Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
I nod, grateful for the opportunity to slip away.
Inside, I find a group of Angelo’s associates enjoying cocktails. Most of them are familiar faces, and they each pause their conversations to greet me as I make my way around the room. Their wives, girlfriends, and mistresses are on the opposite side of the lounge area, speaking in hushed whispers as their gazes dart my way.
I don’t have to wonder if I’m the topic of conversation. It’s written all over their faces. I offer them a polite smile and grab another flute of champagne from a passing tray. I imagine it will be quite some time before the gossip about my brother-swap-wedding-fiasco dies down.
Angelo and Carlo return just as Camille announces dinner is served. We take our places in the dining room: Angelo at the head of the table, me at his side. It’s a leisurely affair with five courses and safe topics of conversation reserved for the polite company of women. We discuss travel, charity galas, and the latest happenings among the families.
Throughout the entirety of the evening, I catch Carlo’s gaze lingering on me as he whispers to the men beside him. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but the nervous glances the other men cast toward Angelo indicate it can’t be good.
Outwardly, Angelo remains calm, but it’s the kind of deadly calm you see before a storm. With every passing minute, the air thickens, dark clouds looming on the horizon.
When the conversation shifts to local politics, I tune most of it out until someone mentions Grant Ellison.
“His face is all over the news,” Dario says. “Now they’re excavating his entire fuckin’ life. This isn’t good for business.”
“Do you think he ran off?” Turi asks.
“Nah. We had a good thing going with him. His election was in the bag. It had to be a rival that snatched him.”
“Either that or he ran off with all our campaign donations.”
“The money didn’t go anywhere,” Angelo says. “I’ve got people on it. Whoever is responsible, I’ll find them.”
My dinner drops like a lead weight in my stomach. Angelo always makes good on his promises, and that doesn’t bode well for Aegis. I doubt it would be good for business to have his wife involved in a network that’s disappearing other wives.
“My money’s on that weasel Whitlow. He knew he was going to lose the election, and he had him snuffed out.”
“No way. He’s too much of a pussy.”
“My money’s on that little bitch of a mistress,” Carlo says. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since he disappeared. You ask me, it’s becoming a real fuckin’ problem in our city.”
For the briefest of seconds, his eyes flick to me again, and it solidifies my certainty. He must know something.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how careful we are. We can contain individual involvement and limit information, but the vulnerability isn’t with us. It’s with the women we try to help. If their husbands get so much as a whiff of something awry, they don’t have a problem torturing it out of them. I have to wonder if that’s what happened with Carlo’s wife.
Regardless, he must not have any proof. If he did, I would have been dead a long time ago.
“Is there a reason you keep staring at my fucking wife?” Angelo’s question ricochets off the walls of the dining room like a crack of thunder.
The entire table falls dead silent, the men sneaking glances at Carlo as they all wait for him to answer. Only, I’m hoping he spontaneously chokes on his tongue because if he says what he’s thinking right now, I am so screwed.
“Eh, what do you want me to say, Angelo?” Carlo shrugs. “It’s not like you need to piss circles around her. Everyone knows Matteo—”
A gunshot rings out before he can finish that sentence, and blood sprays across the table. Carlo clutches his throat, wheezing out a curse before his gaze locks on Angelo.
“You stupid cornutu.” He starts to laugh, even as he chokes on his own blood. “She’s going to fuck you over. Matteo told me everything.”
Angelo’s gaze cuts to me, inky black and steeped in fury. I can’t hide my horror, and I’m already shaking my head in denial. I don’t want to believe Matteo would do that, but why else would Carlo say it?
“What is he talking about, Abella?” The chill in Angelo’s voice sends a shiver straight through me.
“I…I don’t—”
It’s all I manage to get out before Angelo rises from his seat, his command slicing through the air with razor-edged authority. “Everyone out.”
The guests abandon their seats as Angelo kicks Carlo’s chair back, knocking him onto the floor. He wrenches a cloth napkin from the table and kneels beside the man who holds my fate in his hands.
“Tell me.” He clamps the napkin over the wound to stem the bleeding.