Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“You think you’re clever, huh?” His voice is dangerously low, the way it gets before the storm breaks. “You think my boys don’t tell me when some detective comes sniffing around my girl?”
We’re standing in the narrow hallway of my apartment building. After he picked me up outside the Musso & Frank’s, I knew I was in a world of trouble. He kept his cool for the entire ride but I knew his anger was only simmering underneath, ready to erupt. The problem with Marco is that you never know when.
“He’s investigating Elizabeth’s murder,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “Of course he’d question me.”
Marco’s eyes narrow. At forty-three, he still has the boxer’s physique that made him useful to Mickey Cohen—broad shoulders, thick neck, hands that can both caress and crush with equal ease. The broken nose and the scar along his right cheekbone only add to the dangerous aura that drew me to him initially. Now they just remind me of his capacity for violence.
“You had coffee with him.” He spits the words like an accusation. “In public. At Musso’s. Why did he lie to Leo if he didn’t have nothing to hide, huh?”
“I wasn’t aware I needed permission to drink coffee,” I say, immediately regretting the edge in my voice.
His grip tightens, and I have to focus on keeping my true nature in check. The urge to bare my fangs, to remind him just how outmatched he truly is, pulses beneath my human façade. But exposure means death in this world—if not mine, then certainly his.
And bodies create questions I can’t afford right now.
“Don’t get smart with me, Lena.” He yanks me closer, breath hot against my face. “That pretty mouth of yours is good for singing and dick-sucking, but don’t test me.”
I meet his gaze steadily, trying to compel him. It’s how I’ve gotten out of this so many times before. “Let go of my arm, Marco.”
For a moment, I think he might escalate. I can see the calculation in his eyes—we’re alone in the hallway, no witnesses, in an apartment where people mind their own business a little too much, and I’ve never fought back before. He doesn’t know I can’t afford to.
But, gosh, do I want to.
Then his subconscious obeys. He releases me with a little shove toward my door.
“Stay away from the detective.” It’s not a request. “Mickey’s got interests in this Dahlia business. We don’t need some ex-boxer with a PI license stirring things up.”
The mention of Elizabeth by that horrible newspaper nickname makes my stomach turn. “You knew her too, Marco. Don’t you want to find who did that to her?”
Something passes across his face—not guilt exactly, but a kind of wariness. “What’s done is done. Let the cops chase their tails on this one.”
An interesting response.
“I need a nap,” I say, fishing my keys from my purse. “Then get ready for the show tonight.”
Marco steps back, suddenly all charm again, the mercurial shift I’ve come to expect. “I’ll be there. Front row.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Save a song for me.”
I watch him saunter down the hallway, whistling a tune, broad shoulders shifting under his expensive suit, before I unlock my door and step inside, exhaling only when the deadbolt slides into place.
The apartment feels colder than usual, though the radiator hisses and clanks in the corner. I shed my coat, hanging it in the closet before moving to the kitchen to make tea. My thoughts drift to Callahan as I wait for the water to boil.
Victor Callahan. Even his name feels reverent in my mind. There’s something about him that unsettles me—not just his slight immunity to my influence, but something deeper. A familiarity I can’t place, like I know him somehow.
Enough that I actually told him about the diary. I don’t know why I did that, honestly. It was like I thought I could trust him, though now I’m having second thoughts. I should have second thoughts.
Especially when I saw that heat his eyes, the way they blazed when I told him what he really wanted was a good fuck with me. I noticed the way his pupils dilated, how his jaw tightened—I could smell the arousal coming off him. That man wants me, that’s no surprise, but what got me was how much I found myself wanting him. For a moment I imagined myself slipping under the table and getting out his cock, wanting nothing more than to see that carefully controlled exterior slip away as I took him deep.
The kettle whistles, pulling me from my reverie. Christ, I’m getting turned on just standing here.
As I pour water over the tea leaves, I force myself to stop thinking about Callahan’s dick and all the trouble it could get me in, and make a decision. Marco’s warning has only strengthened my resolve to find out what happened to Elizabeth. And if Callahan is the key to uncovering the truth, then Marco’s jealousy be damned.