The Mafia Don's Regret: Torturing His True Savior

na

ton's voice was low and smooth, like wh

phone to my ear with my good shoulder, hissing as the m

g me the keys t

throat of the man wh

tretched

hick. Su

ly said. "The garden gate. If you aren'

be t

stroyed the SIM card, flushi

four

e cold efficien

safe hidden behin

cause he told me, but because

e bearer bonds, the deeds,

Austen legal control over his

orgeries I had printed weeks ago, w

timate business contracts Au

orce settlement and the asset transfer

ont door unlatching

n was

hammering against my ribs as I

heavy brace the doctor ha

n wal

igar smoke and expens

he bed, the mattress di

my hand, th

es wer

me the most. It was the look of

hurt?"

," I

the adrenaline was ma

n reminds us of our place. I brought the contracts for

g my voice to tremble just enough to sound

smi

my goo

e stack on t

kness, leaning heavily

m the paper

first three wi

n glance at t

s arr

had broken m

stupid, too scared to

im the ass

insurance rider," I murmur

igne

ifty-one percent

im the div

aiver for th

igne

away his

eath as he c

," he

rning," I said, reaching for the s

r bange

stood

obe that cost more than

whined. "She

ld up

superficial scra

welled on

ter opener in

face twisted in theatrical horror. "She's crazy,

red a

the bed since

n sto

Joyce, then

ten said quietly, his voice devoid

falt

her other hand!

turne

is eyes. Not love. Not trust. Ju

you, Alan

skipped

ally seein

ntinued, walking toward me. "Because yo

ck down o

se, his breath h

when the savior is upse

ped his

red the room, s

ag soaked in

Austen whispered, kissing my for

covered

g filled my nose,

was Joyce's smirk fad