Page 3 of Reckless Seduction
“How much?” another voice questions. It is nearly identical to the first, with the same lilting accent but rougher. Gravelly.
“Three mil.”
Someone whistles.
“That’s a lot of dough for a wee little woman,” the first voice scoffs. “You didn’t bother to do any research, huh?”
The man simply whimpers.
“Here is what you are going to do, Jimmy,” the rougher voice snarls. “You’re going to send a message to your boss.” The man’s name on the wind has my journalistic instincts perking up. Sure, it is a common name, but there are very few people named Jimmy who pull out hits on people.
“I… I can do that.”
Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
The mantra whispers through my mind like a broken record, my inner caution goddess singing the warning of her people, but the Nancy Drew altar I worship won’t be subdued. I am a reporter, and this is a front-page scoop.
At least, it will be if I plan on writing about it.
Which I am not.
Maybe drunk me is bordering on suicidal, pushing aside the logical goddess, who has been waving red pom-poms in my face like a red flag.
Still, it can’t hurt to take a peek. Just a skosh.
I take a deep breath and peer around the corner with ample parts curiosity and fear.
Biting my lip, I swallow back the gasp that threatens to bubble up my throat and fly free as I take in the scene before me. It is a scene right out ofTheGodfather. The two men tower over another, their looks nearly identical, from the height to the ginger color of their hair to their angular noses and cut jaws.
They don’t sense me spying, their focus completely on the older man they have on his knees before them. I knew I recognized his name. The man begging for his life is Jimmy Burlosconi, a mid-level hitman for the Italian mob. He went to trial a few years back for killing his girlfriend in a jealous rage, but all the witnesses conveniently disappeared, and he got off scot-free.
I covered his trial.
“Whatever you need me to do, I can do it. Promise.”
The man whose face I can see more clearly smirks, his hand tightening on the knife in his grip.
“Only problem is, Jimmy,” he sneers, surging forward and burying the knife in the man’s throat. Jimmy’s scream is cut short as blood bubbles from the knife wound in his neck. His body hits the pavement with a dull thud. “I don’t need you alive to tell it.”
“Jesus, Seamus,” his mirror snorts in disgust. “Couldn’t we have at least gotten him in the trunk or something first? Now we have to drag his body down the alley.”
The one named Seamus shrugs unapologetically.
“This way, he won’t get away, Kier.” Seamus smirks at him. “Now help me get his fat ass in the cellar before someone comes out for a drag, aye?”
“Oh, aye,” the one named Kier huffs. “Let me help you clean up the mess you started. Again.”
“You sound like Da.” Seamus grins. “Already getting a stick shoved up your ass over everything.”
“Fuck off, Seamus,” Kier mutters, elbowing his brother in the ribs. “I’ll shove a stick up your?—”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Shit.
Frantically, I struggle to get my purse open as my cell phone lets out a shrill ring from within, signaling what is likely going to be my death.Fuck. Why hadn’t I put it on silent?
Because I didn’t want to miss a call from a hotel for an opening.
