Page 2 of As Devils Love

“Yes?” I answer. If whoever is trying to reach me wants to remain anonymous, it usually means that it’s business, but answering with ahellois way too civilian for someone like me.

“Come over, Crue.” It’s Matteo Baronne, my employer. “We’ve got something to discuss.”

Pleasantries and greetings aren’t Matteo’s style. That’s why I’ve taken a liking to working for him these past few months. Why waste the time checking in, when neither of us gives a shit about how the other is doing?

“I’ll be there in—”

“Good, good, see you then.” He cuts me off and kills the call.

I start the car and drive.

Mark lets out a shrill screech of excitement.

“Fina-fucking-ly,” he slaps my dashboard with an open palm. “I was going bonkers watching those two do nothing all night.”

“Time better served steeling your mind for the mission, I’m sure.”

He chuckles as if it were a joke. “Killing is what I do, and buddy, let me tell you, I’m damned good at it.”

Mark turns on the radio. For the rest of our drive, old blues and classic rock blare from my speakers. He sings along to some of the songs and hums the tune to others. His lack of interest in me is highly appreciated.

I should be taking the time to prepare for my meeting with Matteo, but instead, my mind returns toher. That out-of-place stunner who left a knot of unease in my gut. I need to know why someone so ordinary rattled my world like an earthquake.

We arrive at the Baronne family’s villa on the outskirts of New York in less than half an hour. The streets weren’t quiet, but if the military taught me one good lesson – other than how much I enjoy killing – it was how to drive at dangerously high speeds.

“Is this where you tell me to play it cool and watch my tongue?” Mark’s grin stretches from ear to ear, as he reaches for the door handle. He’s deliberately trying to press my buttons. To make this harder than it needs to be. Although I’m loath to say it, he’s giving me the ribbing an older sibling might. Under different circumstances it would’ve worked too, but I hate these mafia sorts. They’re a bunch of holier-than-thou pricks, who don’t deserve a lick of respect.

Aside from Matteo’s offered opportunity of a lifetime and his blood money lining my pockets, I view him exactly the same asI do his enemy, Lorenzo Napoli; he’s a cockroach waiting to be exterminated.

“For this piece of shit? Nah, give him hell.”

I get out of my BMW and Mark follows closely behind me. One of the Baronne family’s dogs meets us at the front door. He greets me, which I just ignore, taking a page from his master’s playbook. His face turns several shades of red darker with fury, but he leads us to Matteo’s office.

The don of the Baronne family is not an intimidating specimen by any stretch of the imagination. He’s tall enough, sure and his crown reaches my chin, but age and years of boozing have made his body plump. However, beneath the superficial layers of flab, I can tell that his muscles are still strong and primed for violence.

Matteo’s head is buried in a stack of papers on his desk when we enter. He’s so deeply engrossed in the binder he’s thumbing through that he doesn’t even bother looking up.

“Outstanding work so far, Crue. I’m impressed at how many names you’ve managed to strike off my list.”

His words are another reminder of why this is the perfect gig for me. No beating around the bush or feigning interest. We’re all business, all the time.

“What can I say?” I give Mark enough room to enter the office as well, but neither of us head for the visitors’ chairs opposite Matteo. Two more names will be ticked off hislisttonight, and we don’t have time to sit around and play footsie under the table. “Money’s a powerful motivator.”

It’s my favorite of the many lies I use to sound normal. Whatevernormalis in this context. But saying I’m in it for wealth and notoriety is far easier than admitting that I derive pleasure from watching the light leave my victims’ eyes. I love listening to the whistle of their final breathe, and that oh, sointimate sensation of my blade slipping beneath the layers of their skin as I plunge it into an artery...

It’s fucking orgasmic.

“Good. Because I’m adding another zero and another name.” Matteo lifts his head at last, and the mess of curly salt-and-pepper hair atop his head bounces in front of his face.

“The more of both, the merrier.” I keep my gaze level with his dark-brown eyes.

“Same rules apply. Stay on your current trajectory, working your way up through Lorenzo Napoli’s underlings. I want him to believe you’re a rogue unit, cutting his way to the top for whatever reason will plague that sack of shit’s mind.”

He reaches for an envelope that’s some distance from the rest of the chaos scattered across his desk.

“Iama rogue unit.” It isn’t my favorite way to describe myself, but Matteo knows that already. It’s why he hired me. He preyed on what little emotion I let bubble to the surface and lured me in with the promise of revenge.

“Hmm. That’s right.” His face hardens and he tips his head in an unnaturally respectful gesture. “I’m sorry, son. I forgot that this isn’t just a simple job for you. Forgive me?” He runs a hand through his hair, collecting the stragglers to press into a messy middle-part.

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