Page 5 of Enforcer

Something about her admission makes my chest rise and fall a bit quicker.

“Headed your way, Boss,” John calls over the comm system from the guard station out front.

Brynne shifts in her seat, powering off the computer screen where she’d been watching her prey arrive, and then gives me one final look—a look that says this is your last chance to run.

I straighten, hold my iPad close to my chest, and cement my feet to the marble floors.

It’s not Ardesia Ricci who opens the door, however. After the night I spent in the bar when Brynne returned home, I looked him up. He’s menacing with eyes that are laced with murder.

This man has bright blue eyes and dark jet-black hair. His jaw is angular and sharp, like he wields it as a weapon when his gun misfires. It’s covered in a tightly-trimmed beard that’s thick and sexy as hell. He’s tall, hulking over my five foot eight.

His arms are covered in tattoos, some winding around his neck, one touching his beautiful jaw.

My breath catches in my throat as he eyes Brynne, and then his eyes dust toward me.

“What the fuck?” His sentiment is cut off when he’s shoved aside, and Ardesia Ricci fills the doorframe, gun held firmly in place.

“You’re going to negotiate with me, Bianchi,” he says, pinning his menacing glare on Brynne as he takes her in. His brain works behind his crazed eyes as he snarls and tightens his trigger finger.

She assured me he wouldn’t harm us, but now I wonder. I tighten my grip on the iPad, wishing I’d brought my pepper spray.

The man who entered first is glaring at me, eyes never leaving me as he holds a gun on me, stance unwavering.

Brynne stands, rounding her desk with cool calculation and stealth, with no air of fear present as she walks toward the man holding her at gunpoint.

“Now, is that any way to treat your bunny?”

“It was you all along,” he answers, not lowering his weapon, and his man doesn’t either. If anything, his eyes narrowed on me as he tightened his grip on the Glock in his hand.

However, the way these men look gives the impression that they don’t need a weapon—theyarethe weapon.

The man next to me looks at Brynne as she grins wickedly at him, giving him a nod. He smiles, and his entire demeanor changes: his eyes are lit, and his perfect teeth are flashing a wicked smile that allows two alluring dimples to mark his cheeks.

He lowers and holsters his gun, moving toward Ardesia and clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re on your own with this one, Boss.”

He heads for the door but tosses over his shoulder, “Good to see you’re alright, Ms. Brynne.”

Brynne looks at me, and I send up the flare of worry that’s been growing in my stomach this entire time. She nods at me, confirming she’s alright, and as we discussed before this meeting, I nod in reply and exit the room.

I’m to remain just outside the door, however, which seems to be the other man’s orders, too. I stand in awkward silence with three other Ricci men as the rest of the house does Brynne’s bidding, getting rid of all the elaborate, overpriced furniture and bobbles to auction off to charity.

I found one that’s mission is to rehabilitate and settle trafficking victims—the ones who make it out. That’s where every dime of Mr. Bianchi’s estate will be donated. Brynne’s expressed wishes are to do good, as much as a mafiosi can.

She’s got blood on her hands, and so do I, by extension. In nearly a year, our world has tipped upside down and stained red, all because of one decision for her to go on that fucking television show.

I’ll feel wrong for suggesting it until the day I go into the ground, and if the man next to me doesn’t stop staring at me like I’m something to eat, that day might be today.

My heart is thrumming wildly before the first sexual cry comes from behind the door we’re huddled around.

Fuck.

It’s been weeks since I hooked up with anyone, and now I’m getting wet listening to my best friend fuck her man while in the presence of killers.

What the hell has my life become?

I swallow against the building heat in my throat as more noises filter out from behind the door.

“Dante!” Brynne calls, and the man beside me, who seemed to have been memorizing my face to come to hunt me down for dinner, is moving before I can register the scream.

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