Page 30 of Deceitful Oath

“As a matter of fact, thanks for reminding me.” I pull out my phone, swiping her name away and dialing Enzo instead.

“Boss?”

“Time for the second phase of the plan,” I say casually. “The waitress won’t be home tonight. Get your guys in there and work some magic.”

“Got it.”

Vince chuckles as we pull into the underground garage. “What do you have up your sleeve, Rafael?”

“Just making that bitch’s life a living hell,” I laugh, hopping out of the SUV. We head upstairs as my stomach ties itself into knots. I can only imagine her face when she comes home from her shift at the bar tonight—this is going to ruin her.

Conflicting emotions play out in my head. Focus on the goal. Remember what she did. Get revenge. I pour myself a glass of bourbon and settle into my wingback chair.

I picture my father’s face. I imagine him taking a sip of that cyanide-laced coffee, his forehead breaking out with sweat, his heart speeding up. I wonder if he knew he was being murdered.

She deserves this.

She didn’t do it.

I’m going fucking crazy.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through it as a distraction. I fool myself into thinking I have an unread message from Enzo and open the app.

When I see her name again, my fingers move on their own accord and click on the three texts she sent.

>>Hi, Wolfie! Hope you’re having a good day.

>>Is it lame to say I already miss you?

>>So, I had a rough morning. Call me when you can?

A rough morning?I pause, wondering if I sabotaged some part of her life and forgot about it.

Enzo and his team are destroying her apartment later tonight, so that’s definitely not it. I hit dial and she answers after a few beats.

“Hi, I’m just getting off the bus,” she says, her voice light and breathless. It sends warm tingles through my body, instantly relaxing me.

“That’s okay,” I assure her, forcing my voice to take on the soft tone I use with her. “Do you have time to talk? You said you had a rough morning?”

“Give me a second.”

I can hear the bus doors shutting in the background and the click-clack of high heels. After a few seconds, a lighter sparks, and she inhales deeply.

“Are you smoking?”

“That’s not what’s important here,” she says, laughing lightly. “The thing is…my car was stolen this morning.”

“What?”

I’m genuinely shocked. This woman really does have the worst luck.

“And then, I got fired from my delivery job. So, I’m essentially screwed,” she says in a sing-song voice, but I hear the sadness behind it.

Shit. None of that was even me.

“I’m sorry. Can I see you tonight? Cheer you up somehow?”

“You’re the best,” she sighs. “Take me out for ice cream?”

---