Page 88 of Sinners Atone
“They shouldn’t be hiding from anything,” I grit. “You’ve got three points of entry, and none of them are covered.” I nod to the sea beyond the glass. “Even a one-armed sniper on a paddle board could have taken both of you out by now.”
My blood heats up with every security flaw I notice, and unease runs through me like an undercurrent. Something aboutRafe’s men, especially his head honcho, Griffin, has never sat right with me. Though my background checks always come up clean, the fact he’s just hired his nephew …I don’t know, something stinks.
Maybe it’s just another bad feeling, like the one I have today.
Rafe calls for one of his slaves to clean up the mess, and I sink down into an armchair. The sharp pain in my thigh must have shot right up to my face because Angelo’s gaze thins on me.
“Christ. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Bitter amusement rolls through me.
That question used to be paired with another:Where have you been?
The first time I heard it was when I graduated from Hell and limped into the dining room just in time for dinner. I’d been gone for three years, and the world I returned to was different to how I left it. It was darker.
And so was I.
I had a new scar running from my eyebrow down to my chin and a look in my eye that reflected all the fucked-up things I’d done to get it.
They could have found the answer if they’d looked hard enough. It doesn’t matter now, anyway, they’ve grown so used to me disappearing on a whim that the second question disappeared and the first became rhetorical.
Which is exactly why I don’t bother answering it.
“Let’s get on with it. I’ve got shit to do.”
Angelo purses his lips, gives me a final once over, then drops it. “How’s it going with eliminating Dante’s men?”
“Fine.”
Rafe studies me, rolling a poker chip between his thumb and forefinger. “And you’re sticking to the plan? Making them quietly disappear without Dante noticing?”
Well, two are hog-tied in my cave, and another is wriggling about in a body bag on the tender, but I did cut out one of their tongues the other day because their screams were pissing me off, so I guess that counts as being quiet. “Yep.”
Then again, I left said tongue on Dante’s pillow during my last nighttime visit, so maybe not.
Angelo releases a tense breath. “Good. The stupid fuck is going to be the last man standing soon enough. Then we’ll figure out what we’re going to do with him.”
A spark of adrenaline lights up my chest. There’s nowe, and there’s no figuring it out. I already know what I will do with him. Been planning it for the last three years. Been fucking with his head for the last three years too.
The day I finally look Dante Visconti in the eye and cut him from cunt to chin with his own knife, is a day I’ve been looking forward to.
As the dutiful employee sweeps up shards of glass, Rafe launches into a tirade about his latest misfortunes. I took care of the kids who raided his casino in Vegas, but there’s more. His investments are down; he lost a six-figure bet to our cousin Benny because he beat him at an arm wrestle. I’m normally the first to point out the irony of him moaning about losing a fraction of his fortune while wearing a Brioni suit aboard one of his several multi-million-dollar yachts, but today, his first-world problems seem to weigh heavier on his shoulders than usual.
He’s agitated. Gray half moons underline his eyes, which keep darting toward the door as if he’s also waiting for something bad to happen.
When he tops off his rant by mentioning he dropped his iPhone in the downstairs bar and cracked the screen, my short-lived curiosity reverts to annoyance.
“I’m going,” I grunt, shoving myself to my feet. I nod to Angelo. “You coming?”
He shakes his head. “We’ve got a meeting.”
“With who?”
He glances at Rafe, who’s suddenly preoccupied with tightening his cufflinks. “O’Hare.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise at the mention of the Irish. “Martin?”
“Kelly.”
