Chapter 28
Mitch, Mitch, fucking Mitch …
The name alone is enough to make my stomach twist.
Why does everyone have to call me by that stupid name? How much of an idiot was I to choose it?
Even though … it doesn’t sound so bad coming from her lips.
When Isabella calls me that, the name acquires a different flavor. The way it drags on her lips … God, those lips. I can’t stop thinking about them. Twisting around my name, or around my cock.
Those lips—so full, so goddamn tempting—it’s like they were made to drive me insane. I want to fuck the sweetness out of them, again and again, until she forgets she ever used that mouth for anything but me.
I tried to pull back, tried to play sane, but I’m done pretending. I’m unraveling for her, because of her, and there’s no going back. All that’s left in me now is feral, consuming need, and I want her to taste every second of it.
I want her to see how deep this sickness runs, how far I’ve fallen, and how far I’m willing to drag her down with me.
“You know you just signed your death sentence, right?” Wes interrupts my daydreaming.
“You know how to kill the mood, don’t you?”
“I kill the mood, Calvano will kill you, and we’ll all be happy without you again.” He sneers, his face shining from glee he can’t hide.
“Love the act where you pretend you don’t like me.” I wink.
“Oh, I hate you,” he jeers. “You make contempt feel effortless.”
“Ah. Keeps you predictable.”
“Asshole.”
“Dickhead.”
His jaw tightens when he realizes he doesn’t have a good comeback. I blow him a mocking kiss, and he rolls his eyes.
“What does your fucker boss wants from my life?” I ask nonchalantly.
“Calvano has a new favorite, and he doesn’t miss a chance to parade it.” His fake grin widens.
“Jealous, Leslie?”
He yanks the gun out, grabs me by the throat, slams me into the wall, and shoves the muzzle against my forehead.
“Cut the fucking crap, Mitch.”
“Oh wow. Big man throws a toddler tantrum with a gun. I’m so scared.”
“I was the leader before you showed your ugly face here.” He cocks the hammer. “You came here and fucked everything up.”
“Shoot me,” I hiss.
“Don’t tempt me,” he snarls. “I should’ve put you down the second you walked in here.”
“You still haven’t. Ask yourself why.”
His eyes widen slightly with surprise. What did he expect? That I’m afraid of him?
“Now lower this shit and follow me. I’m curious to see what this fucker wants this time.”
After barking for nothing, Wes follows me to Calvano’s office. I said I was curious. I’m actually burning with curiosity.
Wes knocks on the door like the loyal dog he is and waits for Fabio’s approval to move forward.
“Get in.”
Wes enters first, stands still, and folds his hands in front of his lower abdomen. Boris is here as always, pretending to be someone who deserves a place here.
“As you commanded, boss.”
Cocksucker.
“Get out,” Calvano orders Wes apathetically, without taking his eyes from the laptop screen.
“You …”
“Out.”
Defeated, Wes drops his gaze and backs out of the office, pride left somewhere on the floor.
I sigh. “So …?”
He closes the laptop, slides the chair back, and pushes himself up with his cane. All right, I guess it looks like things just got serious.
“I need you to pick up a delivery,” he says, limping closer.
I raise a brow. “You want to try that sentence again? With details this time?”
He lets out a low chuckle. At this point, I honestly can’t tell if he likes me, hates me, thinks I’m entertaining, or just an absolute pain. Not that I give a damn.
“It’s a package from Leo Anderson.”
A nasty jolt shoots down my spine at the name. The kind you get when someone you can’t fucking stand pops into your day and ruins the mood. Perfect. Just what I needed.
“Consider it done,” I say, folding my hands in front of me, mimicking his loyal lap dogs.
“Eager, aren’t we?”
“What can I say?” I shrug. “I missed the guy.”
He chuckles, amused this time.
“I need you to pick it up specifically from him,” he insists.
I lean in, my eyes wide in mockery. “I get it.”
This day keeps fucking giving, and it keeps spoiling me. She confessed everything, every filthy little thought she’s had about me. Her voice was shaking, and I wanted to laugh, bite her, kiss her, ruin her all at once.
Fuck, I loved how desperate she looked saying it, like corruption tasted sweet on her tongue because it came from me.
And then there’s this motherfucker. That smug piece of shit I’ve fantasized about destroying in ways that don’t even have words. He’s going to welcome me like a friend. Like I’m not planning murder behind my smile.
Plus, I’m having a word with that fucker Michael. Useless bastard can’t do one damn thing right. Instead of putting that fucker in the ground, he lets him walk around for what, a handful of cash? Fuck him.
“After you’re done with this, you kill Wes.”
“Oh, that—” The words die halfway out as the sentence clicks. A slow, crooked grin creeps in. “I beg your finest pardon, but what did you just say?”
“He’s a liability now that you’re here.”
So, he indeed likes me. Poor bastard.
“That’s a lot of faith in me staying put,” I say, my eyes flicking over him, bored.
He saunters toward me, and I track every move he makes, even though I stay perfectly still. Then he hooks his cane under my chin, lifting my face with that mock-authority crap he loves to parade.
I swallow the laugh clawing up my throat. No point poking the devil when he’s in a chatty mood—especially when he has no damn clue the devil is actually me.
“Leaving my side,” he murmurs, tilting my face up. “That is you signing your own damn obituary. Becoming dead weight,” he adds as his smile crawls across his face. “Identical ending. I have no interest in loyalty, only in usefulness. You decide how fast the hell hits you.”
Ah, this fucker loves hearing himself talk shit. He could monologue over a grave and still think he’s delivering gospel.
Why ruin his big performance? Let the man enjoy his own voice; someone has to. Riling up the big bad wolf would be foolish when I’m supposed to stand at his heel like a faithful dog. I love seeing him think his words are carving fear into me instead of boredom.
“Yes, boss,” I hiss, letting him bask in the illusion that his little delusion actually pinned me down.
“Good boy.”
God, this clown is unbelievable. Ridiculous in ways he’ll never understand.
He thinks he’s the nightmare in the room, but one day he’ll figure out he’s been flexing on someone darker than his threats. That’ll be his problem, not mine.
And I’ll enjoy that moment a hell of a lot more than he enjoys his speeches.