Page 66 of Surrender

“F-fuck,” Peter shouts. “I just—I needed Silvano to take over. Before Cresci changed his mind and…”

He trails off. I wonder if he’s going to try to fight me, but I guess the knife against his dick is enough of an encouragement to stay very, very still.

“And what? What was Cresci going to change his mind about?” I demand.

Peter whimpers and shakes his head. “He was gonna put Cristiano in charge. Because he wasn’t as much of a… he wasn’t as weak as Silvano.”

Well, isn’t that nice. I might have liked Cresci if he’d lived. He clearly saw how superior Cristiano was to Silvano. Still, I’m annoyed that Peter was acting independently. I wanted to murder Silvano.

“Anything else Cristiano and I should know?” I ask him. “Anything you want to say in your defense?”

“My defense?” He tries to laugh but it cuts off when I push the knife more firmly against his dick, just enough to cut the flesh. “Fuck!”

“Was it worth it?” I ask, curiously. I’ve never met one of my clients face to face. “Did you get what you wanted?”

Peter whimpers through gritted teeth. “I was going to get Silvano to the top. I was going to be his underboss. If you’d just done your fucking job. If Cristiano just fucking checked his mail. I was already laughing about Cristiano’s death—”

I move the knife off his dick. Peter sighs, but before he can truly relax, I drive the knife into his throat.

The blood gets everywhere. My hand is slick with it, and the sleeve of my shirt is soaked. I brace myself for the feelings of anger and helplessness I’d felt when I’d seen Corbin’s blood, but nothing comes.

Peter’s blood isn’t the same shade.

Peter doesn’t matter.

I get up, remove the knife from his throat, and ignore his wet gurgles as he dies.

“Cristiano,” I say. “I’m going to send you something. It’ll be useful.”

My chest tightens when I don’t get a response immediately, but a few seconds later his deep voice rumbles in my ear. “Yep. Ready now.”

I wipe my hand on Peter’s slacks so I can operate my phone and send the recording to Cristiano.

Hopefully that’ll be enough for him to decide what to do with Silvano, while I clean up here and remove any incriminating evidence.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CRISTIANO

Before all of this, I would’ve called Silvano Cresci a friend.

But now that I’m staring at him, aiming my gun at him, it doesn’t feel like we could be any further apart.

Friendship is pointless. Fox had been right that this was a trap. I’d known as much going in, but I’d wanted to believe the best of Silvano. It’s hard right now, when Silvano and his bodyguard both have their own guns pointed at me.

I don’t want to shoot Silvano, but if it comes down to it, I’m not going to sacrifice myself so he can live.

“I didn’t kill your father,” I say to him, my grip tight on the gun as I stare him down.

“But you brought your pet assassin to the party,” Silvano answers with a steely voice. “You’ve been trying to undermine my position in the organization for months.”

I don’t know where he got that idea, and it surprises me enough to where I don’t know what to say for a moment. “How have I done that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice reasonable, friendly—trying not to give him or Enzo a reason to shoot.

“You think I don’t know my father liked you more than me?” Silvano asks. His lips curl into a sneer. “What did he say about me? That I was too weak to take over? That I couldn’t handle it? That I wasn’t manly enough?”

There’s no sense in lying, not right now, not when the stakes are so high. “I knew, but I didn’t give him any reasons to double down on those ideas. I spoke highly of you. I pointed out your successes. You have no reason to believe me, of course, but the only promotion I’ve been angling for is to be your second-in-command.”

“So you thought to hurry that along by murdering him?” Silvano’s hand shakes, and it’s surprising to realize that he’s actually upset about the death.

---