Page 70 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

“Then tell me to leave.”

His words cut something inside my chest. I look back at him. His hands are no longer on me. His palms are planted on the floor, pressing into the hardwood as if he’s making himself stay in place so he doesn’t touch me. His body is rigid, bracing for my reply—my command.

He’s giving me the chance to walk away from him. Yet his eyes have a plea in them.

“Tell me to get out, Bri.”

I know I’m not going to. My mouth wouldn’t cooperate even if I wanted it to. Fact is, I don’t want that.

Why am I willing to risk so much for him? Aren’t I putting Gabriel’s life at risk by allowing him in my home, in my life, in Gabe’s life?

“I’m giving you one more chance.” His eyes bore into mine. “Give the order, Bri, because if you don’t, you’ll never have another chance to walk away from me. From this.”

If he’s trying to scare me, he’s doing a shit job of it. If he wants out of this, then he can be a man and leave on his own accord. I want my job, but I want him just as much.And I might want Gabriel.

I remain silent, not uttering a sound besides the breath entering and leaving my lungs. He’s motionless, watching me, waiting for something that’s never going to come. At least not tonight.

“I hope it’s fucking worth it,” he mutters before grabbing me in an aggressive embrace, smashing his lips to mine, and holding me tighter than he ever has before. My soul sparks with something I’ve only ever felt when I have that baby in my arms. I haven’t a word I can assign to it yet because it’s too new. It’s so foreign that I think I’m scared to admit what I think it is.

“So do I,” I whisper between us.

My stomach makes another demand for food, this time louder, and D smiles against my lips.

“Let’s eat.” He taps my butt. “It’s probably cold but...” He trails off as I flip around, settling between his legs.

I’m even hungrier than I thought when I start shoveling sesame chicken into my mouth. I missed lunch today when a tip came in that a well-known drug dealer was at his mom’s house. Connie and I had been searching for over three months for his whereabouts. Today was our break. We were able to apprehend him along with his cousin that skipped bail on a drug charge last month. I call that a win-win.

We eat relatively silently. I’m not going to push Drago right now to tell me the details of his business. But in the back of my mind, I know he has to give me something to bring back to the chief. I’ll take any kernel I can get at this point.

“I gotta piss. Can I use your bathroom?” Drago asks once he’s finished his dinner, tossing a used napkin inside his container.

He taps my hips, asking me to let him up. I’m done, so I crawl around to the side of my coffee table, getting out of his way.

“No,” I shake my head, but a laugh bubbles out. “Of course you can. You don’t have to ask, you know.”

Getting up, he leans over our food, snatching my lips up in a quick kiss.

Tasty, I think when he pulls away.

He heads down the hall, so I take the opportunity to admire his backside. He’s got a tight, high ass and just the thought of it bare has heat rising up my chest.

Later, Bri, later.

I wipe my mouth with a napkin, discarding it into the Styrofoam container when I finish, then I stand, taking everything to the trash. Shoving it down into the can, I pack the garbage so I don’t have to take it out until tomorrow morning. I’m tired and all I want to do is be lazy.

I wash my hands, drying them with the hand towel I have laying next to the sink, then notice the envelope I forgot I placed on the ledge when I got home. I pick it up, flipping it over, making sure I didn’t miss any marking that would tell me who left it. After not seeing anything, I rip the flap open, pulling the contents out.

It looks to be several letter-size photographs with a yellow sticky note on the top that reads:D doesn’t know I gave these to you. Keep it that way.

Luca? His brother is my first thought. He’s the only other person besides myself who calls Drago by his first initial, but then I squash that thought, remembering my neighbor said the man was black.

I take the sticky note off, sticking it to the discarded envelope lying on the kitchen counter.

The first photo is of Brandon Marino carrying what I recognize as the thick envelope from the photo Chasity Carlisle presented to me. Tucking that photo to the back of the stack, I look at the next one. It’s almost the same, only this time, Drago is in the picture, and from what I can tell, Marino is walking toward him.

I hear the toilet flush, so I quickly scan the rest. They’re in order of the events happening, playing out like an old-school cartoon. Marino stops in front of Drago. Then he raises his hand, stretching it out in front of Drago as if he is handing that package over.

Drago does place his hand on it, but in this photo, Marino is still holding it too. In the next photo, it looks like Drago has taken a step away from Marino—who still has the package. Both men have scowling expressions on their faces. The last three are of Drago walking away from Marino, who remains holding the thick envelope, crushing it in his hands.

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