Riding Dirty: Luciotti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) - Kara Hart Page 0,27

I wouldn’t call it sweeping. Every two seconds or so he would shout to himself in Italian. When I started counting the drawer, he dropped the broom and walked out to the front. “What did I tell you the other day? Do you ever listen?”

I was immediately taken back. Carmelo was sort of a strict man, but all in all he had been incredibly nice to me over the months. Now, his tone had changed completely. “Hey, I'm sorry Carl. I had an asthma attack while walking Jen to school. He saved me. What was I supposed to do, tell him to get the hell away?”

“My name is not Carl, Dahlia. It is Carmelo!” he hissed.

I was shocked. Something was clearly going on. I found myself apologizing just so he'd leave and go in the kitchen. “Okay. Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry.” But he merely dropped the broom and walked out in a hurry.

“What the fuck?” I whispered. I didn't know what exactly the deal was with him, but I vowed to find out. Either he was jealous, which couldn't be the case, or something weird was going on between Carmelo and Lucas. Whatever it was, I needed to find out before I found myself in another dangerous situation with yet another dangerous man.

8

Lucas

A fucking kid? She has a kid? Why didn't she say something? That’s normally something you mention, right?

As I pointed my classic, black Glock at the door in front of me, I couldn't even think about the man I had to collect from. This low level chump of a drug dealer owed my family twenty grand and I'm wondering why that's reason enough to blow the guy’s brains out. Shit, I mean the guy was so fucking dumb that he fled to Toledo, Ohio.

So I took the hour or so drive, fed myself at a nice diner with an even nicer waitress Darla, and pulled in right when the coffee hit me. I put on my black leather gloves and stretched them out so they fit perfectly around my wrist and fingers. I laced up my black boots and buttoned my jacket, all the while making sure my sunglasses were on just right. It was the little things like that that made all the difference in the world.

I took a deep breath, screwed in my silencer, and ran up the steps to the door. That’s when I took position and knocked three times. When the son of a bitch answered the door, he was met face to face with the barrel of my gun. “Don’t move, asshole. And put your hands behind your head. State police,” I said, pushing my way into his house and knocking him against the wall.

He didn’t even put up a fight. Instead, he actually started crying. I couldn’t believe it myself. “I’m sorry. I really am. Ah, shit!” He cried.

I secured his hands with some extra-strong zip ties and threw him against a glass frame that hung on the wall. On the floor, he stopped crying. “Don’t hurt me,” he said. “I admit it. I’m a drug dealer. Arrest me.” These little acts I had to do were starting to get a little boring to me. The guy wasn’t supposed to give up so soon, dammit. I checked him for any weapons, but he was clean down to the very last fiber of his being.

“Now that you can’t squirm or point a gun at me, I want to ask you a few questions. Now, I need you to listen carefully to me, André, because if you don’t, you’ll regret it more than your mother regrets having you. You understand everything so far?” I asked him for clarity’s sake. Snot dripped from his nose onto the carpet. It was better than having blood everywhere, at least.

But the prick wasn’t giving in so easily, even with his hands locked together. “I need my lawyer. No questions until I see my lawyer,” he moaned. I gave a frown and loud sigh, as I cocked the gun.

I sat down on the white couch. It was cold and stiff, as if it had never been used before. “André, now’s not the time to fight this. You’re unable to swing a punch, let alone try and escape. The way I see it, you don’t have any options, really. You really believed the whole cop thing too. I honestly can’t believe it. Most people ask for an ID or something, but you just let me right the fuck in.”