Page 26 of Ruthless King
Reading the name, the man raises an eyebrow. “Donatello Vanici?”
“I drove him tonight,” another man pitches in from across the room. Seated at a desk with his feet propped on the edge, he eyes me with a raised eyebrow and shrugs. “He hired full service, and there’s a package I was supposed to deliver for him tonight. I could take her up.”
I don’t mind. Thank you,I scribble.
With a grunt of acknowledgment, the man rises to his feet. “Wait here, Miss.”
He leaves the office to enter the garage, and sweat drips down the back of my neck as I wait.
Eventually, he returns with a questioning frown and an unwrapped gift box tucked beneath his arm. “Damn kids,” he grumbles, tugging at the gray tie accenting his black suit. “Someone went through the trunk.”
“I’ll check the cameras while you write a report,” the man near the door grumbles. “Just make sure nothing’s stolen. That’s the last thing we fucking need around here.”
“Quit your bitching,” the man with the gift snarls. “Let me take her up first.” He jerks his head for me to follow, and I nearly trip in my haste to keep pace.
Together, we enter the elevator, and the man swipes a badge before selecting a floor just a few numbers down from the highest level. Within minutes, the doors open onto a lush hallway accented by blood-red carpet and wood-paneled walls polished to shine.
The driver shuffles forward to a room a few paces down and swipes the card to let me inside.
“Your uncle, huh?” he wonders, inspecting me with a curious expression. “Look, if either of you needs a ride in the future, here is my private card. I’m looking to trade up, if you know what I mean. The pay here is shit.” He rummages through his coat and withdraws a plain business card. “If the ride is for you, text this number. You know how to text?”
He grunts when I nod.
“Good. Text this number with your name and where to pick you up, no questions asked. And don’t forget to tell your uncle, if he’s hiring. Oh, and tell him happy birthday for me.” He hands me the present and leaves.
I can’t seem to move other than to slip his card where I hid my knife. Or turn away from the surprisingly modest space. My first coherent thought is that the air doesn’t smell like him, too crisp and clean.
Apparently, I wasn’t the first to find a way in here, either. A cake rests on the king-sized bed, along with small, square items wrapped in shiny silver packaging.
It’s so anticlimactic in a sense.
He should be sprawled in a massive penthouse, reveling in his money, unbothered by any skeletons in his past.
But this arena is as fitting as any to finally face him after all this time. Squaring my shoulders, I step inside, closing the door behind me. I drop the present near the entrance and find myself inching toward a row of windows overlooking a view of the busy waterfront.
We must be in the heart of the city. Several skyscrapers surround this building. The nearest one is close enough for me to make out various people exposed by gaps in curtains or blinds. They live their lives regardless, oblivious to being on display.
On a floor roughly equal to this one, I catch a man who seems to be staring intently in this direction. The second I spot him, he shifts out of view.
And I turn away, withdrawing my dagger from its hiding place.
For the first time, I feel a pang of guilt for leaving Mischa and Ellen to wonder where I am.
But after tonight, I’ll finally be able to live among them with no more crippling uncertainty.
No more pain.
After tonight, I’ll finally be free to become someone else and leave Safiya Mangenello behind for good.
I’ll silence Donatello Vanici’s memory, one way or another.
9
DON
Vinny, my sweet, cunning boy. He has taste after all—the little bastard went all out when picking his present for me. She’s perfect—a pretty, innocent-looking piece of ass every bit as beautiful as any pampered heiress.
Her dark eyes watch me, so fucking wide. Endless. I’m too drunk to be poetic about it, but if I weren’t, I’d describe her in the sexiest terms that get a man’s cock throbbing. Mine, at least.
