Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Content Discovery
- Dedication
- Dante Luciano
- Annie Peterson
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Dante
- Annie
- Annie - 12 months later
- Do you want more?
- Also by Samantha Skye
- About the Author
“I’m not telling you shit,” he spits out, and Carter punches him across the jaw. Federico’s head flies back and blood pours from his nose. I have never been punched by Carter, and I have no plans to be, because he is an exceptionally strong man, a fighter who knows exactly where and how to hit a person to inflict the most amount of pain.
“Where is your brother?” I ask him, my patience wearing thin. He has no plans to tell us anything. Even now, in his final moments. While I would love to drag this out all night, I know Little Red is upstairs in my bed and I want to see her.
He laughs. “Oh, Dante, you still don’t know do you. After all these years, you know my brother was fucking your wife from the moment you married her, right?” He takes joy in telling me this, and I stiffen for a moment because I had no fucking idea that happened. I didn’t think it started until after Leo was born. I stand then, walking closer to him.
“That’s right. They have been fucking for years and she has been spilling all your secrets. Until you kicked her out, at least. Hell, Leo may not even be your son!” He cackles. I seethe as I look at him, Leo is most certainly my son, there is no question to his heritage.
In that moment I see red.
I grab the nearby steel rod and slam it across his torso. He gasps for breath, but I don’t wait, doing it over and over and over again until I hear his ribs break. I move places, then and I do the same to the other side. He is barely breathing by the end of it, but I don’t want to kill him yet.
“Where is your fucking brother.?” I seethe. He is barely conscious, with no air in his lungs, so he certainly can’t talk.
“Where is our fucking money!” I’m sick of his fucking antics and ready to take the life from his body.
He raises his head slightly and looks at me in the eyes. “Coming for you,” he wheezes.
I don’t hesitate for a moment longer, grabbing my knife and slicing it across his throat. Then I walk out of the room, leaving him to bleed out on the concrete floor.
My shoulder needs a doctor, and I need Little Red.
15