Page 148 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
He flicks his gaze up to mine in the rearview mirror. “What are you? Our safety police?”
“Would be a shame if De Rossi died in a car accident on his way to Sal because you were too busy typing out a lame sext.”
He rolls his eyes and tosses his phone down on the console. “I’ll have you know the lucky few who’ve received my sexts called them erotic masterpieces. I’m thinking about publishing a book.”
De Rossi chuckles. “Is that what you plan to do in retirement?”
“Sure.” Ras smirks. “Not like that’s happening anytime soon, so I have plenty of time to collect new material.”
Retirement. A strange concept when it comes to men like us. Made men don’t retire. We die. Some lucky few who get too old for the game are given a chance to disappear into obscurity, but it’s rare.
I’ve never really thought that far into my future until recently.
For the last few days, I’ve noticed the strangest thing. When I think of what’s to come after this business with De Rossi is done, the only thing I see is Martina’s face. If I force myself to exclude her, I see nothing.
She’s the only thing that matters now.
It’s a shame it took me so long to see it.
I wanted to say goodbye to her before we left, but I decided not to at the last moment. She hasn’t left her room since she screamed at me in front of her brother. I don’t think she’s read my letters either. She’s still angry, and I want to give her space, even though it’s killing me to be apart from her.
At least I have all the motivation I need to get back to De Rossi’s in one piece.
I adjust my cufflinks and gaze out the window.
We’re getting close now.
Our phones ping with status updates every few minutes from the cars ahead, and so far, everything’s going smoothly.
Too smoothly if you ask me.
Calisto turning on Sal was something few would have ever predicted, but I have a feeling Sal’s paranoia could have extended to his right-hand man, especially after their argument.
If Sal has set some kind of a trap, we’ll know it soon.
After another ten kilometers, the side of the road turns dense with foliage.
De Rossi peers out toward the trees. The close we get, the quieter he is. If there’s anyone who hates Sal as much as me, it’s Damiano, and I suspect his head is as heavy with memories as mine was a few days ago.
I’ve managed to let go of them since.
Now, all I seem to think about is Martina.
“I’m going to dance on that fucker’s grave,” De Rossi mutters, his elbow hanging out the window, and his fist pressed against his lips.
Ras pulls over and gives his guy a call. “Are you in position?”
I assume the answer he receives is yes, because the next word out of his mouth is, “Engage.”
The first shots are fired.
Sal’s not going to be the only person to die tonight. We’re not taking any prisoners from his squad. Those men have been with him for a long time, and nothing good would come from keeping them alive.
As shots ring out in the distance, we climb out of the car and pop the trunk to get all the equipment. Bulletproof vests, knives, guns, ammo. I can’t remember the last time I was armed to the teeth like this, but the occasion warrants it.
While De Rossi is going to be squeezing the life out of the don, Ras and I will need to make sure no one comes to the fucker’s rescue.
When we’re ready, we get back into the car and move much slower than before. Soon, we see bodies littering the driveway.
