Page 32 of His Deadly Lies

Which means this won’t all be fun and games. There’s real work to do.

“Being inside the house will give us more intel we can use in our favor down the road.” For some reason, I can’t stand the silence and have to fill it with something. “I’ll make sure to keep in touch with you if there’s anything that requires your urgent attention. Otherwise, you’ll have to continue with business as usual. I’m counting on you.”

Ricardo groans, tossing the magazine onto the floor. “I’ve got it, Unc. Stop worrying so much.”

I’ve done nothing but worry about him since he came into this world with a full head of hair and screeching.

The car pulls up to the curb to drop Ricardo off at the strip club owned by his mother. Once, I laughed at her and her husband for purchasing the damn place. Ricardo had just turned twelve. They both claimed it would be a safe place to let their kid play and explore his crazy hormones.

Now? I get it.

Fuck me, but I get it.

“Try not to get into too much trouble tonight,” I call out after Ricardo.

He shoots me a jaunty salute that somehow morphs into a middle finger before he saunters through the doors.

Just perfect.

The night stretches out in front of me with more free time than I’ve had in weeks before I have to pack my shit and get back to the Balestra compound. And what do I do will this free time? What do I do because I can’t control myself?

I think about little Miss Priss herself. The way she’s so adept at hiding her true feelings but lets a little bit of her mask slip when she thinks no one is paying attention to her. Or when she’s feeling horny, which has got to be more often than I assumed for her being a virgin.

You think of them in kind of a backhanded compliment way: like, it’s so great that she’s pure but poor thing. Must not even think about sex since she’s not having it.

I caught her a number of times eyeing me considerably. Does she want to fuck? To kill me?

No one pays attention to her, and I half wonder if she prefers it that way.

I pull the car away from the curve and head back to the Vittorio/Assante house.

It’s as though Mia is consistently overlooked despite being a key player in her father’s plans for the future. She’s his greatest asset for expansion and growth, yet he doesn’t pay her a bit of attention during the clan meetings. Why?

None of my business.

The way her brown eyes darken to black when she’s pissed off is none of my business, either. Or the auburn highlights in her espresso-colored hair, the way her chin juts out sharply like she’s some kind of angry pixie ready to burn an entire forest to the ground—

By the time I get home, I’m practically frothing at the mouth and ready to get drunk and jerk off.

The main house, although the entire property is in my name, is my sister’s domain. It suits her better with her flair for the dramatic and those old-world antique touches I can’t fucking stand. Not to mention she’s the one with the husband and two kids, not me. She needs the space.

I need my goddamn privacy.

Much like Balestra with his guesthouse boardroom, I’ve contented myself with the two-story guest cottage with an attached garage, having the architects design it to my specifications when we bought the property and started building.

Hail to the king.

On this property, I’m the king.

Even with a couple of men stationed outside the exits at all times, on rotation, I flip the lock behind me. The interior of the guesthouse is done in shades of white and navy, with a light floor to offset the dark ceiling. All quiet on the western front tonight, too, the stark interior open with only a few pieces of well-made furniture.

Modern, a little cold, but simple enough that I feel like I can think in here. There aren’t any fourth edges to catch my thoughts and knot them.

I tug at the tie, ripping it free of the knot and tossing the thing down on the floor. A trip to the liquor cabinet, and I have a bottle of Jack Daniels in hand. It’s not the really good shit, but I don’t want to waste premium liquor on this.

This…crazy impulse.

The first sip burns all the way down and settles in my stomach like acid gone astray. The rest of the bottle is much easier, and a sort of familiar numbness settles through my arms and legs.

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