Page 77 of Wicked Mafia Mistake
His voice is tight, the playful edge stripped away, replaced by something urgent that puts my spine straight. "Sloane's on the move."
My hand tightens on the phone. "Where?"
"She went back to the penthouse about an hour ago. In and out. Spent time in your office." A pause that lasts too long. "She took the files, Mass. The Ferraro file and the Society 69 folder. All of it."
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I put cameras in your office and a few near the elevator after Harlon called you. Kill me later. Right now you need to move.”
My jaw locks. Any other night I'd have his head for that.
How did she even know about them? Wait. My mind snaps back to a couple of nights ago. She saw me come in with the files. Of course she did. She notices everything.
“Smart woman.”
“Or dead woman, if she’s going where I think she’s going,” Luca counters.
My hand presses against the counter and I feel the cold granite bite into my palm.
"Where is she now?"
"She grabbed a cab heading west about fifteen minutes ago. Kon's tracking the route." Another pause. "I think she's heading to Club Genesis."
The glass in my hand cracks against the counter. Whiskey splashes across the granite and my fingers go numb.
"She's going to Harlon."
"Yeah."
"Alone?"
Luca's silence is the loudest sound I've ever heard.
"Alone."
Twenty-Two
Sloane
The penthouse is dark when I walk in and the silence tells me Massimo isn't here, which is exactly what I need right now because if I see his face I'll either scream or cry and I'm not doing either of those things tonight.
My hands are shaking for the first time since I walked out of that restaurant and I clench them at my sides until the trembling stops. Every word Lorenzo said is still ringing in my ears, each revelation placed between the bruschetta and the bread basket with the deliberate precision of someone who enjoys watching things explode. He sat there sipping his wine, smiling that dead smile, detonating my entire life one truth at a time.
And he was baiting me. I see that now.
Every casual "while we're clearing the air" was designed to send me running into the night with nothing but rage and tears and the knowledge that every man at that table had been lying to me. Lorenzo Ferraro handed me the entire map tonight, Society 69, Genesis, the deadline, the contract, all of it, and he did it with a smile because he never once considered the possibility that I might actually use it against him.
That's his mistake.
"Get it together, Whitmore." I clear any traces of tears and straighten my spine. Crying in the cab was free. Crying here costs me time I don't have.
I need proof. If I know Massimo he has files of some kind. My mind flashes to the night he came home with folders tucked under his arm and disappeared into his office before coming back to me with a smile and a kiss. Folders were a nightly thing. But that was the only time he didn’t toss them on the nearest surface and come to kiss me.
He went off to hide them.
I stop in the hallway outside Massimo's office. The door is open.
If I'm going to end this tonight and ruin any chances of either man controlling me, I need more than righteous anger and a good lipstick. I need documents. Financial records. Evidence.
