Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Oh my God,” I breathe, my heart pounding at the thought of this happening. “This is so exciting. And when I go back to school, I can keep it up since the shop can be run from anywhere, so I won’t have to work at a pub.”
Lorenzo’s smile drops, and I realize what I just implied—that I’ll be leaving. Something we both knew would eventually happen, even if we prefer to live in our little bubble of denial.
“You’ve got this,” he says, forcing a smile back onto his face. “And whatever you need, I’m here … always.”
Lorenzo’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at it, then says, “It’s Matteo.” He clicks Accept. “Hey, man. What’s going on?”
He’s quiet for several seconds before he says, “I’m going to put you on speakerphone. Say it again.” He changes the setting. “Go ahead.”
“Ding-dong, the bitch is dead.”
I gasp because there’s only one woman he would call a bitch.
“Are you serious?” I ask, my voice shaking with emotion.
“As a heart attack …” Matteo says. “Or in her case, as a burning mansion.”
“What happened?”
29
Matteo
One Hour Ago
“Jesus Christ, Antonov. You’re going to kill him,” Lucian barks as I stand over my opponent in the middle of the boxing ring at Lucian’s Gym.
“My bad.”
I’ve had a lot of pent-up aggression lately with no outlet. Leysa keeps luring me in and then escaping under my nose. I’ve lost too many good men, going after her, and she thinks it’s a fucking game.
I have two ways I keep my emotions in check—fighting and fucking.
With Dani being pregnant, I’ve been trying to be gentle when we have sex—despite her saying she’s not going to break. And since she won’t let me fight underground, the tension in my body is wound so tight that I feel like I’m going to snap at any second.
“I—”
My words are cut off by the sound of my phone ringing.
It’s Kaleb, one of the men who works for me and who has been actively looking for Leysa.
“What’s going on?” I ask, knowing he only calls when it’s important.
“We have her.”
A rush of adrenaline courses through me.
“Where?”
“Eric Vanderbilt’s house. She’s in there with one of her men.”
I bark out a laugh. So fucking predictable.
We framed Vanessa’s mom, Ilene, for the murder of Eric Vanderbilt, but then I had an idea. With the DA in my pocket, I asked him to do me a favor and spread the word that Leysa Santiago was considered a suspect. He submitted several pieces of fabricated evidence, linking that bitch to the crime scene, and then I told my men to wait and watch.
And sure enough, she took the bait.
“On my way.”
Without bothering to change, I throw on my shirt and shoes and run out the door, needing to get to this psycho before she realizes she’s been set up.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to Eric’s ostentatious mansion. Kaleb texted that she was in the west wing, most likely scouring for the evidence that she thinks might convict her for the murder of the mayor.
We have the house surrounded, but I told Kaleb not to touch her. After the shit she’s pulled—having my wife kidnapped, having my sister damn near raped, sending men to attack the women at the spa, and having the warehouse where we house our underground fights shot up, just to name a few—I want to look this bitch in the eyes when I kill her myself.
I pull my gun out, prepared for anything, even though Kaleb said she’s alone, and have it aimed to kill.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I call out.
The house is quiet, and she and whoever’s with her could be anywhere, but I have all the time in the world to find them.
I search each room, expecting her to pop out and shoot me, but after I get through the entire house and she’s nowhere to be found, I start questioning if she isn’t fucking with me again.
And then I hear someone.
I stop and listen.
Rustling.
I take a step forward and then pause when the scent of something burning hits my nostrils.
I try to place it. It smells familiar.
And then it hits me …
Gasoline.
I glance around, and then I see it … liquid all over the floor.
She’s going to blow the place up.
Fuck!
I should leave, but I’ve come this far, and fuck this bitch for thinking she can outsmart me.
More rustling.
And then a scream.
I run toward where the sound came from when a loud boom sounds.
With my ears ringing, I don’t stop until I get to what I assume is the garage door.
Only when I open it, it’s not a garage. It’s some kind of basement.
Florida homes typically don’t have basements because the sea level is too high. I went over Eric’s blueprints when figuring out how to frame his wife for his murder, and this room was not on them, which means he either built it after the fact or did it without permits.