Page 93 of Fallen Rook

Tom

I stared down at his sleeping figure.

This beautiful boy tangled in satin sheets.

A quiescent weapon, somewhere between lethal and serene.

A man who had killed and tortured many, yet slept so soundly, so sweetly, it was obvious he operated under his own moral construct. I had the dignity to call a spade a spade—and a psychopath a psychopath.

Enzo Ferrante’s charm had fooled the entire world, but I knew exactly who he was.

So why was I still falling for him?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Enzo

Tomcat: What are you doing this weekend?

Me: You, hopefully

Tomcat: Not hopefully, definitely. Clear your schedule Sat-Sun.

Me: What’s happening?

Tomcat: We’re going away for the weekend.

Me: What are we celebrating?

Tomcat: Another year in my flesh prison.

Me: Aww, is that geriatric millennial emo for birthday?

Tomcat: I’m not emo. I’m just unimpressed with humanity.

Tomcat: And I’m not a geriatric millennial, either.

Me: Okay, Pops. Sensitive much?

Me: Where are we going?

I hoped we were still going, wherever it was. I had a knack for making him want to rip his hair from his skull.

Tomcat: It’s a surprise.

Me: Shouldn’t I be the one surprising you?

Tomcat: I don’t like surprises.

Me: That is the least surprising thing I’ve ever heard.

Me: I’m still gonna try, though.

Tomcat: No jumping out of a cake.

Me: Dang it. I had a whole routine planned.

Tomcat: Sorry.