Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Shame.” Rafe (aka Raffaello) smirks. I like him. Besides Matteo, he’s the only one in my uncle’s organization I’d consider a friend. He reminds me a lot of myself. We both have a taste for killing.
“I just sharpened the bone saw.”
“And I promise, once we find out who’s responsible, I’ll let you take a turn . . . after me.” I let my lip lift into a mischievous grin. “But first, bring me whoever was in charge of picking up the money this week. Let’s ask him why he thinks math is optional.”
Rafe straightens. “You got it.”
The men scatter, and then I’m finally met with silence.
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake it off. Doesn’t work. My pulse is already shifting. Beating faster. Uneven.
I reach for my phone out of habit.
No missed calls.
Just one notification.
A flagged alert. From a contact I haven’t heard from in over a year.
No message. No subject. Just a photo.
I tap it open, and the moment I do, the world tilts on its axis.
Victoria.
She’s older, yet still stunning. It’s almost painful how beautiful she is.
The only problem with this picture is that she’s not alone.
There’s a man next to her, hand resting on the small of her back like he has the right.
Grant Jameson.
The same bastard from five years ago. He still looks like a douchebag.
My jaw locks so tight it aches. I zoom in, searching for something, anything. A flinch. A crack. A sign she hates this.
Nothing.
She looks fucking fine. Content even.
Like she never once thought about the boy she left without a word.
Me.
A headline screams across the top of the photo:
Danforth Enterprises and Jameson Group hint at a more permanent merger. Maybe the heirs to the empire will finally seal the deal.
I laugh—it’s short and bitter. Of course they’re getting married. I was just the summer distraction after all.
Old feelings rush back. Suddenly I’m transported to that day . . .
The day that changed my life.
I throw my phone across the room. It hits concrete and clatters, but doesn’t shatter.
Fuck.
I drag a hand through my hair, pacing the length of the warehouse because if I stand still, I’ll put my hand through the wall. I should’ve known. Should’ve guessed she wouldn’t stay frozen like I did. That she’d move on. Thrive. Forget.
But with him?
It was always going to be him. Her father fucking told me it would be.
What the fuck did I expect?
I stalk across the room and punch the wall. It dents, and my knuckles crack and bleed.
It still doesn’t help.
I breathe in. Out. I’m still not calm. I grab my phone from where I threw it and then dial. “Rafe. Now.”
Ten seconds later, the door creaks open. Rafe steps inside, eyebrow raised like he’s already planning which exit to sprint toward if I go feral.
“What’s up?”
I shove my phone with the photo in his face.
He squints, then whistles low. “Well, shit.”
“Exactly.”
“Did she always have a taste for suits?”
“She had a taste for me,” I snap, heat flaring in my chest. “This? This is a downgrade.”
He shrugs. “Looks more like a power play.”
I turn away, because if I keep looking at that screen, I might crack the earth open.
“Call Cyrus Reed.”
“Cyrus?”
“Yeah, you know, he has that poker game? He told me if I ever needed any help with anything . . . ”
“Got it. And what help are we looking for?”
“I want everything on Danforth Enterprises. Financials. Current deals. Press leaks. Private holdings. If her name is on it, I want it. Tell him I’ll owe him one.”
Rafe nods slowly, expression sharpening. “You want a hit too?”
I consider it. Feel the weight of it in my blood. Then shake my head. “A takeover. But first, we make them bleed in places they won’t see coming.”
“Once you got everything on them, I want you to strip their leverage. Corner them. Then we make our move.”
Rafe smirks. “Going for the slow choke, huh?”
“Exactly.” My smile is razor-thin. “I want her to feel it. I want the family to beg.”
Rafe snorts. “Damn. Remind me never to break your heart.”
“You’re not my type.”
He claps the doorframe twice. “I’ll get started,” he shouts over his shoulder as he leaves.
Five years.
Five years of working for my uncle and building a name for myself within the organization. Five years turning myself into someone no one could crush. Five years of killing the man I was, the man I once thought I needed to be . . . for her.
He’s dead now.
All because she never looked back.
Soon, she’ll see how much she fucked up.
I sit down at the table that sits in the middle of the open space, fingers pressed to my temples, when my phone rings. Matteo. Of course.
“If this is about the fifty grand, I don’t need to hear your shit. I’m doing a damn fucking good job. If your dad has a problem with it . . .”