Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Royce stiffens beside me, his thigh pressing against mine.
Lion moves back against his chair as the silence eats up the space in the room. “I’m offering you to take it. You can take someone from here with you to be your right hand, but you can’t take Royce.”
Royce hisses, and I exhale a deep breath.
“Look.” Lion leans forward and no one else speaks. “I get it. You’re brothers, and asking this of you both is shit, but I figure with your background there, you would be the perfect person to have.”
“I’m from Detroit,” I warn, raising a brow.
“Detroit isn’t the issue, though, and what we need from you doesn’t involve anyone in Detroit.”
My mouth closes when I realize what he’s saying, shifting back to Royce. A guilty fucking looking Royce.
“You motherfucker…” I growl under my breath, ignoring him when he swirls his chair around to face me.
“I didn’t tell him so that he could use it to get you there!” Royce pins his glare on Lion. “And he isn’t going anywhere without me.”
“Royce…” Lion warns. “You cannot take my daughter with you. I just got her back.” I watch as guilt washes over Royce’s face, his hand running over his hair.
“Fuck.”
“I’ll do it.” I place a toothpick between my lips, clenching my jaw. “But I can’t promise you she won’t kill me when she sees me.”
“What the fuck are we talking about?” Khaos asks, looking around the group. “Who won’t kill you?”
“Ruby La Rosa.” Lion smirks as he says her name, and fuck, if I haven’t heard it in some time.
“Holy shit. As in La Rosa—as in the fucking Cosa Nostra? As in the fucking Princess of Death?”
“What?” I turn my chair to face Khaos. “What the fuck do you know about the La Rosas?”
“Ah… I know that bitch is crazy, and that when her papa died and she took his place as the capo, things only got worse.”
My blood turns cold. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Shit. Victor fucking died?
“I don’t know her personally, but I’ve heard about her.”
“How?” I glare at him, scrunching up my face. “How the fuck have you heard of her?” My fists clench over my thighs, and Royce chuckles beside me when he notices.
“I mean, because she’s the hottest and youngest mafia capo in our fucking generation. Everyone knows who she is…”
“Oh my God.” I take my eyes off Khaos, the pretty little fucker, and look to Lion. “Do not say I’m taking him.”
“You’re taking him—” Lion grins at me.
I flick my toothpick in his lap. “Fuck you.”
Royce is the first to interrupt. “And what about L’artisaniant?”
I shrug, turning toward him slightly. L’artisaniant is the club we all opened. There are four levels for every kink, and the higher you get, the worse it becomes. It serves different purposes, one being Anonymous is able to find their greasy men who like to steal little girls. But it is mainly for us.
“We can open there too… give me something else to fuck with that isn’t her.”
Everyone bursts into laughter.
Whispers around the underbelly of Chicago kind of remind me of a high school cafeteria. You wouldn’t think that some of these scary looking men had mouths that ran faster than a fucking Olympic medalist. Seriously fucking disappointing the more I think about it.
“Look, I didn’t have anything to do with it—I swear. That wasn’t us, baby!”
I lower myself down to his eye level, my Louboutin red bottom heel squishing over the puddle of blood that weeps out of his forehead. Tilting my head, I run the tip of my stiletto fingernail over the knife wound on his chest, watching as the pigment of his skin drains of any color, his eyes glazing over.
“I swear, Ruby! I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you, baby! You know me!” I stand straight, snatching the dishcloth that’s hanging on the edge of the kitchen island and swiping my hands with it.
“Correction,” I say, raising one perfectly manicured finger. “I know your cock, not you.” Tossing the cloth onto his face, I wander around his lounge, looking at happy couple photos framed near the fireplace. “And you’re married?” I turn over my shoulder, a raised brow on him. I whistle. “Wow. Just when I think you can’t go lower, you do.”
“Look, whatever you want, take it! You want money? Is that it? Who are these people? Dude, who the fuck even are you?” He must be looking at Tony now, my head of security, or Val, my other right hand. At any second, either of them could snap his tiny baby neck.
Picking up a photograph, I look between the downtown city lights and back to the photo. “No kids?”
Roger splutters. “Fuck you, Ruby. I’m all into your creepy sex games, but this is too far!”
Placing the photo frame back onto the mantel, I slowly turn back to face him. “I take that as a no?”