Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I lean my forehead against the glass, eyes closed. “Details, my brother.”
“Craig is allegedly part of the Kuzmin Bratva.”
I let that sink in. The threads come together in a tight knot. “Burian’s killing undercover fed agents.”
“One’s embedded in the Bratva, if I had to guess.”
“They must’ve hired him to root them out.” I curse to myself, shaking my head. “I should’ve seen this sooner. I bet our first victim was running the same game.”
“Without a name, I can’t help.”
“Peirce Queiros. But it’s fine. You’ve helped enough already.” I finish my drink, turning back to the bedroom. Back toward Renata. “You meant what you said? About being a better man?”
“Absolutely. If you feel something for this girl, take it seriously. Don’t run off to some other adventure when this is over. Give it a chance.”
“That’s what I always do though.” I pause in the bedroom doorway. A triangle of light from outside cuts across Renata’s sleeping form. “Maybe I’ve been wrong.”
“Give it a shot. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Goodnight, Carmine.” I hang up the phone. I walk over, hovering next to the bed, watching her sleep.
Beautiful Renata. So much could still go wrong. Can I really keep dragging her through this? Even for three million dollars?
Could I really be a better man?
After all these years, after all I’ve done, I don’t think there’s salvation for me at the end. Not even Renata could fix my bruised and battered soul.
But could I try anyway?
I climb into bed. She stirs slightly. “Everything okay?” she mutters, half-awake.
“Everything’s fine.” I wrap my arms around her.
Chapter 21
Renata
I’m still freaked the heck out about the fingers, but at least they’re not making me melt down with panic.
The sex helped.
As much as I hate to admit that, but getting fucked mindless by Lanzo really did the trick.
He tells me about the feds over coffee. “Undercover with a Bratva?” I ask, frowning over my mug. “Wait, sorry, what the hell is a Bratva?”
“Russian mob,” he clarifies. “I’m guessing Burian was sent to clear them out. The Russians probably sniffed out the feds.”
“That explains a lot then.” I drum my fingers against the island, eyebrows knotted down. “What do we do with that? I mean, how does it help?”
“Narrows the targets. Carmine’s going to send me a list of Bratva members with some suggestions toward which ones he thinks might be agents. We’ll have to do a little digging, but it shouldn’t be impossible.”
“It should be impossible.” I take a long drink, thinking. Feds shouldn’t get caught like this. “How does Burian know who the feds are?”
“I don’t know.”
“The Bratva hired him, right? Which means they knew.”
“Someone blew their cover.”
“How does that work?”
He cocks his head. “How am I supposed to know that?”
I sit back, arms crossed. “What do you know?”
“Not enough,” he growls at me. Then, softer, “But we’ll work it out.”
I don’t reply. After eating, I head into the shower, thinking about the night before. Not the job, not the fingers, but after. My feet in Lanzo’s lap, him rubbing my soles, talking me through the pain.
It shouldn’t have worked. His weird psychoanalysis should’ve fallen flat. Instead, it wormed its way into my brain, softening me up. That, or the alcohol, I’m not sure which.
Then when he kissed me, I was properly ready for him, calmed enough to let his tongue in my mouth, his fingers between my legs.
Calmed enough to let him fuck me as he pulled my hair.
I’ve never met someone that could talk me down before.
Not that I panic often. But a few times, dealing with Grandpop felt like too much. It felt like the world was going to collapse onto my head. Amy wasn’t any help, and neither were Fran nor Penny. They listened, they offered advice, but none of it helped.
Instead, it left me feeling guiltier for whining about Grandpop, but I really do want to take care of him.
I need to be stronger. Armor myself. Build myself a wall.
Lanzo found the right combination of words. Or maybe it wasn’t his words but his bearing. The way he listened intently. The way he seemed to know how I felt without trying to take ownership of it. Instead, he affirmed that I was going through something hard, without trying to solve the problem. He only wanted to smooth the rough edges.
I feel smoothed. God, that man can smooth the hell out of me.
I’m starting to feel something for Lanzo. Something big, complicated. Something I definitely don’t want to analyze. If I look too closely at these feelings, I’m going to run away screaming. That’s how I operate. But if I glance at them sideways, try to ignore them for long enough—
Maybe they’ll take root before I can stop it.
As I climb from the shower, my phone rings. I stare at the screen then yelp in shock as the name registers.