Page 77 of Bastard Prince
To be honest, now that the adrenaline has wearing off, I was starting to feel pretty shitty myself.
“What do you want to do about her?” I asked, nudging the woman with the toe of my shoe. I really didn’t like the thought of killing a woman, but for this bitch, I might make an exception.
Francesca stared, her face hard as she thought it over.
“Leave her,” she said at last, and it looked like a weight had been lifted once she made her decision. “I’d rather she have to live the rest of her life knowing we got the better of her.”
Wrapping my arm gently around her waist, I pressed a kiss to her cheek, right over the red mark Dino had left there. “Twisted, babe. I like it.”
As we made our way back through the rooms, Francesca and I leaning on each other as we walked, I stopped before we got to the last door.
“Babe, um, Dino,” I was suddenly worried. I knew my wife was ruthless, but I didn’t know how she’d feel about seeing the disaster I had left in that room.
“He better be dead, Enzo, or I’ll kill him myself.”
“Oh, he’s dead, babe. It’s just a bit...messy.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not wearing fancy shoes, then, isn’t it?” she said with a wink.
I grinned and opened the door, waving her through like the fuckin’ gentleman I was. When she saw the pile of sweat and disappointment that had once been Dino, she paused, staring down at him, her face expressionless.
“Good riddance, you asshole.” Then she turned and headed out into the afternoon sun.
Following her out, I raised one hand to shade my eyes, but still needed to squint after the gloom of those stifling rooms.
“Well,” I said. “You see any cars around here?”
“No,” Francesca responded. “And I left my phone in your car on the side of the goddamn road. Son of a bitch.”
“Looks like we’re walking, babe.” We turned and headed down the long dusty drive we had driven up on our way to the farm or whatever the hell this place was. We had barely made it a handful of steps when a new vehicle turned into the road, the beige sedan kicking up a trail of dust that drifted toward us on the dry desert wind.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What now?” Francesca bemoaned.
“You got that gun, babe?” I asked, glancing down as she flicked off the safety. “Good. Stay alert.”
Neither one of us moved as the vehicle approached; the setting sun glinting off the windshield meant that we couldn’t see who was driving, so we had no choice but to wait and see what was about to happen.
The car ground to a halt in the gravel before us, the sound loud in the otherwise silent yard, and the cloud of dust surrounding the car, practically obscured it from sight.
I heard the door open, desperately wanting to protect Francesca from whoever was about to get out of that vehicle, but we only had one gun between us, and she raised it, her hand steady as she held it in front of her, ready to face whatever was about to happen.
“Frankie?” called a voice, and I knew immediately who it was.
Son of a bitch.
“Special Agent Eric,” I drawled, my tone bored, and more than a little pissed off. “Late to the party again, I see.”
“I came as soon as I figured it out,” he panted, darting around the car door and heading toward us.
“That’s close enough, Eric,” Francesca said, not lowering the gun an inch.
“Frankie, I’m on your side.”
“Yeah, funny thing about that,” she paused to laugh before continuing, “I don’t fucking believe you. My little confrontation with your ex in there has me thinking that the FBI may not have my best interests at heart.”
“Is Caroline here?” he asked, his face concerned and his voice earnest. “What did she do?”
“You mean besides organizing our kidnapping with her cronies, the son of a mobster and the good Sheriff of Las Vegas, then trying to have both of us killed? Not a whole hell of a lot.”
