Page 2 of Connected

No one knows Pilar is mine. Not Rocco. Not anyone. She’s been my dirty little secret and my sweetest fucking escape. She’s peace and she’s heaven. She’s also overdosing in the next fucking room.

Shaking his words from my head, I take another step back, making sure I’m not in close range. The last thing I need is for this cunt’s blood to splatter on my suit. That’s the first lesson Victor taught Rocco and me.

Appearances are everything.

The second lesson he taught us was how to pull the trigger so you only do it once.

One and done.

Keeping my eyes on his, I fire.

He screams.

I laugh.

The bullet pierces him between the eyes.

Silence.

The bass returns, drumming in my ears as I stare into Pablo’s dead eyes.

I lied.

Peace isn’t only found in Pilar— it’s also found in death.

Now, there is another lesson I learned that I forgot to mention, and it didn’t come from Victor. In fact, it came way before I took a liking to the mob boss and it came from Rocco Spinelli, Sr.

There’s no such thing as dirty money.

Dropping the gun to the floor, I step over Pablo’s body. Kneeling, again mindful of his blood, I reach into his pocket and pull out a wad of cash. I flip through it, roughly counting the bills before shoving them into my pocket. In a flash, I’m back on my feet.

I don’t give Pablo another look as I roll down my sleeves and start for the door. Before I open it, I button the cuffs on my sleeves and smooth a hand down my front. Once I step out of the room, I look to the three men standing guard. One of them hands me my jacket and I slip my arms through the sleeves.

“Take care of the gun and throw Mr. Rodriguez in the Atlantic. Be sure to tie some weights to his ankles. We don’t want that motherfucker surfacing. And while you’re at it, get a mop. He’s bleeding like a pig.”

“Sí, por supuesto.”

“Pilar,” I murmur. “Is . . . she . . . ” My voice trails and my throat closes.

I can’t bring myself to say the word.

“Miguel esta con ella. Ella esta respirando.”

She’s breathing.

Swallowing, I close my eyes for a moment. Relief floods me and I realize that woman in the next room is more than all those things I labeled her.

She’s fucking everything.

Without giving myself a chance to change my mind, I turn and head for the next room. I let myself in and immediately spot Miguel hovering over her, pulling her hair back as she vomits profusely. Suddenly, I don’t give a fuck about my designer threads and rush to her side. I push Miguel out of the way and hold her as her body purges the poison.

Smoothing a hand over her wet hair, I touch my lips to her ear.

“Estas bien, mi amor. Te tengo,” I murmur hoarsely.

As I say the words, I realize it’s too little, too late. She could’ve died tonight and as much as I want to blame the corpse in the next room, it would’ve been my fault.

She wouldn’t have been looking for drugs to numb the pain if I hadn’t caused her any. I start to recall our last conversation and the tears that streaked her beautiful face just as the door swings open.

---