Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I lather the shampoo through my hair as I get ready for my day job waitressing because every multi-millionaire with blood money needs a cover story, right? Okay, so this definitely wasn’t the direction my father intended for me.
He was one of the best snipers for the Air Force—so a good guy. It was when he told me I was better than him that I knew I wanted to do some type of work around guns—just not the same as what he did. Discipline, rules, and restrictions in the armed forces would be too much for me, considering how much havoc I wreaked for my father, even under his strict guidance.
What can I say? I like to rebel.
The only person who keeps me in check, and I use the phrase “in check” loosely because no one has control over what I do, is my father’s friend, Craig. He’s a retired contract killer who got me into this game in the first place after someone was looking for the perfect shot. He offered me an opportunity to make the type of money I wasn’t familiar with. Turns out I like money—a lot.
I killed my first target at the age of eighteen from two miles away. After that, offers came in from everywhere, and Craig guided me down the bloody path of being one of the best.
When I step out of the shower, I dry my body, my gaze landing on the bright neon bear tattoo with sharp claws and fangs gracing my hip. I roll my eyes every time I look at it, remembering how stupid I’d been when I had some guy ink it on me when I was sixteen.
I stare at myself in the mirror, hating the same light-brown, amber-colored eyes that look just like my mother’s. My hair’s a tangled mess, and I sigh, exhausted from the recent turn of events surrounding my current target.
I don’t often toy with my targets.
Not until I landed in New York City because of another job.
The first hit was easy money. After that, I stayed because I liked New York.
I liked the clothes, the city, and the acceptance to be whoever I wanted to be or pretend to be.
My most recent target: Eli Monti.
Son to the reputedly cruel Crue Monti, who runs the Italian mafia within the city, and Rya Monti, an infamous criminal lawyer. The soon-to-be twenty-six-year-old is intent on taking over the family business. The caveat is, in Monti family tradition, he has to marry before taking ownership of the business. His father was thirty-four when he married and took over, so Eli is certainly an ambitious little prick. Too bad he isn’t going to make it to his wedding day.
I’m probably saving him from misery. Marriage only leads to shackles, confinement, and, statistically, divorce. I smirk as I blow dry my hair, thinking of the excessive amount I was once paid to end a powerful businessman so his wife didn’t have to go through the motions of a divorce. Instead, she became a widow with a very nice inheritance. That’s the only type of divorce I approve of, and at least she kept to her vows of “until death do us part.”
Men undermine women far too much, which it gives me great satisfaction being the Grim Reaper.
Had I half a heart, I might feel bad for Eli with the expectation of having to be married before he can take over the business. That’s old school, but I guess some traditions don’t die. Fuck that. I’m the opposite; happy being single, fucking whoever I want when I want. Commitment is overrated.
I dive onto my bed, the towel loosely wrapped around me as I grab my phone and kick my legs back and forth as I begin whistling a tune. I open up the surveillance app where I can check the cameras and bugs I planted in Eli’s penthouse and private home.
I smirk when he comes into view in his mansion. He often switches between the two properties for reasons I don’t yet understand. I had my friend Rory help me set up the surveillance equipment. I’m good at sneaking around and killing, but I’m not tech-savvy, and it definitely helps to have eyes and ears on this asshole when I’m playing the long game with him.
Merrily whistling my tune, I take a moment to appreciate the way he looks.
Eli has style, that much is clear, but it’s more of a clean-cut, all-black style. And it’s obvious his suits are worth a pretty penny. His jaw is covered in short stubble, and he always wears expensive watches. But it’s his eyes that look so light they’re almost silver, and they are most striking against his rich, tanned Italian skin.
I’ve noted several other things about the mafia prince since I started keeping tabs on him.