Page 74 of Sweetest Sin
“Any chance you want to keep an eye on Damien tonight? Ricky will be here too.”
“Of course,” she says with a smile. “I can watch that sweet boy for you anytime. I’m only a hundred feet away.”
“What?” I ask in confusion, making Martha laugh.
“My dear, I thought you knew. I live in the living quarters in the back. It’s where all the full-time employees live.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” I’ve seen the guards walk back and forth between the house and what I thought was a pool house, but I didn’t know anyone lived there. “Are you sure? I could, um, pay you extra.”
Martha laughs. “Oh, no. Trust me, Dominick pays me plenty. I don’t mind at all.”
“Perfect,” Brielle says. “Be ready to go in an hour.”
“Won’t Dominick be home by then?” I ask.
“Doubtful.” Brielle shrugs. “He mentioned getting answers, and the torturing usually takes a while.”
I glance at Martha, and she doesn’t look shocked at all as she goes back to wiping down the counters.
“Who our family is, along with what we do, isn’t a secret,” Brielle explains. “All the employees sign NDAs, but even if they didn’t, the Antonov reputation speaks for itself. Nobody would dare cross us.”
“Anthony did, and whoever’s messing with the shipments is too.”
“Let me rephrase,” she says. “Nobody in their right mind or without a death wish would dare cross us.”
25
Dominick
“Two shipments in less than a month,”Matteo says as we walk into the warehouse. “Someone is fucking with us.”
He’s right. If they had actually stolen the shipments, it would be one thing. But the fact that they were only out to destroy them tells us that they were trying to send a message. They got away with it the first time, burning thousands of dollars in drugs, but our guys were prepared this time and saved the weapons.
“Do you know who he is?” I ask.
“Nope. None of the men do. He’s not from these streets.”
My brother makes it a point to know everyone, so for him not to know this person means we have new players in town.
“Well, hello there,” I say to the man currently tied down to the metal chair.
He’s dressed in a holey black T-shirt and ripped jeans—the kind from years of wear, not purchased as a fashion trend—and his shoes are old and worn. He’s sporting a myriad of shitty tattoos up and down his arms and on his neck, which look like they were probably done in jail or in someone’s basement. Iassume he’s broke, which means he was most likely paid to do this. He might not even know who hired him.
He glares up at me, and Matteo chuckles and then punches him in the face once, twice. The guy’s head snaps to the side and then lolls forward, his nose dripping blood like a crimson river down his face and into his mouth. He’d probably be choking on it if he wasn’t knocked out cold.
I give Matteo a look, and he shrugs.
“My bad. I haven’t gotten laid in a few weeks, and you know my fight is coming up. The pent-up frustration is real.” He grins at me tauntingly, and I already know whatever he’s about to say is going to piss me off. “I don’t know how you do it, bro. You got that sexy-as-sin woman with her curves for days, living in our house, just begging to be fucked, and I haven’t heard her calling out your name once. Your level of restraint is unmatched.”
“One,” I say to him, “don’t ever fucking refer to her as anything other than her name. She’s the mother of my child—your nephew. And, two, stop knocking out the guys we’re interrogating!”
Before he can come back with a smart-ass remark, the man starts to groan.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Matteo says, approaching him. He grips his chin and forces the guy to look at him. “Who are you working for?”
He spits out blood, and it hits the front of Matteo’s shirt.
“Wrong move,” Matteo deadpans.
