Page 50 of As Devils Love

“You know I can’t do that. Who would I tease if they killed you?” If anyone other than Fiametta could warm my heart, I’m sure Mark would have right there.

“Then buckle in. The road’s only going to get bumpier from here.”

I drive like I’ve never driven before. Speeding through the empty streets of New York as if my life depends on it.

And to be fair, it very well might.

We arrive at Lorenzo’s place, much like the last time both of us saw Matteo. A single man stands at the front door, waiting to lead us in. Unlike Matteo’s man, he foregoes the pleasantries. We walk through the enormous mansion, up the stairs and into the barroom where I made Fiametta mine. Not only with words, but by planting my flag so far down her throat that no one will ever be able to remove my mark.

I shouldn’t be getting a thrill out of this.

Lorenzo knows.

He brought us here to monologue at us, before he puts a bullet in your head.

There’s a first time for everything, it seems. The usual cruelty of my inner voice isn’t present. It’s actually trying to be helpful for a change.

Too bad it’s probably right.

“You’ve got some big balls, Crue.” Lorenzo’s sitting behind the bar, fixing two whiskeys. But next to the glass he’s pouring amber liquid into, sit all the ingredients required to make a gin and tonic.

“Mighty big. So, fucking swollen that, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you should get them checked out by a doctor.”

Screw two fingers, Lorenzo fills the glasses three-quarters of the way before moving on to make my G and T. Crushed ice, lotsof mint, lots of lemon. Either he had a sip of the drink I never got the chance to enjoy, or he asked Fiametta how I prefer it.

Either way, this is going better than I expected.

It’s unnerving me.

“As much as I enjoy your testicular flattery, Lorenzo, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

He chuckles coldly, as his big brown eyes lock with mine.

“You have quite the track record yourself, Mark.” A hollow ache settles in my gut when he says Mark’s name. Matteo has met Mark, and he has never heard his name. It was my design to keep him anonymous. If things turned sour between Matteo and me, he could flee without the threat of being followed.

But if Lorenzo knows his name, he must have dug into my past. Does that mean he knows who I am, now?

“Thank you?” Mark looks at me as if Lorenzo’s crazy. A stark difference from the fear he displayed toward Matteo. I suppose it makes sense, with how many of Lorenzo’s men we’ve slaughtered so far.

“But I’m curious about something,” Lorenzo’s eyes move to Mark without his head following. “Ex-military, turned ex-special forces, turned ex-private security, turned ex-hitman. How does a man with killing in his blood, wind up owning a hunting store in the middle of a city? There aren’t too many deer here to fulfill that blood lust, are there?”

“Don’t answer him,” I say. If he’s trying to walk us into a trap, it’s not going to happen so easily.

“Like I said…” Lorenzo scoops crushed ice into half the glass before topping it with mint and lemon. “Massive. Fucking. Balls.” Then another scoop of ice and more garnish on top. “You know, it used to be, people feared me. They heard my name and shit their pants.” He pours half a glass of gin, and the other half tonic, before stirring with a long, plastic stick. “These days, theylook at me and laugh.Oh, it’s Lorenzo. He’s the guy who can’t take care of a single fucking killer problem.”

Lorenzo sets both our drinks on coasters on our side of the bar, and beckons with his fingers that we join him at the bar. We do, but Mark pulls funny faces in my peripheral vision with every step.

“I found out something very interesting while I was digging into you boys,” Lorenzo is the first to take a sip. Mark is close behind him. I’m still too cautious to reach for the glass. Poison comes in many shapes and forms. “You might be working for Matteo, but I know you aren’t one of his.”

The door opens behind us, as if on cue with what Lorenzo is saying. I expect to look over my shoulder and see a hundred Napoli men storming into the room, ready to open fire on me. Instead, I see Tomas stumbling his way inside. He is so blindingly drunk he can’t even make it to the bar, and he falls into a large leather chair in front of an unlit fireplace instead.

Pathetic.

But if he’s here, at least I know Fiametta’s safe.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” I shrug.

“Because you strike me as the sort who runs to the highest bidder.”

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