Chapter 4 #2
“Men far more powerful than you have tried to get me killed,” I continue. “But I really like being alive, Steve. It’s one of my favorite hobbies.”
I seat the prosthetic back in, then crouch beside him to watch the light drain away. Once I’m sure he’s dead, I pull the knife free. The squelching sound is fucking disgusting.
Standing back up, I let his body slump to the floor behind the desk, out of sight. My phone is still upstairs, but there’s another at the security desk. I pick it up and send a text to Vito, my right-hand man.
He doesn’t question my demand for him to get here with his crew to clean up and erase any and all traces of the attack and men I killed.
Me: I need you to come take care of the three unwanted at my home. I didn’t ask them to stop by.
Even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure my phone isn’t bugged, it never hurts to be careful.
The reply from Vito is immediate.
Vito: On it, boss. I’m with the others, we’ll make sure the intruders go away quietly. Do I get a raise for being quick?
I can practically hear him drawl the question, and I mentally nod while sending him five middle fingers. I can’t give in easily. People might mistake me for being nice and expect me to bring them chicken soup when they catch a cold, or care what or who they did on their days off.
Next, I tap out messages to my network. Each contact is carefully cultivated over years, each favor I’ve granted to give me leverage.
One by one, the replies come in, confirming my orders will be carried out. No one is stupid enough to ask questions.
“See,” I sneer at Steve’s corpse. “This is how business is done. If you’d just done your job, you’d be alive to hear me tell you that you’re shit at… well, your job.”
Favors are not just the currency of my world—they’re the very thing I live by. I never grant them out of the goodness of my black heart. Ha, not by a long shot. It’s all about what someone can do for me, and what I might need down the line.
Well, apart from the once or twice a year I do actually grant a favor just because. I like keeping people guessing. And it messes with Remus. Two of my favorite things all rolled into one.
Yep, life ain’t half fucking bad. Smiling at my own awesomeness and unpredictability, I clean myself up in the security office bathroom, washing blood from my face and hands, using paper towels to dry off.
My fresh clothes aren’t clean anymore, so with a frown, I peel them off until I’m back in just my boxer briefs, socks, and shoes. Fuck me, I look motherfucking ridiculous. And the pair of sweatpants I find in Steve’s locker isn’t helping matters much.
Of course, I could just zip upstairs and get dressed. But I don’t like moving too far until cleanup’s done.
Hours pass as I wait in the lobby, directing Vito and his team when they arrive, ensuring every detail is handled. The bodies disappear. The blood is scrubbed away, and after I bitch about needing yet another carpet, a new one materializes.
Lastly, the new guard arrives for the morning shift, unaware that his predecessor has been permanently relieved of duty. RIP Steve.
By the time I step into the elevator to return to my apartment, the sun is fully up. “Hey,” I call over my shoulder, catching Vito’s gaze. “Make sure to stash some of my suits down here. It can be the cheapest ones, but I want extras where I can easily get to them.”
His lips curve up at one side of his mouth, but he wisely smothers the grin I know threatens to slip free. “Will do, boss.”
My muscles ache with tension, hands trembling slightly with the adrenaline crash. I flex my fingers, watching the tendons move beneath the skin.
Inside my penthouse, everything is exactly as I left it. Yet it feels like days have passed instead of hours. I shower again, scrubbing until the water runs clear and the sting on my skin matches the hum under it.
The scalding heat peels away blood and the last ghost of Steve’s voice. He wasn’t the mole; I know that much without a doubt. But that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve to die.
Since the attack that left me with only one eye, I have a new life mantra. Total loyalty or death. Dealer’s choice.
Once I’m dressed in one of my suits, I text Remus to let him know about the attack. Despite the hour, he replies right away, demanding we meet later at the Leone Room. I almost tell him to get fucked and use one of his many holdings instead of my den of depravity.
I text him back to let him know I’ll be there tonight. Then I reach for my lighter. The silver one with the wolf engraving that was my father’s. It’s a habit, a comfort, the rhythmic flick-snap of the lid opening and closing, the brief flare of flame.
But… it’s not where I fucking left it.
I tear through the apartment, checking everywhere I would leave it. When I come up empty, I literally start pulling shit apart. Still nothing. I search my pockets from last night, the bathroom counter, and the kitchen table.
A coldness settles in my chest, different from the icy calm of violence. This is personal. Intimate. My lighter is gone.
And I know exactly who took it. The beautiful blonde who fucked me like a dream and then ran like the thief she apparently is.
The burn scars on my face tingle, an early warning system for the rage building inside me. Not the hot, explosive anger that makes men stupid, but the cold, calculating fury that makes men dangerous.
She fucking stole from me.
The smile spreading across my face as I pocket my phone isn’t a pleasant expression. Raven will learn what happens when you take what belongs to a Russo.
My Little Thief has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. But I’m about to show her.