Page 25 of Filthy Little Games

“Measuring,” I tell him. “My laptop has my phone messages on it, so we should bring it with us to destroy, and it’s got a sixteen-inch screen. I’ll measure the front of the rug and then go see if it’ll fit in the chute.”

“A tape measure would be more accurate, but I guess the laptop is better than nothing.”

I get the dimension of one end of the Izaiah blunt, then slip out in to the dimly lit hallway and look both ways. At this time of night, it should be clear, so I tiptoe over to the chute at the end of the hallway, pull the door down using the cuff of Ferraro’s jacket cloth to avoid fingerprints, and hold up my device.

Hurrying back to my apartment, I open the door and wave Ferraro forward. “It’s a perfect fit if you can break the flimsy latch.”

“Flimsy latch,” he mutters. “If this works…”

“You’ll let me live?” I know it’s unfortunately not that simple, so I’m only a little disappointed when Ferraro doesn’t answer. He slips past me sideways carrying the rug, slowly and carefully so he doesn’t scrape it on the door frame, keeping his back to the opposite wall.

When he’s clear, I twist the simple lock on the doorknob and shut the door from the outside, wondering if I’ll ever see the inside of my tiny little apartment again.

It wasn’t much, but it was mine. I busted my ass every single day to have a place of my own. Not that it ever really felt safe thanks to the Rovinas.

I’m so relieved that Izaiah is dead that I’m volunteering to be kidnapped. Because that’s what this is right now. My wrists may not be handcuffed, and I may not be gagged while I help Ferraro get his body out of the apartment complex, but I’m not stupid. My fate is in the don’s hands from here on out.

There’s no one to help me or save me. I sure as shit can’t go running to the police. I’ve heard rumors that half the police force work for the mafia, which would explain why they never get arrested or charged with anything.

Well, except recently with Ferraro. With his money and power, he’ll probably find a way to make the gun charges disappear.

I can run, but I can never truly hide from the rich and powerful mafia families. The best I can hope for is to be helpful or tempting enough to convince Creed Ferraro to let me live.

Hurrying over, I use the jacket again to open the hatch, then hold my breath as Ferraro holds Izaiah and breaks the latch off with an impressive yank. Then, he shoves a human burrito through the slightly bigger hole.

A few thuds later and the rug disappears.

“It worked.” Ferraro sounds surprised with his hands braced on his hips.

“I told you it would.” My words are breathless, since I wasn’t entirely sure we could pull it off.

“We’ll take the stairs down so you can show me where the dumpster is, and then you’re going to wait patiently in the SUV for me, aren’t you?”

“Where else would I go?” I ask him seriously.

Less than five minutes later, and we’re traveling down the dark, mostly empty, city streets… with one smelly-assed passenger.

“I’m going to need to take ten showers to get this stink off me,” Ferraro complains from the driver seat. He only pulled Izaiah out of the dumpster and carried him for about two minutes to toss him in the truck, but apparently that’s all the time it takes for the stench to sink into every fiber of your being.

“A huge oversight on my part,” I mumble through his suit collar, using it to cover my nose and mouth. It should be illegal for a criminal to smell so damn good. I want to suffocate in the leather and cedar scent. “But again, you didn’t have any better ideas.”

He doesn’t respond to my remark. But a few minutes later, he quietly chuckles softly while staring at the road. “My brother would be laughing his ass off at me right now.” His good mood evaporates just as quickly as it appeared, a scowl replacing his grin.

I could help him dispose of a hundred bodies, but he’s never going to forgive me for luring him and his brother to the club that night.

“So, um, where are we going to dump the body?” I ask to change the subject.

“I don’t know yet.” Yep, his tone is definitely icier than it was moments before.

“Are we just going to drive around the city with a smelly body in your backseat until you decide?”

“For now, yes. I’m going home to take a shower.”

He said he’s going home, not that “we” are going to his home.

I did my part. I helped the man clean up the mess he made in my apartment, and now…now I don’t know what happens to me.

It was crazy for me to think I could just ask the don to trust me and let me head to bed after we loaded up Izaiah’s body in his SUV. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy to convince him to let me go free. Creed Ferraro hasn’t survived being one of the city’s dons for years by being stupid.

---