Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,64
to Chula Vista with nothing but the clothes on her back.”
Jealousy turns into something far, far darker.
“But what I don’t understand is why you have the same tattoo.” Her jaw clenches as she looks me in the eye. “Because the whole time I kept thinking, this guy is familiar. I know him from somewhere.” Her eyes lower to my hand. “And it wasn’t until I saw that tattoo and asked Michaela about it that I figured out where that was. I’ve seen him on the news. He’s part of the Vitoli crime family. He’s Luciano Ricci, isn’t he?”
I don’t answer.
“Dominic,” she pleads, her voice growing frantic as she fists my shirt. “What aren’t you telling me? What are you involved in?”
“I have to go.” Prying her hands off me, I stalk toward the elevator, blocking out her protests until the doors close.
I should have known. Although, even I didn’t think he had the balls to dangle a live wire in a pool of water just to test the sizzle. Most people know the shock can kill you. But not Luciano. He thinks he’s a conduit with the power to direct the spark.
Which if true, damns us all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dominic
I don’t bother with knocking or the doorknob. I kick the motherfucker open, sending it flying off the hinges. Just like before, two guns immediately aim at my head, but unlike before, I join the party, pulling my Glock and taking my own aim.
Straight between Luciano’s eyes.
“Tell your bitches to get the fuck out.”
“Ay!” Carlo yells, jabbing his gun at me. “Watch your mouth!”
“Dominic.” Luciano nods, leaning back in his chair like I’m not about to blow his head off. “Your manners have gotten worse.”
“My apologies. Tell your bitches to get the fuck out, please.”
He chuckles to himself and waves a hand, his eyes never leaving me. “Go.”
“But boss—”
Only then does Luciano turn around, fixing Carlo with a cold stare. “What part of ‘go’ did you not understand, stronzo?”
Carlo grits his teeth. “Whatever you say.” This time on his way out, he doesn’t brush my shoulder. He slinks out without another word.
“Now,” Luciano says, and I direct my attention back to where he still hasn’t bothered to pull one of the four guns I know he has stashed in his desk. “What can I do for you?”
Somehow, that pisses me off more. It’s like he thinks I’m not a threat. Like he thinks I wouldn’t have the balls to pull the trigger and watch him bleed out in his own office.
“You can answer two questions.”
“Gluttonous, but I’m listening.”
I don’t bother mincing words. “Are you pulling some backdoor shit with the cops?”
He raises a curious eyebrow. “What kind of question is that?”
“A point blank one. Just like the shot I’m about to fire if you don’t explain why Detective Javier Rubio is following me around asking questions about Freddy Wiseman.”
“Possibly because the man was found looking like a pile of warm Jell-O at the bottom of suicide bridge.” The sound of glass clinking fills the room as he tips a bottle of Sinatra Select over a glass sitting on his desk. “After stalking you and your heiress, of course. Not to mention taking a very compromising picture.”
Just the mention of that damn picture sets off another firestorm of hatred, and I rush toward him. “If you think I’m going to take the fall for this—”
Luciano smirks as he hovers the glass at his lips. “Oh, relax, Dominic. Your friend, Rubio is pulling shit out of his ass and throwing it against the wall just to see what sticks.” Taking an indulgent drink, he sets it down and hooks me with a critical stare. “If he has anything, it’s because you’ve forgotten how this game is played and fucked up.”
“I haven’t forgotten shit, and I don’t fuck up.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” he says, the words laced with challenge. “Now, I believe you had two burning questions.”
If I wasn’t so pissed, I might enjoy watching Luciano twist the truth into balloon animals. But we’re not on the same side anymore, and I don’t trust him. “I want to know what the hell you thought you were doing showing up at the Romanov mansion.”
He presses his lips in a thin line, watching me carefully as if every twitch and blink is a piece of an invisible puzzle. Finally, that thin line spreads into a smirk. “To verify what I already suspected.”
“And what is that?”
His eyes narrow as he reaches for his precious cigar