Page 107 of Scorned Beauty
“You okay?”
I nodded, jaw hardening. “I got one of the men who hurt Sloane.”
“What do you want me to do with the body?”
“Should we send a message to Kirill?” My mouth quirked. “We haven’t done this in a while.”
We were the modern mafia, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t fall back into our ruthless, vicious roots if we needed to. We were Sicilians and the La Cosa Nostra, after all. If the bratva declared war on us, we weren’t backing down.
“The feds are watching and not all of them are in our pocket.”
I sighed. “Get rid of the body, then.”
Boris was a low-level soldier and couldn’t lead us to Grigori or Anton, anyway. His purpose had been served.
Sandro texted me.
Sandro
You done? The women are at Jabbin’ Java.
“They’re pissing me off.”We were standing across the street from Jabbin’ Java. As an expert in stalking, Sandro showed me the best vantage point to keep tabs on the women.
Except Bianca was an expert in Sandro’s stalking too, so she purposely led Sloane and Sera to the corner booth where I couldn’t see them. My cousin had the gall to send me a text with:
Bianca
Far from your prying eyes.
Me
Why you do me dirty, cuz?
I humored the women. The feistiness of my cousins was a balm for my soul and helped me climb out of that basement of horrors where not an hour ago, I was judge, jury, and executioner.
Sera
We’re working on Sloane. Leave us alone.
Not a chance until I see her.
Sandro looked over my shoulder and snorted. “You’re pathetic,” he told me.
“I’m pathetic?” I derided. “Might I remind you?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I stalked Bianca for four years. What’s your point? Once I got my head outta my ass, she became my wife. I married her twice. You’ve gotten your head outta your ass for eight weeks and you’re still floundering. You’re getting hard to watch.”
I leaned against the alley wall where both of us were lurking. “Got one of those fuckers, though,” I gritted. The smell of copper still lingered in my nose.
Sandro nodded solemnly.
“Anything else you got out of him?” I asked. “Did he give any indication he’s seen Grigori with Margo?”
“No. But he thought Grigori was sick.”
“What?” I kept my interactions with Grigori to a minimum because it was a challenge to keep my disdain from my face. But come to think of it, the last time I saw him, his pallor was that of a vampire. Pale skin, bloodshot eyes. I attributed it to his lifestyle.
“He’d get sick like he had the flu and disappear for a week or two, and when he returned, he’d be fine.”
