Page 22 of Filthy Little Games

I’m not entirely sure if her ideas are even good ones, but since time is of the essence, I’m willing to follow her lead. For now, at least, until all my blood returns to my brain so it can work at full strength again. I’m used to being the one everyone turns to for orders that I find it’s nice to have someone else helping call the shots for once. That shit gets exhausting.

Zara wraps her fingers around the hilt of the knife still protruding from my thigh and I tell her, “For a moment, I thought you might warn Piece of Shit that I was in the bathroom when you let him in the apartment.”

She nods. “For a moment, I thought you might let Piece of Shit kill me to save yourself the trouble,” she replies right before she yanks the knife free.

I clench my teeth through the pain as she wraps the thin, frayed beach towel around my leg, then ties the ends tightly over the wound.

“That should hold it for a while. At least he didn’t hit anything vital. The wounds look small, the bleeding minimal.”

The bleeding is just getting started.

Izaiah Rovina declared war with the Ferraro family when he came after me and my brother. Now, if or when Emilio finds out I killed him, it could be a catastrophic feud where all five families are forced to choose sides.

After years of doing everything in my power to keep the peace, I knew it was only a matter of time before something like this would eventually happen. But if it had been me who Izaiah killed, Carmine probably would’ve done the same thing. I’d like to think Dre would have, too, if the raid killed me and Carmine both.

Izaiah drew blood first, and now I have the recording on my phone of his confession. Evidence that could come in handy if this bites me in the ass. I’ll only use it if necessary. If I’m careful, I can minimize the fallout. Make it look like Izaiah disappeared because he got scared after he failed to kill me.

I’ll have to pretend like everything is fine with Emilio until I can prove he gave Izaiah the orders to take me and Carmine out. I don’t see Izaiah being ambitious enough to try for the seat at the head of the Council table. His father though…

That son of a bitch was trying his best to convince me to marry his daughter, to solidify our alliance through future generations, telling me it’s what my father wanted.

It was all bullshit. Hell, I thought our alliance was rock solid.

My brother was right. I would’ve been crazy to marry the viper bitch. There’s nothing in that deal that would benefit me. It could’ve been Emilio’s plan to have Stella kill me this whole time.

Part of me wants to go tell him I killed his son and blow his head off right now for taking Carmine.

But I have to play this smarter than Emilio.

And I’ll need to do it fast, since the gun charges from the raid are hanging over my head. I wasn’t planning on adding first-degree murder to my rap sheet, but when Izaiah held a knife to Zara’s throat, I didn’t have a choice.

I was standing in the bathroom, recording his confession, willing to wait it out to make his death look like an accident when he attacked her. It felt like I was drowning in the blurred haze of my fury, and something inside of me just fucking snapped.

Izaiah was a dead man before he even ripped her towel off. That piece of shit never deserved the right to touch this woman, and he sure as shit doesn’t get to fuck her.

Why did she even let him in her life to begin with?

When Zara stands up in front of me, she’s tall for a woman, but the top of her head only comes up to my chest. “What’s someone like you doing with a guy like Izaiah Rovina anyway?”

“It’s not like I ever wanted to be…involved with him.” She scowls over at his body. “It just sort of happened one day.”

“Is he an ex-boyfriend or what?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. He was a manipulative bastard who knew what buttons of mine to push to get whatever he wanted.”

That doesn’t sound like a consensual relationship, but more like he was blackmailing her. A tiny smidge of my anger at her dissolves.

“We should start cleaning up, or he’s going to bleed through to the floor,” she points out.

“One more question before we bag him and roll him up.”

Her cautious eyes lift to mine, and she crosses her arms over her chest impatiently. “Okay?”

“Earlier, back at the store, did you wish an armed robber a good night and tell him to drive safe?”

Her eyes widen. “You saw that? How?”

“I was watching you. I even considered intervening when I saw the gun,” I admit. “Despite the fact you got my brother killed.”

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