Page 503 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

And by wrong, I mean, the treacherously deadly, unforgiving kind.

The kind you can’t reason with.

The kind who will incinerate your entire life if he catches you.

And that’s only the beginning of the torture story he narrates.

I know killing Messina’s guys slapped a bullseye on the back of my head.

And I also know that no matter what my family does, he’ll strike again.

He always does.

The ‘how’ and ‘when’ are always the two magic questions, though.

The tips of my fingers are now white and slightly numb from the pressure of clutching my phone so tight. I suck in a breath and lean my head back against the wall.

We both know what’s at stake if Messina finds me here in Vegas.

And while I want to live, sometimes I wish what’s left of his crew would just show up here already so I can fight that final battle instead of constantly looking over my shoulder, worrying about when it’ll happen and what the aftermath will look like for my family.

“Fine,” I say, swallowing the words I really want to say to my cousin. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good,” he says in a terse voice. “He’s in your office.”

The corners of my lips curl upward. Perfect. He’s nice and close to my tools.

You know, just in case I need to encourage him to open up to me.

I won’t actually use them. I’ll just make a few threats since I’ve found they work great as props, too.

“I’m on my way.” I click off the phone, my shoulders sagging as I leave my little corner and head for the private parking deck. It’s where we keep all of the expensive cars for the whales. You need a key to get to my ‘office’, so I stick it into the hole next to the hidden elevator around the back of the hotel and up I go.

I rub the back of my neck, an image of Lily standing next to the animal rescue van flashing before my eyes. “See, this is exactly why a guy like me can’t fuck a girl like you,” I mutter as the door creaks open on the top level. Nobody comes up here at all, and it’s hidden away from the guest parking deck so any yelling and screaming usually falls on deaf ears.

And there’s about to be a lot of yelling and screaming, so that’s a damn good thing.

I walk across the smooth concrete, past the Bugattis, Ferraris, and Lambos until I get to my favorite spot right next to the guard rail. As I approach, I see the kid squirming in the chair he’s tied to. He sputters and sobs as he tries to free his wrists from the restraints. He keeps twisting his head over his shoulder to see the drop behind him.

I’m gonna give him a better angle.

I walk over and clap one of the security guys named Bruno on the shoulder. He’s a cousin of the Marcone family and started here a few weeks before I showed up on the scene. I trust him and another ‘friend’ of the Marcone family, Aldo, the most of all of the other security guys. They’re the type to have your back not stab you in it. “We’re good here, Bruno. You can get back to the floor.”

“Sure thing, Zeno.” He gives me a quick nod and leaves us.

I turn to look at the guy. Must be in his early twenties with his messed-up brown hair, glasses, and Nikes.

“Who are you working with?” I lace these syllables with as much anger in my voice as I can muster, which to be honest, isn’t much. Because of Sergio’s restrictions, I’m out of practice and talking isn’t really my forte. But much as I’d like to pull his teeth out one by one to satisfy my itch, this guy sitting in front of me, shaking like a damn leaf on a tree during a hurricane, is not a career criminal.

He’s just unlucky.

He and his friends probably figured this is a new place and since we’re still working out the kinks, it’d be a great time to cut us off at the knees because we wouldn’t be paying close attention.

But he doesn’t know that we’re always watching.

And waiting for the right time to strike.

Knowing who is lurking, who is sticking their hands in the cookie jar, and most of all who comes back for seconds…that’s how we survive.

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