Page 131 of Sixth Sin

I come to a dead stop.

Angel Smith may crack but she does not break.

Violet says that. Violet’s my glue. She always puts me back together and fixes me.

Digging into the front pocket of my hoodie, I pull out my cell phone and dial her number. My cheeks feel funny, and I realize it’s because I’m smiling. I’m smiling. It’s been so long since I’ve smiled, I think my face forgot how to do it.

Violet will answer, and Violet will remember.

It doesn’t ring. A computer voice tells me the number has been disconnected. That can’t be right, so, I dial again and get the same voice. Walking faster, I call again, and for the third time get the same message.

“No!” I yell into the mouthpiece. “It is not disconnected. You’re wrong!”

Look under the bed. Remember.

“Shut up, Alexandra!” I yell, my phone crashing onto the floor as I cover my ears. “This is my time. Go back in the mirror.”

As always, part of our mind may belong to me, but this body is hers. It has always been hers, and she moves it to the mattress despite my protests. She drops me to my knees against my will. She digs my hand underneath the mattress as I beg her not to.

And wrapping my hand around the long blade, she pulls it out and holds it up so the part of our brain that’s mine can see what the part that’s hers has known all along.

This number has been disconnected.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

DOMINIC

It took everything I had in me to leave her. However, Hilda gave me her word that she’d protect Angel, and I believed her. The words have never passed between us, but they don’t need to. She knows who I am. She’s always known. Since the day Angel moved into the Romanov mansion, she spoke her truth between the lines.

“I was asleep in the staff quarters when… Well, it’s my honor to serve this family again.”

Like I said to myself on Christmas Eve, fifteen years ago; There may not have been an alarm, but the servants’ quarters weren’t that far away. Six gunshots could’ve woken the dead.

And the loyal.

So, with my mind at as much ease as it can be, I focus on getting answers. I’ve waited long enough. The game is over. Every card is on the table.

Except for one.

This time as I storm through Monty’s Auto Body Repair Shop, there’s no Sophia to stop me. No Carlo standing guard as I kick the office door open. Nothing but a smug man in a designer Italian suit sitting behind his desk puffing away on a half-smoked cigar.

A man like Luciano doesn’t clear his entire shield unless he has a good reason.

He knew I was coming.

He doesn’t bother to acknowledge the gun clenched in my hand as he tucks the cigar between his teeth. “What took you so long?”

It’s not a challenge or a taunt. It’s a loaded question. And he’ll get his answer. As soon as I get mine.

My finger curls around the trigger as I hold his stare. “Greg Rosten is missing.”

He draws in a deep inhale. “Good riddance.”

Not good enough. I’m not his soldier or his runner or his boy anymore. When I ask a question, it’s not to seek out information. It’s to verify what I already suspect. “The Vitoli family has always controlled the unions in this town. Which means Marco has his dick all up in the Screen Actors Guild’s pussy.” Folding my arms across my chest, I pace the room, tapping my gun against my bicep. “That puts you in pretty close contact with Silverline, doesn’t it?”

“Is this going anywhere, or are you just being dramatic?”

“I bet you get to know a lot of people while yanking all those SAG strings. Famous actors. Up and coming directors.” Pausing in front of him, I brace my hands on the edge of his desk. “Studio night guards.”

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