Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Lavigne squints. “We all remember how it is to be newlyweds. Do you mind if we have a word alone?”
“I prefer that my husband stays.”
“Are you sure, Mrs. Russo?”
Damn son of a bitch.
She wraps her arms around herself under the coat. “Yes.”
“We can go down to the station,” he says. “We can talk in private there. Do you prefer that?”
“She prefers nothing of the kind,” I bite out. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”
“Is this yours?” Lavigne asks, motioning at the cashmere coat draped around her shoulders.
She frowns. “Yes.”
“Do you mind if we have a look at it?”
“No,” she says while I simultaneously say, “Yes.”
“Yes,” I repeat, my jaw clenched. “We do mind.”
Lavigne ignores me. “You said no, Mrs. Russo, didn’t you? I heard you correctly. My hearing is good.”
What the fuck is he playing at?
“I–If my husband—”
“I’m asking you, not your husband,” he says. “The coat does belong to you.” He raises a brow. “You said so yourself.”
She shoots me a nervous look.
“What are you implying, Lavigne?” I ask, nailing him with a stare. “We’d like to get back to bed.”
He shrugs. “Just a routine check while we’re here. I do apologize for keeping you from your sleep.” Turning to Sabella, he adds, “You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”
“Of course not.” She shrugs the coat off her shoulders. “See for yourself.”
Lavigne catches the garment too eagerly. He passes it on to one of his colleagues who pats the coat down.
“Sir,” the man says, taking something out of the pocket.
A small plastic bag with white powder.
Sabella stands glued to the spot, her mouth dropping open.
In two long strides, I’m in front of Lavigne, reaching for his neck. “You son of a bitch.”
“Angelo,” Sabella cries out, grabbing my arm before my fingers can lock around their target.
Lavigne stands his ground, silently daring me to follow through with the action. It’s what he wants. He’s pushing me, waiting for me to lash out.
“Don’t,” Sabella says, her voice soft behind me.
“Well, well,” Lavigne says. “What have we here, Mrs. Russo?”
Her tone is innocent and her expression shocked. “That’s not mine.”
She doesn’t realize it’s a setup. My muscles tense, gearing for action again. I’ll fucking kill him. All of them.
“Mr. Russo.” The captain’s voice reaches me through the haze of fury obscuring my reason. “I advise you to call your lawyer. Now.”
“You do that,” Lavigne says, motioning at his men.
Two of them grab Sabella. The other three draw guns.
“You’re under arrest for the possession of drugs, Mrs. Russo.” Lavigne gives me a shit-eating grin. “We’re taking you down to the station.”
I bounce forward with a growl, ready to rip the motherfucker to pieces, but the captain steps in front of me and shoves me hard on the chest.
“Calm down, Mr. Russo.” Emphasizing every word, he repeats, “Call your lawyer.”
“Get your fucking hands off her,” I say, raging like a beast.
The captain’s tone turns hard. Stern. “Do you want them to arrest you too?”
I still at that. They easily can. For obstruction of justice or whatever flimsy reason they’ll concoct. Whatever it’ll be, they won’t dare to be as bold as to plant fucking drugs on me.
“Take her away,” Lavigne instructs his men. To me, he says, “You know where to find her. If charges are filed, you’ll need bail money.”
Sabella glances at me from over her shoulder, her eyes round and panicked as they push her toward the exit. The wind barrels inside when one of the men opens the door. She’s dressed in a sweater and leggings, for Christ’s sake. She’ll freeze out there.
I reach for her, but the captain grabs my bicep and holds me back.
“Wait,” I say, shaking off the captain’s hand and suppressing the urge to bash the men’s heads in. “She needs a jacket.”
The bastards ignore me, dragging her into the cold night farther away from me. Violence pushes up inside me as I go after them. At the bridge, the captain fists a hand in my shirt, all but tearing it in his effort to stop me.
“You can’t get her back like this,” he says in a calm voice. “Not with violence. Think with your head.”
His reasonable tone gets through to me. He’s right. There’s only one way of getting her out, and that’s not by pulling their limbs from their bodies. Sadly.
The rail is cold under my palms where I grip it as I watch them handcuff her, fucking handcuff her, before pushing her into the back of a branded police car. I’m like a grenade about to explode as the driver starts the engine and the vehicle pulls off.
“Get my phone,” I tell the captain, unwilling to look away from the car. “I left it in the cabin.”
He runs to execute the order.
I stare at the red taillights of the car as it speeds down the road with a blaring siren before turning the corner. Then, there’s only darkness. Me. Sabella gone. And I find that I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the sudden emptiness of the winter night or the anguish that eats a hole in my gut.