Page 66 of His Deadly Lies

The folders are still in the front seat of my car, and I haven’t bothered to look at them. “Oh, you mean while I was being pulled along behind Mia’s wake?” I throw his own words back at him.

Ricardo at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry?”

“You’re not one fucking bit sorry. And I did find out a few things. Some of which I’m sure she regrets admitting to me.” I hesitate in telling him about their operations despite the fact that she’d let me right into the heart of things. Right where I’d been wanting, needing, planning to go since we got into this game.

The Balestras are the big boys.

We’re small fish in comparison, and the only way to get to their level, besides cutting them off at the knees by stealing their business, is to find out something that will bring those at the top to their knees.

Blackmail.

“Did someone actually try to drug her?”

Ricardo’s question draws me out of my head.

“Yeah, some punk-ass at her sister’s club.” I finally take a sip of whiskey. “We’re going to have to keep our eyes and ears open because someone isn’t too happy with her right now. And it feels personal.”

“First the hit on her the other night, then someone manages to get in through security at Meridian.” Ricardo shakes his head, his lips rounding. “It’s seriously fucked up. Isn’t it?”

“It wasn’t all talk about increasing the security detail.” I start pacing, my grip tightening around the glass. “There’s something I don’t understand, though. They clearly have employees under them who are willing to do whatever it takes to protect them.” The girls, in particular, if I had to guess. The way her man Rafel had looked at me…like he was already planning how to dissect me piece by piece if anything happened to her.

“Look, it’s not good if we leave her alone for too long. I don’t trust any fucking person she’s got on her team. Not really. I’ve got to get back there.”

“Looks like you’ve got the itch, Unc.”

“What?” I snap.

“The itch. It’s when you want to fuck so bad you can’t get her pussy off your mind. Like she’s burrowed inside your brain or your cock.” Ricardo grabs a handful of his own dick for emphasis.

I slowly drop my glass down on the table, setting him with a look. “Watch how you talk about her.”

“I’m not saying anything bad about Mia.” He shrugs. “You know that. But you look horny as fuck. Go find some random bitch in the meantime. It will take the edge off.”

What I want to say? That I have too many years on Ricardo to have him lecture me on fucking. Or worse. Launch into a tirade about the way he talks about women. I’ve said the same in the past. I’ve said worse, much worse.

I storm out of the room, ticked the hell off at the laissez-fucking-faire attitude. Especially when it comes to Mia. Like you can put one in place of another, interchangeable and faceless entities, and be satisfied that way? He’s been at the strip club too often. If his attitude has shifted in such a disrespectful direction…

It’s none of my business what he does. None of my business how he wants to conduct himself or who he wants to bury his cock inside, even if I noticed the way he looked at Isabella Balestra. Right now, my focus is on Mia, the lost shipments, and the hit on her.

One or both of us will have to check out the warehouses as a potential storage for the lost shipments, and hell if she’s going to be left behind.

I pause in my house only long enough to take the quickest shower of my life and change clothes before running through some things with Ricardo. Every bone in my body aches from the goddamn chair last night. And, I half suspect, from worry. From getting up every half hour to check on Mia and make sure she was still breathing, still healing.

Staring at myself in the rearview mirror, I look older than my years. Older than Mia, for sure. What kind of fool am I to think she actually likes me touching her? The worst kind of fool because I know I won’t be able to stop myself. If the door is open even a little bit, I’m going to keep my proverbial foot shoved in the space and take advantage of any inch she grants me.

I’m fucked up, horny—as Ricardo noted—and about as close to release as the Titanic to the surface of the ocean.

My expression screws into a pained grimace, causing the lines around my eyes and mouth to deepen. I’m sporting a few days’ worth of stubble, and the hair that used to be on the dirty side of blond is now completely white. Aging is bullshit, but I've never minded.

Not until now.

Now it seems like I’m forcing myself on a young woman who is probably only interested in kissing me because I’m off-limits. What will Daddy Balestra think if he catches his oldest daughter tongue fucking the help?

It’s a ridiculous waste of time for me to even think about it, but the mind goes there regardless.

I can’t even be too pissed at Ricardo at the moment. When I was his age, I’d taken my fair share of women in whatever way they’d have me. I always made sure they were okay, always used a safe word when warranted, and stopped to indulge in aftercare if it was used.

Now?

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