Page 60 of Lethal Vengeance
Furious, I glare at Dante, knowing he’s their leader. “Tell him to let me go, or I’ll cut off his balls.”
He laughs, but it dies quickly when Giovanni darts a glance down to his crotch where my knife is resting against him. I’d grabbed it from the facility before we left.
Leonardo moves in closer but stops when a knife presses against his throat. Cruz stands behind him, eyes fixed on Dante.
Giovanni instantly releases me.
I sigh. “Look. It may not look like it, but we want the same thing. In the end, if you decide the punishment isn’t enough, we can settle up. Deal?”
Dante narrows his eyes. “What is it you think I want?”
“The kind of death that sends a brutal message ringing across the cartel,” I say simply.
“And you’re going to deliver this warning?” He scoffs with a glance at my petite frame. “Why should I believe you?”
Tired and sore, I scowl and jerk my phone out of my pocket. Swiping quickly through the pics, I land on one of my favorites. “This is why. His brother: Julio.” The body lies spread-eagle in the desert with a gaping hole in his chest. A mirror image of the knife in my hand is staked through the center.
The younger man blanches, but the other two nod in satisfaction.
Cruz retracts the knife at Leonardo’s throat.
“Deal,” Dante returns.
29
QUINN
The casual way the Luciano family deals with death is refreshing,I muse.
One minute the space behind me is empty, and the next, it’s filled. There’s no sound, no smell, just him.
Moving my head to the right, I murmur, “Thank you.” It’s nice to have back-up again.
Cruz’ finger glides lightly down the center of my spine, making me arch my back. “Hmm, you could have handled them, but it’s better if your focus is on your target.”
Target. Such a mediocre word for Armando. It reduces him down to nothing but six letters. I smile. I like it.
The phone in my pocket buzzes, and I pull it out. “Looks like the target is calling,” I inform Cruz.
When he goes to move away, I grab his hand. Time to test a little of Zane’s transparency.
After a deep breath to pull my emotions back, I answer. “Hello.”
“You took your punishment well. Not one scream or cry of pain escaped those beautiful lips of yours. You continue to impress me,” he praises. “Tomorrow’s celebration begins at seven p.m. sharp. Formal attire. No weapons, and your new friends are not invited. I’ll text you an address.”
“I’ll require a car and driver,” I interject quickly. “Driving in four-inch heels and a formal dress is near impossible.”
Silence. “Granted. One person.” He hangs up.
A text comes through a second later with an address and directions.
My phone pings, notifying me of a second text. This one includes a video attachment.
I tap play.
“Fuck!” I exclaim, my eyes riveted to the sight of a man standing outside, shirtless, with his tattoos on display and a bag over his head. Familiar tattoos. Raider.
Cruz leans over my shoulder, then lets out a loud whistle.
