“You haven’t been sitting around waiting for five years because you are somehow in love with a man who didn’t even know your name. This is bigger,” she points out, saying exactly what we’re all thinking.
I watch as Erin’s gaze flicks up to Brando’s, then mine before it shifts back to Pippa’s. “You’re right,” she says with a simple shrug of her shoulder. “But I’m still not telling you. Massimo was just the icing on the cake and he’s a good fuck, although I’m sure you already know that.”
PIPPA
Erin is holding on to something big, something that I don’t think any of these men could guess. It seems silly, that she would be so obsessed with me, with Massimo after five years. They were never anything more than client and whore. She knows he’d never be with her, and I don’t think she ever really wanted him to be.
This is bigger than that.
“You’re from Ireland?” I ask.
She narrows her eyes at me, but I see the lie for what it is when she nods her head. “Of course, I am.”
Straightening my back, I stand tall and look over my shoulder at Massimo. His brows rise, clearly reading my doubt. He looks over to Brando, who is staring at Erin, but it’s with an expression that I can’t quite read.
It’s obvious that this is a man who likes to figure out the puzzle. And maybe Erin is a puzzle all by herself that he’s trying to solve.
“You’re not,” Brando announces.
“What?” Arlo, Massimo, and Mia ask at the same time, their gazes flying to meet Brando’s.
He snorts. “It was exactly what I was getting ready to tell you before the beautiful Mrs. Ferrucci burst in here.”
“You were?” I ask, spinning around to watch him, my lips parted in awe.
“Erin wasn’t born in Ireland, in fact, she was born right here in New York. Please explain to the class how you ended up working for the Zanetti famiglia.”
“You know all the answers, why don’t you tell them?” she snaps.
Brando shakes his head, his lips pressing together. “I don’t know the why. You’ve tried to become part of the famiglia for some reason. You’ve tried and failed, you stalked a Made Man, then you stalked his wife for five years. You know who shot her, you know why, and you’re sitting there still breathing. Tell us what the fuck is going on.”
Brando’s voice is a little too loud, his gaze a little too focused and it sends a chill down my spine. I’m afraid that he’s overcompensating for something, but I just don’t know what.
“Or what? I won’t be breathing anymore?” she snorts.
Shifting my gaze from Brando, I take a step forward, my eyes narrowing on her. “Exactly, bitch.”
“Dolcezza,” Massimo warns.
I ignore him. I’m full of fire and rage at this point and there’s no talking me down. If I had a weapon, this bitch would be dead. This bitch who knows exactly who shot me. This bitch who has been following me, taking pictures of me, this bitch who fucked my husband.
Then it dawns on me. Erin has to know who was in the red sedan, the car that has followed me since before Massimo and I said our vows. She must know.
I lose my shit.
Completely and totally lose it. Lurching forward, I jump on her, my arms extended. Wrapping my hands around her throat, I straddle her in the chair.
My jaw is clenched as I squeeze her throat. She lifts her hands, her fingers wrapping around my wrists as she attempts to pull my hands from her neck. Her eyes widen as she jerks away from me, but she’s stuck in the chair and I smile down at her as fear fills her gaze.
Leaning forward, I press my lips against the side of her ear. “Tell me what the fuck you know, bitch, and I’ll make sure your death is quick and painless.”
“Could you still taste my pussy when you kissed your husband on your wedding day?” she chokes out.
My fingers flex and grip her neck harder. That is, until I’m wrenched away. Massimo wraps his arms around me, holding my back against his front as I kick and reach for her. Erin is smiling, obviously unfazed. I want nothing more than to kill this bitch.
“Enough,” a voice bellows behind us.
I freeze immediately, knowing that voice without even having to look behind us. Gavino is here. The Boss has come calling and I have a feeling that nothing good can or will come of this.
“It seems we have a little issue here in the form of what? A girl?” he asks.
I let out a snort at the same time Massimo chuckles behind me. His grip on me loosens, but not too much, not enough to free me from his hold. I feel his lips against my ear, his breath is warm and I can’t help the small smile that plays on my lips just from his closeness.
“It’s sexy as shit seeing you fight like an alley cat. My cock is hard as nails,” he exhales, shifting his hips so that I can feel the evidence of that hard length pressed against my ass.
My breath hitches, but I don’t dare say a word. Gavino walks farther into the room, directly past me and stands in front of Erin who is rubbing her neck.
A little shimmy of pride rolls through me at the thought of her in pain from my own hands. I shouldn’t like that I hurt her, but I do—she’s a fucking bitch. Gavino crouches down on his haunches and looks up at her.
“You’ve got some explaining to do, zoccola.”
He says the words softly, but I chuckle at the fact that he’s called her a whore, or in exact translation, a sewer rat. I want to comment on that, but I decide to keep my mouth shut.
Gavino is calm, but I know that doesn’t mean shit, he’s a man that can flip faster than anything I’ve
