Page 4 of Redemption

“No. No way.” I stand so suddenly the chair falls over as I press my back against the wall.

“You’re in no position to make demands.”

“I won’t do it and you’ll never have closure on what happened to your sister.”

He roars, throwing he chair against the opposite wall. The other agent step in, interceding and practically drag him from the room.

“Look this over then sign, Ms. Fiorelli. Your freedom in exchange for taking away Mr. Salvatore’s.”

“No tracer in my skin? Got it.”

“You must check in with us.”

“He’ll make me.”

“Fine. We can out the tracer in a piece of jewelry. A watch? A bracelet?”

“Bracelet.”

She reads my mind… “The tracer has motion detection and GPS. Don’t even think about taking it off.”

I nod once, the carefully read the contract. Me for him. My freedom in exchange for his lifetime sentence. I know he’s not an innocent man, after all I was his first victim. The revenge I’ve waited a lifetime for is in my hands. I remember Mama, Zio, and fresh in my mind—the pictures of the girls.

I lift the pen, signing my name illegibly, nothing like my signature script.

“There, done.”

“Don’t fuck this up.” The agent hands me the tracker and recording gadgets. “We’ll be in touch.”

“What? I don’t get my own jet back to the states?” I mock as I’m practically shoved out after being dragged here.

“Six months. Tic tok.”

I push my shades back up my nose. Six months. To capture Roque but how to I get myself out of the dragnet? I’m given back my luggage. I take a cab to the airport, booking a business class seat to Miami using one of the fake passports they had returned. I need to let Roque catch me. He needs to think I slipped up and he finally won. If it’s too easy he’ll suspect that something is up. My pulse quickens at the image of him coming for me knowing I’m going to let him. Will I be able to resist the sheer magnitude of him? I’ve failed every damn time. But I need to redeem myself. I can’t fall for his devilish charm every again. Roque Salvatore is a killer. Always was. Always will be. Period. The End.

2

Romina

He’s not coming for me. If he was, he’d have found me by now. That knowledge rolls around my insides in a nasty waves. I was careful, too. When I arrived in Miami, I was in full disguise, carefully choosing a rental on Key Biscayne a short fifteen-minute drive from South Beach. From my balcony, the high-rise condos, and hotels across the harbor light up at night. He must know I’m here. I’ve been careful but shed my disguise. My flame-colored hair hands down my back. I only shield my moss eyes when I need to from the sun and a few times, I left my full face be caught for a few seconds by street cameras. Either Hans is off his game or Roque is over me.

Agent Jack ass is becoming impatient that I’ve been unable to make contact. So tonight, I’m going out. Running my hands down my strapless mini dress the color of a fresh-cut emerald, I turn in the mirror. Wearing five-inch heels is not the smartest thing but damn if my legs won’t rival any supermodel’s tonight. My tits are so small and perky, I don’t even need a bra. Besides, the dress scoops low in the back making wearing one impossible anyway.

I rarely apply makeup but thanks to Tati and K, I know enough about how to style my long hair and perfect a smoky eye.

Grabbing my small clutch with my burner I head out with the tracker bracelet on my wrist for my only jewelry. I take a water taxi across the small bay to South Beach. The smell of the salt, the tang of it on my tongue… the sexy way the moon shimmers over the water tonight makes me long for things that died long ago. Maybe tonight I’ll meet someone. A sexy stranger to dance the night away with and just maybe for a moment I can forget the ugly of my world.

The small taxi boat docks and my pulse quickens. Miami Beach at night is alive with its own heartbeat. Bass from the clubs spill out into the night. Groups of women dressed to kill mill around while men in summer suits follow them with their eyes. All this happens under the swaying elegance of fifty-foot palm trees.

The waves crash near by adding their own rhythm to the South Beach beat. I straighten my spine and lift my chin. Club Eden is just up ahead. It’s rumored to be owned by Dimitri Santos, Lord of South Beach, and notorious crime king of the underworld. His territory is south of New York and ends where Roque’s begins. There’s no way me being in his club will go unnoticed.

When I enter Eden, it takes a full thirty second for my eyes to adjust. The music is loud but not too the point your ear drums hurt. It’s old world, decadent and rich with solid wood paneling and mirrored ceilings. Instead of one big room, the lower level of the club is several rooms separated by heavy black velvet curtains drawn back by solid gold colored tasseled rope. Rumor is this club is a rumored S&M club but so far, I don’t see any collared woman or overly DOM like men, but you never know in South Beach just what in the heck is in store.

From the side glances coming myw ay, I know I look good. One dip of my chin is all it would take for the many men checking me out to move forward. Ignoring them all, I walk further inside Eden until I reach a polished mahogany bar.

“I’ll take a Malbec. One form Argentina.”

“A lady should never drink alone.” I sense his stare at my back before I turn.

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