Waiting is hard. It’s the longest two minute wait ever. And no one comes in.
I give up waiting.
He’s either alone, with an idiot, or Ethan’s double-crossing me and I’m in deep shit anyway. Whatever the case may be, it’s time to find out.
When I approach the entryway, I see Ethan and Antonio in the living room, standing in front of a couch. I creep along the wall so I can move closer, to the area beside the stairs. I won’t be able to see from there, but I need to wait another minute to make sure he didn’t bring someone who may have gone upstairs first.
But then I hear the pop and the heavy thud. My heartbeat kicks up and I move forward, hoping that wasn’t Ethan who just dropped.
It wasn’t.
Ethan is doubled over, hands braced on his thighs, and Antonio Castellanos is on the floor, bleeding. Not dead though—he moves.
I don’t waste another second. Hustling over to the old man’s side, I meet his gaze, point my gun at his head, and fire.
“Sorry,” Ethan mutters.
I step away from the old man’s corpse to give Ethan a jovial pat on the back. “Don’t be. You’re basically my second best friend right now.”
He laughs a little at that. “I’m not sure that’s company I want to be in.”
“You okay?” I ask, seriously.
“I feel a little… vomity.”
Nodding, I assure him, “You always do the first time. Hey, look, you didn’t even have to kill him. I did that.”
“I really wanted to give him an awesome monologue first, let him know I was onto his bullshit, but I was too afraid he’d shoot first,” Ethan says, smiling as he rights himself.
“Monologues are overrated,” I tell him. “He’s dead, that’s what matters.”
“I know, but throwing your own daughter into sex slavery to try to take down a nemesis? He should’ve died knowing she knew that.”
“Now it’s over and she can move on,” I tell him.
Ethan sighs, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and sending a text. “I’m gonna have to take her to the French Riviera to get her mind off things.”
Are we all going on victory vacations?
Actually, the French Riviera sounds really good. And Elise loves when I speak French.
“Hey, good call,” I tell him.
He looks at me questioningly, but I don’t explain. “Well, I’ll get someone in here to clean this up. But now that we’ve taken care of this, there’s one other matter to attend to. You need to take me to Salvatore. I don’t want to hurt him, I just want to talk.”
Ethan nods. “I figured that was next on the list. And being the swell second best friend that I am, I already thought of it.”
I frown and follow him to the entryway. He’s just going to take me Salvatore like that? Damn, I should’ve brought all this shit to Ethan a long time ago.
Only, he doesn’t head for the door.
He stops at the bottom of the stair case and looks up.
There at the top, in all his cocky, smirking, pain in the ass glory, is Salvatore Castellanos.
And the icing on top of the cake? At his side, her arm wrapped possessively around his waist, stands Francesca Morelli.
The End… Not really. I need to stop lying before I turn into a Morelli. BOOK FOUR COMING SOON! But for now, check out the ALTERNATE ENDING!
DELETED CHAPTER
This deleted chapter is actually an alternate ending! Adrian had to end the book, since it’s his book, but what did Mateo need him for? Let’s find out!
Mia
The Frank family should have been here to pick up their cake an hour ago.
I grab my phone and shoot a message to Meg—she’s bored, and we’re having a GIF-off. While I peruse for just the right Will Ferrell GIF, the doorbells chime.
I drop my phone on the counter and glance up at the man walking through the door. He looks grumpy—middle-aged, kinda puffy, a look on his face like he just wanted to stay home and watch the game, but his wife sent him here instead.
Are there any games to watch in the summer? Maybe baseball? I don’t know. Sports are boring.
“Hi, what can I do for you today?” I ask him.
Mark flies in from the back—and I do mean flies. He has to grab onto me to steady himself so his momentum doesn’t fling him into the counter.
At least, that’s what I assume. But then he doesn’t let me go. He pulls me into him, securing me with one arm, the other… He has a gun.
My blood turns to ice in my veins.
“I got her,” he tells the guy on the other side of the display.
“Mark, what the fuck?” I manage, through the feeling of immense betrayal sinking through me.
Sweatpants says, “This ain’t your assignment.”
“Sal wanted me on it. He wants her alive.”
“What the fuck?” I repeat, my eyes widening. I turn my head back to look at Mark, but his face tells me literally nothing. Where is the expressive friend who beat me at a pesto cook-off? What the hell is this bullshit?