Page 122 of Flawed

Pina's shaking in the corner. Confusion and fear fill her expression. Tristano slides his arm around her waist, and she cowers away from him. He picks her up, and her arms and legs flail, but she's too weak to fight effectively.

Gunfire continues on the other side of the door. Massimo, Gianni, and I push Biagio outside and into an SUV. I get into the last seat and slip a rope around his neck.

He freezes but snarls, "You motherfucker! I'm going to kill you!"

I punch the side of his covered head. Bones crack beneath my hand. I think it was his cheekbone.

He grunts an obscenity I can't understand.

I tug on the rope then snarl into his ear, "Game over."

"I'll kill you, you motherfucking traitor," his muffled voice states.

I cock my gun to his temple, taunting, "Try it, you piece of shit."

Gianni puts his hand over mine and shakes his head.

I keep the Glock pointed at his skull, wanting to pull the trigger like never before. Yet I know he's not mine to kill. What he's done to Pina means his fate is left to Tristano.

The SUV weaves around a semi, and horns blare.

"My father will never let you live," Biagio warns.

I take the butt of my gun and slam it into his head so hard, he passes out. His head cocks to the side then falls forward.

"You trying to piss Tristano off?" Massimo asks.

I don't answer. I sit back and stare out the window.

Biagio is right about one thing. Decades of deception have come to an end. My cover is blown, and there's no going back.

Jacopo will hunt me down with every resource he possesses. And now I'm fucked.

Getting to Jacopo is going to be nearly impossible. Until he's dead, along with all his top guys, I won't be able to walk the streets.

There's no way I can be anywhere near Chanel.

My gut drops further, and pain shoots through my heart so deep, I gasp for breath.

This isn't anywhere close to being over.

22

Chanel

Two Months Later

"We just got that in,"the sales lady chirps.

I reassess the black cocktail gown, admitting, "It's really pretty."

Her eyes light up. "Yeah, it's a new designer from France."

My lips twitch. "No wonder I like it."

"Ah! I thought I detected an accent from you. Are you from France?"

I confess, "Long, long time ago."

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