Page 4 of Dangerous Deception

“Please,” the man weeps, and his hands clutch at my ankle.

“How long have you worked here?” I ask, taking another languid bite of the apple.

“F–F–Four years.”

“And in those four years, did you ever step in to protect Mrs. Amante or her children?”

The man looks up at me, his eyes swimming with tears. “I?—”

“Did you ever step in when her husband beat her or threatened to sell her kids to the Russians?”

“Mr. Amante is a… he’s a?—”

“Did you feel any remorse when she sent her kids overseas for safety and then took her own life jumping off the high-rise downtown?”

“You don’tunderstand?—”

“Thought not.” I aim my gun between his teary eyes and pull the trigger before any other excuses or lies can tumble from his mouth. He dies instantly, although a splatter of blood and brain matter splashes up my leg.

“Great,” I mutter, holstering my weapon. “My fucking shoes. Asshole.” Kicking the body away, I take another bite of my apple just as the sliding door to the lounge opens.

My Underboss, Vito, steps inside with a look of disgust crossing his face and walks toward me, pausing to shoot one of the twitching bodies that are strewn across the dinner table.

“Did you find it?” I ask, taking another bite.

Vito holds up a black pen drive. “All of it. The deeds to the boutiques are on here. Paper copies are downtown, but I already have someone picking them up.”

“Good.” I glance around the room and my stomach curls. “I’m done. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Mercifulis not a word anyone will ever use to describe me. When news gets out that the Amante family is dead, the blame will fall squarely on my shoulders where it belongs. People will think I slaughtered them for their business and that not a soul was left alive. I’m happy to let them think that.

No one will look deeper, so no one will know that Mrs. Amante came to me asking for help while I was overseas. No one will know that I came back to America too late to help her and that I was the one who collected her body from the morgue. No one will know that her two children are now hidden away from the world, safe and sound under my protection, and that what happened here tonight is the least that Mr. Amante deserved.

This will be just another stop on my rampage, and I have no desire to correct anyone who claims such a thing. It’s no one else’s business.

“You good?” Vito side-eyes me as we stride out of the Amante manor and head toward the line of black cars we arrived in.

“Mmhmm.” A final bite and I toss the apple core into one of the destroyed flower beds that line the path. “I want the address of every single boutique and I want them cleared out. No one left. Then we’ll relaunch under our name. What do you even sell at a boutique, anyway?”

“Fuck knows,” Vito replies. “Clothes, maybe? Either way, it looks like they just used it as a money laundering front.”

“Huh.”

“One more thing.” Vito nudges his shoulder into me as we walk. “I got a call while you were busy in there.”

“About what?”

“Pascal Castiglioni. He agreed to your terms.”

Gravel skids under my shoes as I come to a stop. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. He sounded oddly eager, if I’m honest.”

“Shit.” I breathe deeply, letting the cool night air slice into my lungs alongside the scent of the pine trees swaying nearby. “I just wanted to watch that fucker squirm. Didn’t think he’d agree to sell his own daughter.”

“Adelina Castiglioni,”I murmur to myself, reclining back in my deep leather chair and crossing my legs up on my desk.

A fire crackles to my right, sending colorful streaks and shadows dancing over the bookcases holding more books and novels than I’ll ever read. They’re a legacy from my father’s yearsin power, but the knowledge held in those books won’t help me now. Not unless someone tries to use Roman war tactics. The air is filled with flowery notes from the luxury logs crackling amid the flames, and a glass of Scotch warms in my hand while I flip through the file Vito curated for me.

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