Page 83 of The Wages of Sin

“Dorian will kill you when he finds out.” That wasn’t even a threat, just a statement of fact.

“Which is why I can’t let him find out,” Sal said. “I’ve already gotten rid of Bonetti and Russo, the two men who helped me that night, so there are no more witnesses for him to talk to. But Dorian’s always been a crafty bastard. He already suspects my involvement, so as long as he’s free, I won’t be safe.”

It was such a monstrous plan that, even though I was the only one in the room holding a weapon, my hands started to shake.

“So you’re going to kill me and frame him for my murder,” I said.

“Exactly.” Sal smiled, though somehow the expression only made him look more evil. “That way, both the feds and I get what we want. Your brother-in-law gets to close the case on the only living witness to his crime, and I can stop looking over my shoulder, wondering if tonight’s the night Dorian finally catches up with me. You understand.”

A cold shiver ran up my spine as the realization sank in that there was no way in hell either of these men would let me leave this apartment alive.

I’d have to kill them both if I wanted to survive...and I wasn’t entirely sure that was something I had in me.

Dorian had said as much himself that day that I’d told him my story as I stitched up his wounds.

You just risked your life and livelihood to patch up a man you barely know. You’re no killer.

He was right. I wasn’t a killer.

But I was a fighter.

I might not have any control over my death, but I could try to save Dorian.

When Sal and Hollis came at me, I was determined to stab and slash and splatter their DNA all over the damn crime scene. I might not live to be a witness to their crimes, but I could make sure I left enough evidence behind to point the detectives in the direction of the real killers.

I lifted my chin defiantly, staring Sal D’Angelo in the eye as I slowly walked toward him. “Fuck you. Touch me, and I’ll cut your goddamn dick off.”

For all his tough words, Sal didn’t waste any time stumbling backward to get away from the tip of the blade.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Hollis groaned impatiently as his partner tripped over a side table. “Can’t I just shoot her now?”

“Do it.” All it took was for me to get within striking distance with the knife for Sal to relent. “Go ahead and kill her already.”

Seeing Hollis reach toward his waist for his weapon, I knew time was running out.

I made one last rush, frantically swinging at Sal’s chest as I went. At the last second, he raised his hands in a defensive posture, and the blade sliced across his palms.

He howled as thick blood splattered onto the floorboards. I prayed I’d be able to get one more slash in before Hollis unloaded his clip of slugs into my chest.

But before I could bring the blade down or Hollis could pull the trigger, the front door flew open with enough force to bash into the wall behind it with a thunderous crash.

For a second, everyone froze.

Then, a wave of supreme satisfaction washed over me as I watched the color drain from both men’s faces. In an instant, all their bluster and swagger disappeared, and they stared in shocked terror at the man standing in the open doorway.

I wanted to cry in relief.

Because Dorian Marchetti was home.

Chapter Thirty

DORIAN

Ithought I knew anger.

After years of living and breathing violence, I was certain that I’d explored every inch and crevice of rage and fury. I believed I’d been singed by the hottest flames of hate and experienced the iciest stabs of vengeance.

I was wrong.

---