie as his eyes widen. He waves the gun in my face and I just smirk. “Fuck you, Frankie. Why don’t you tell her the truth?” I thunder, launching my fist at his jaw. He doubles over, as expected, and I hover over him. “That’s for messing with my car!”

“Your car was fucked to begin with!” Frankie lets out a roar and shoves me backward hard enough that I stumble into another column and he storms over to me, holding the gun in his outstretched hand. “I hate you, you sonofabitch! And now you’re gonna pay for everything your family has done to us! I hope you rot in hell!”

He pulls the trigger, but the only sound to follow is a clicking sound.

I smirk at him. “You mighta wanted to check the clip before you emptied it into the wall and my car.”

Chella punches Frankie as her screeches pierce the air. “What is wrong with you? Haven’t we lost enough?”

The approaching sound of squealing tires on the cobblestone driveway outside makes my spine stiffen. From where Dante and I are standing, it’s too dark to make out much on the outside of the garage. The walls are all bulletproof glass, but all of the trees lining the perimeter of the building make it hard to see much.

Great for ambiance, bad for reconnaissance.

And something tells me we’re about to come face to face with something damn ominous very soon.

“Who the hell is that?” Dante groans, raking a hand through his hair.

Frankie snickers, staring at the Apple watch on his wrist. He looks at me. “Perfect timing,” he snarls.

That motherfucker. I should have put a bullet in his brain when I had the chance.

Approaching footsteps get louder until I can make out three faint shapes in the courtyard. Three guys.

Correction.

When they come into view, I swallow hard.

Three massive, hulking guys — tall, with shaved heads and inked necks.

And they each have a star tattooed on their necks.

Bratva.

You have got to be kidding me right now…

Most times, I love that this building is secluded from the rest of the city. I like my privacy ninety-nine percent of the time.

But that nagging one percent comes back to haunt me on occasion.

Case in point,now.

“Boris,” Frankie says, holding up a hand. “Listen, I told you this was the place where you could collect the rest of the drugs. This guy right here will lead you to them. So now we’re even, okay?” He glares at me. “But once you have your money, I wanna finish this cocksucker off myself.”

“Frankie!” Chella yells. “You aren’t finishing anyone, do you understand? Jesus Christ, haven’t you learned? And who the hell are these guys?”

The one I guess named Boris steps forward. “We work for the Volkovs,” he grunts in a deep, gravelly voice.

Chella gasps. “The Volkovs? You mean, the?—”

Boris nods. “The ones your brother stole from.”

“Yeah, yeah, but I got some of them back for you and the rest you can get from—” Frankie stammers.

“Shut up!” Boris yells, narrowing his eyes at Frankie. “Drugs weren’t all you stole that night, were they?” He steps farther into the space, his voice echoing as he moves closer. “That’s right, Amante. We know the truth about what really happened that night. So that means we’re nowhere close to even.”

Frankie’s fingers close on the handle of the gun at the same time that he remembers the clip is empty.

And he realizes in that moment that he’s screwed.

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