Page 43 of Sweet Lies

“By choice. I’ll retire soon. Maybe buy an island and live off fish and booze.” She laughs again.

“That’ll be the day,” I mutter. “I owe you one.”

“I told the girl it was me that owed you. Pretty funny seeing her face as she tried to figure out what I’d had you do.”

I smile, picturing just that.

“You’ll look after her?” I ask, knowing I need to close this chapter of my life. Rebecca Rossi has been distracting me since I left, and I need to banish her quickly.

“Of course. Will you return?” she asks.

“No. Not any time soon, at least. I have work that will take me out of the country for a while.”

“You mean to keep you away from temptation,” she states knowingly.

“Goodnight, Juliet. If you need me…”

“I know, I know—only a phone call away, blah, blah. I’ll talk to you soon, kid,” she mutters, and I know she’s getting distracted by work.

I smile, missing her a little more than I had before I called. She was my mom’s best friend. After she died, Juliet stepped in and helped where she could. Dad never talked much about her past, but I know it was colorful. She knew too much about the life not to have lived it at some point.

I hang up and board my flight to Rome. I’d been offered multiply opportunities overseas before and never taken them up, but now seems like the perfect time for a change. Just like Bec, it’s time to start fresh and leave the past behind.

ChapterFifteen

ANDRE

Two Years Later

The first thing an observer would notice is the darkness, and then the dampness of the underground space. A few lamps sit in a circle, but they just cast shadows, given their meagre light. If someone sat there long enough, they would hear the dripping of water off the underground walls. But the first thing they would notice is the naked man tied to the chair by ropes.

The knife slices over Francesco’s thigh at the perfect spot and angle to cause the most pain. He howls in agony, and I step back to admire my work. He’s covered in steadily bleeding wounds.

Reaching for the iron that’s been sitting amongst the coals of a small fire, I place the burning metal against one of the worst wounds. He screams as his flesh is melted together, the bleeding stopped till I reopen the wound, then his eyes glaze over for a moment, and I fear he may pass out.

I can’t have that.

Slapping his face a few times seems to bring him back.

“Come on, Francesco, we were just getting to the good part.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Francesco repeats, with a little less energy than the last time he said these words.

“Why are you taking it upon yourself to make this harder? This could all be done if you would just tell me where he is.”

“I know nothing,” he mutters, gazing into the distance.

I shrug my shoulders and sigh. “Have it your way.”

Moving to the small rolling table, I drag my tools closer to where he can see and watch as his eyes widen. “No,” he gasps.

“This is all up to you. You’re going to die tonight. But there’s dying, and then there’sdying. That’s your choice to make.”

The tools are intimidating. They’re meant to be that way. I don’t have to use them often, as the sight of them alone usually gets mouths moving. From the screwdriver to the blowtorch, they’re meant to put images of people’s worst fears in their heads. I’m not opposed to using them, but I’m running behind on my schedule and want to get this job finished.

Lorenzo Ricci has proven to be a worthy foe. Alessandro Bianchi gave me this job a month ago at his daughter’s wedding. Alessandro is one of the major crime bosses in Rome; his words are law in some of the darkest parts of town. One doesn’t say no to Alessandro if they want to keep their body parts in place. He makes the Five Families in New York look like child’s play.

He called this afternoon looking for an update. Thankfully, I’d found one of Lorenzo’s contacts earlier that day and started working on him, so I was able to give Alessandro a progress report. Lorenzo had left the city, that much I knew, but to where? I wasn’t going to run around on a wild goose chase—then I had an idea. Alessandro wanted me to do just that, but I refused, pointing out that it would take too much time, and I was right—the time I’ve spent gathering information on the man has been more insightful than running around looking for shadows. Francesco is the man with the answers, and from the look on his face, he’s about to squeal.

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