Page 116 of Filthy Little Games

Okay then.

It looks like these two mob bosses are playing a game of 3D chess, and I’m just a spectator.

I’m not sure what Creed is up to, but I really hope his plan is working.

36

Creed

“Iwish I could’ve been the one to enlighten Izaiah with the truth about Oriana being your daughter,” I say to the psychotic monster. “I’m surprised Zara never informed him of what you were doing to her.”

“She didn’t say a word because I threatened to never let her see Oriana again if she told a soul.”

I fucking hate seeing Emilio Rovina touching Zara, holding his knife to her throat like it’s all that’s keeping her upright. My beautiful wife looks like she’s barely hanging on, so weak she’s about to fall apart. I can’t tell how bad her injuries are from ten feet away.

I have to keep my gaze solely focused on her face instead of the bloody, burnt mess spread across her chest. I can’t afford to think about how much pain she must be in right now when I need to finish setting up Emilio, but I have no doubt she’s in agony and trying not to show it.

“She’ll do absolutely anything for her daughter, and I do meananything.” Emilio chuckles while every word out of his mouth is sealing his fate.

Keep talking, motherfucker. You’re going to be dead soon enough.

“Those first few months after Oriana was born, Zara was enthusiastic in performing any act I demanded,” Emilio says, driving the knife he’s holding to her throat into my chest. “And when she was a week late delivering, well, we had a marathon of fucking until she finally went into labor.”

“You’re a disgusting son of a bitch,” I tell him.

“She’s just as filthy as I am. Do you really think she’s worth starting a war with my family? How many of your men do you think will die for her? You’ve already lost your brother and four men. I’ve lost a son and four men as well. We’re even. Let me walk out the door with her, and we’ll call a truce.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind. And you’re a pussy for using a woman as a shield. And I know for a fact that you won’t ever slit her throat. Just like you could never slit Martha’s.”

Emilio visibly flinches at the mention of his dying wife.

“Does Martha know about Oriana?” I ask him. “How about Saint, Stella, or Cami?”

“Will you enjoy telling my Martha and my children about my bastard before or after Zara’s funeral?” Emilio asks.

“I’ll make you a deal, Emilio. Type up a little goodbye note to your family, slit your wrists with that knife instead, and I swear to you that Martha and your children won’t ever learn the truth. Your wife can die in the dark, without knowing you’re a nasty piece of shit. Wouldn’t you rather she thought you died from the grief of losing Izaiah rather than trying to save your dirty little secret?”

When he doesn’t respond, I continue, “You’ve got three seconds to choose. Either you go out by your own hand and keep your secret, or I’ll make sure they all know exactly why I put a bullet inyour head while we’re at war. Of course, I’ll have to kill Saint first to end it before he comes at me.”

Lifting my gun, I line up my shot, aiming for the center of his head, and start counting down. “Three, two, one —”

“Wait!” Emilio shoves Zara toward me and holds up his palms, the knife still clutched in his right hand. Zara drops so hard, I can hear her knees hit the floor, making me furious. But I don’t go to her just yet. With her on the ground, I have a better shot at Emilio. “I’ll do it. Just don’t tell them about Zara or Oriana. Promise me you won’t hurt any of them, that this bloody feud ends here.”

“I won’t hurt them. There won’t be any more bloodshed between our families,” I agree. “Now, where’s your phone?”

“In my pocket.”

“Put the knife on the table and keep your hands up.” Once he complies, I yell out, “Dre!” When he’s next to me, I tell him, “Give me your gun, go type out the message in an email, and have it sent to himself.”

“Yes, sir,” he agrees, handing over his Glock to keep it out of Emilio’s reach.

Since Dre is wearing leather gloves, he grumbles, “Fucking mother fucker,” when it takes him a moment to retrieve the phone from Emilio’s pocket. Holding it in front of Emilio’s face, he unlocks the device, then it takes several more minutes of him tapping the screen repeatedly to pull up the mail app thanks to the leather.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

I begin slowly dictating, “To my loving family, I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused. I wish I had found Izaiah the help he needed to get him sober. He was taken from us too soon because of his addiction, and for that, I cannot ever forgive myself. To my Martha, live out your final days in peace, knowing our son and I are both waiting for you, darling. Saint, take care of our family and your sisters. I know you’re strong enough to handle whatever maycome. Stella, I have no doubt you’ll do your part to protect our family as well by strengthening it with an unbreakable alliance. The Ferraros will help you get through hard times. Cami, I hope you find happiness in whatever you do. I love you all. Please forgive me, Emilio.”

“Does that sound like something you would write?” Dre asks thestronzoas his fingers finish typing in what will be the man’s final words.

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