Chapter 3 #2
“Good. Fiona had so much promise. Her death was truly a tragedy,” he replies coldly. No remorse, just a practiced line he’s probably repeated so many times throughout the years.
My hand begins to tremble, but I place it in my lap before he can see. “I’ve healed and just want to move on from that dark period in my life, especially now that my career has taken off.”
“Ah, yes. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Being in the adult film industry isn’t like it was back in the 90s. The only time any of us were in the public eye was when we were lucky enough to score an interview with Howard Stern. But now, it’s as if you can’t escape the spotlight.”
I nod. “It’s true. I’ve worked hard to be known not only within the industry, but to be seen splashed all over media and big social events like movie premieres and awards.
I document everything on social media and have quite the following.
” However, I don’t voice the fact that I use social media as a meticulously designed instrument for building my alibis.
When someone goes missing, I make a show of posting my whereabouts—making them as public as possible.
We continue chatting, and at one point, he mentions his girlfriend, Sienna Moretti.
I freeze, instantly recognizing the name.
I remember the shadow of a bruise on her face, and the way he violently guided her through the front door when they first arrived.
The fact that she wandered off to the restroom and hasn’t returned is slightly more concerning than I originally thought.
If the mafia gets involved, it’s better that Franko ingests my poison sooner rather than later.
Once I feel like he’s relaxed enough, I give him a dazzling smile and lean forward, pouring each of us a glass of wine. I watch as the smeared powder at the bottom of his glass dissolves before handing it to him.
“You didn’t poison this bottle of wine, now did you?” Franko jokes, but I can tell he’s still wary.
“What?” I reply in a sassy, flirty tone. “Prefer me to swallow first?”
Rule number one of poisoning someone: don’t be obvious.
Someone like Franko is already a paranoid bastard.
Only an amateur would poison a whole bottle of wine; not only is it a waste of some perfectly good alcohol, but it’s also a dumb move.
If Franko notices I’m not drinking, he might figure out what I’m up to.
Rule number two: always have a backup plan, just in case your victim becomes suspicious.
And rule number three: always carry active charcoal or an antidote.
There’s nothing cute about accidentally choking on poison meant for someone else.
After sipping from my glass, I bat my lashes playfully. Franko’s smile returns. It’s slimy and cunning. If I’m being honest, it’s so revolting it makes me want to vomit.
“Are you flirting with me, Skylar?” Slowly, he lifts his glass.
A genuine, full-belly laugh leaves my mouth. You wish, motherfucker.
“You know, you’re just as beautiful as your sister.
Maybe even more so.” His eyes trail over my body, sending a chill down my spine.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been with a man.
Maybe we can make a video together. I know you only top, but imagine the money we’d make.
” Franko chuckles behind the rim of his glass.
“People would pay top dollar to watch me split you open.”
My practiced smile doesn’t just vanish from my face, it curdles. The charming mask that all my viewers have grown to crave shatters into a million jagged pieces. Leaving behind nothing but a hollow, bone-deep rage. My eyes flicker down to the steak knife in front of me, and my fingers twitch.
I can’t lose my composure now. ‘Tonight is the night,’ I remind myself before taking a deep breath. If the Director wants to die to thoughts of fucking me, so be it. I’ll whisper the truth to him when he’s choking for air, unable to speak.
“You might be able to convince me,” I whisper, lying through my fucking teeth. I silently pray for Franko to drink the damn wine already. His whole body relaxes as his facial expression turns smug. He thinks he’s won.
Heart pounding, I glance away as if in thought.
He tips the glass.
Finally. Fucking finally.
I’m leaning forward, desperation causing my heart rate to pick up, when a flicker of movement catches my eye. Just behind the large pillar on the other side of the dining area is a strange shadow.
I stop breathing. I don’t react, staying perfectly still as I study the area. Then I see it. The glint of a barrel. The shadow of a man.
Despite always taking every factor into account, this is one I didn’t anticipate.
A fucking hitman is trying to steal my revenge. I look directly at the silhouette, willing him to stop, not even considering my own safety. I want this person to see the rage in my eyes. I want him to know that he’s fucking this up for both of us.
The shadow freezes for a heartbeat. The room is completely still.
Then, chaos erupts. A shot pierces the silence.
Blood sprays into the air, hitting the tablecloth and splattering my dress shirt. For a brief second, I don’t even know who was shot until Franko hits the floor, howling in pain. Sick, wet sobs tear from his throat as he clutches a mangled arm.
His bodyguard is already in motion, kicking the dining table over and using it for cover. “Stay down! Stay down!” he barks, shoving Franko’s body lower to the ground and taking aim with his own gun.
“Fucking kill the shooter!” Franko shouts. “Kill him!”
I have no memory of standing, yet I’m in the center of it all, instantly overcome by fury. There’s no point in seeking cover; the anger consuming me has washed away all thought. Franko has just been shot. In the arm. He’s not dead. He’s writhing in pain but not gasping for his last breath.
In the chaos, the hitman moves with quick, smooth motions. He steps out from behind the pillar, takes aim, and shoots again. The large chandelier falls, and glass shatters behind us.
A distraction.
He breaks down his rifle at lightning speed, his face briefly lifting as soon as he’s done.
Our eyes catch. I inhale sharply. He’s not the rough, grizzled Mafia goon I was expecting.
No, this man is striking. Magnetic. Broad shoulders and thick arms in a black tactical vest. A tapered waist and muscular thighs. He’s devastatingly handsome.
This gorgeous asshole just ruined everything.
Franko and his guard are starting to move.
Fuck. There isn’t anything I can do now.
I bolt. I take off through the dining area, past the kitchen, and out the emergency door.
The chilly air of the empty alleyway hits my cheeks.
I’m halfway to my car when a massive wall of muscles lunges from the shadows.
The hitman slams me against the wall. A large, rough hand covers my mouth as his body presses me against the bricks.
“Easy now. It’s okay,” a voice rumbles against the shell of my ear. “I’ve got you.”
I thrash against him, kicking and pushing.
His breath catches, and he shoves me harder against the wall, pinning my hips with his.
He’s even more handsome up close. My gaze eagerly takes him in.
Sharp features, dark hair, vibrant blue eyes.
And his stare. Fuck, the intensity in his stare is so odd for mere strangers.
The man practically screams dominance. I squirm again, beginning to grow hard in my pants.
Without warning, a sharp prick pierces my neck.
“Hush now, Skylar. You’re safe.” His tone is protective, with a certain edge to it.
The combination of his words and that stare causes my body to relax.
Or that could be the fucking sedative he just injected into my neck.
Either way, despite my anger, my body betrays me.
The next thing I know, the sexy, infuriating hitman has me bound and my wrists zip-tied behind me. He tosses me over his shoulder like I’m some fucking rag doll. This bumbling idiot with a bad shot has no idea he just kidnapped a serial killer.