Page 46 of Ruin Me With Lies
He looks bored.Dapper.Dangerous.No one should look this damn good while the sun is still up.
As he approaches his gaze drops to Gio’s hands on my shoulders.Something unreadable flits across his face.Too quick to decipher.
“The body?”he asks Gio when he reaches us.
“Handled.Quietly.”
“Good.’’He smooths a hand down his jacket sleeve.“Come with us.I’m in the mood to be loud.”
Gio starts to get into the cart with me, but Stefano elbows him aside and folds in next to me instead.Then points Gio to the other cart.“Take that one.”
Gio looks at me askance, but all I can offer him is a“no idea”shrug.
Why the hell would a man who hates me voluntarily choose to share a cart with me instead of driving his own?
Gio wipes away a smirk with his hand and slides into the other cart.
“Garro,” Stefano bites out.“Take me to him.”
Why me?I’ve done my part.Isn’t this where they step in andhandlethings?
The argument sits on the tip of my tongue, but the dark energy radiating off him forces me to swallow it down.
I drive to Ricky Garro’s post on the east side of the villa.But when we get there, he’s MIA.
“Said he had the shits,” his patrol partner replies when Stefano inquiries of his whereabouts.“I’m covering until he gets back.”
“He won’t be back,” I murmur under my breath.“He’s running.”
Without hesitation, I speed off.
Stefano, surprisingly, doesn’t question me.Huh.He must trust me more than he lets on.
I navigate southeast, toward the most vulnerable section of the villa; where security is thin and surveillance is riddled with blind spots, thanks to the land’s uneven terrain.An area I only know about from hanging around the Uppers, from their whispers about sneaking off during shifts for a “quick release.”
Leading Stefano there is essentially selling them out.But it is what it is.
As we close in, Ricky Garro comes into view, his shoulders hunched, moving fast toward the track, a duffel bag in hand.
At the sound of our approach, he glances over his shoulder, then breaks into a run.
I floor it and careen into his path, cutting him off.
He tries to pivot but trips and drops to one knee.
How apt.
Stefano steps out, smooth and unhurried.“Going somewhere, Ricky?”
Garro pales.And for a moment, abject fear etches into every crevice of his face.But just as quickly, acceptance takes its place, followed by bravado.A flicker of defiance.The determination to face his consequences like a man.
Climbing to his feet, he squares his shoulders, juts his chin up, and then hawk-spits at Stefano’s feet.“Do whatever you want to me.It doesn’t matter,” he sneers.“Your days as ‘king of Vegas’ are numbered.”
Calm and unaffected, Stefano rubs his jaw.“This is how you want to do it?”
“Might as well get it over with.Because I’m not telling youshit.No matter what you do to me.”He spits at his feet again.“It’s time for change around here.A lot of us agree.Word is, you’re not even your own man.Someone’s been pulling your strings behind the scenes.No wonder you’ve gone soft.He told us the truth—you’re no king.You’re a puppet on a string.”His laugh is ugly, almost manic.“And he’s gonna take you down.He’s gonna—”
“Is this your idea ofnottelling me shit?”Stefano asks in a flat, bored tone.“Because you’re saying a whole lot, and I haven’t even breathed on you yet.”
