Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
He's an insecure little prick, and the thought of him entertaining these fantasies about Gabi sends me into a rage. I already knew I’d never let him touch her, but to see this level of depravity is disturbing—even for someone who guts people for a living.
There are images of him bent over, head stuffed inside a toilet bowl, covered in piss. Sharpie’d insults all over his body. Electrostimulation—to his balls. Random objects up his ass, including but not limited to: chili peppers, raw ginger, and a dildo the size of a fist. Eating food off the floor and being gagged until he vomits. Feet inside his mouth. And more I really have no desire to see.
Granted, he was drugged to ensure his participation, but photos last forever, and now I have even more leverage to fuck up his life. If these are his usual Friday night activities, I can only imagine what he might subject a wife to. I’d be doing the world a favor by erasing him from this plane of existence. The thought has already cemented itself in my mind, but timing is an issue.
It’s a delicate balance, letting Gabi think this arranged marriage is still happening while simultaneously trying to keep Riccardo away from her. In the beginning, it was to keep her from growing attached to Eros. The meetings with Riccardo were less frequent then, so it was easier to throw a wrench in his plans. Now that he’s pissing circles around her, it’s a fucking problem.
Angelo is still in negotiations with the senator, using Emilio as the liaison. If I kill Riccardo now, it will fuck up his plans, and my brother won’t be pleased. So in the interim, I’ll just have to make every day Riccardo spends on this earth a miserable existence.
I send Jasmine and Honey a thumbs-up with a coded confirmation that payment has been made to their accounts. With that out of the way, I let myself into Riccardo’s high-rise apartment and smoke a blunt as I watch him drool all over the floor, oblivious to my presence.
Once I’m calm enough not to murder him here and now, I get to work, opening my bag with the tattoo kit and removing what I need.
I start on his lower back, inking an intentionally sloppy tramp stamp that reads: Property of Washington State Correctional Facility.
With that done, I move on, inking enough random shit on him that it will keep him busy at the laser clinic for a while.
I add a teardrop tattoo to his face, a live, love, laugh slogan on his bicep, a caricature of him crying to his chest, and for good measure—an ejaculating penis behind his ear where he’s unlikely to notice it right away.
I could stop there, but in a spur-of-the-moment decision, I also add some finger tattoos in big, gaudy lettering that reads: Con Man.
I’m sure his investors will love that one.
When I’m finished, I use his home office to print off the photos from tonight and scatter them around his apartment like confetti.
I’ll let him sweat on it awhile, wondering what exactly the escorts plan to do with that evidence. For now, I send them a bonus of one million dollars each from his bank account.
After I leave him to wake up to his nightmare, I head to the slip where he keeps his boat. I add some water to the fuel tank and call it a day, figuring all of that should keep him so busy tomorrow he won’t show up.
If he does, he’s even dumber than I thought.
19
GABRIELA
My gaze drifts over the water, a gentle breeze blowing across the deck as I make the journey to Black Stag Island. It’s a forty-five-minute trip by boat, and I use the entirety of it to replay last night on a loop.
Every muscle in my body is overworked, and when I woke up and saw my reflection in the mirror, I let out an audible gasp. It looked like I’d spent the night with Dracula. But my neck wasn’t the only place Eros had left his brand—which I discovered when I was in the shower. I had constellations of his marks all over my inner thighs and breasts, too.
Of course, when I texted him about it, he was not at all apologetic.
You weren’t complaining when I was doing it.
Didn’t I warn you I bite?
Admittedly, I smiled at that response because he did warn me, and I definitely wasn’t complaining. But I had to use a lot of concealer to cover the mark on my neck, and I’m a little nervous it will be obvious today.
As we arrive at the island, a lump settles in my gut. While I’ve been replaying the events of last night, it was easy to forget the reason I’m here. And while I usually love coming out to the island, today isn’t a casual visit with the girls. Riccardo will be joining me to discuss wedding plans, and I can already feel the noose tightening around my neck.