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The woman lifts my phone to her ear. “Cor?” she says sweetly, the word muffled and too far away as the shadows behind her shift to reveal two large figures, two pairs of strangers’ eyes, two disturbing smiles that seem to match hers. “Now, I don’t want you to worry,” she practically purrs, grinding her heel into my spine. “But your boss is coming with me.”
Chapter 2
~~~~~~~~~~~~
My, how the turntables.
Briar
Rowan Veleno is hotter than most of my victims. Bigger, too. As far as genetics go, he’s won the lottery. I would not at all be surprised if I currently have three hundred pounds of pure muscle tied up in my bedroom.
Getting him to The Giungla from his base at The Casa was a bear even with Chip and Lace’s help, and they’re not exactly small people either. Kidnapping a mafia boss is something I’d qualify as hard work, but I am living for the reward.
It sends a unique thrill down my spine to see the leader of one of the most feared families between Pratt, Virginia and New York itself at my sole mercy. When it comes to crime syndicates, very few hold a candle to the long-standing New York mafias, but the notable exceptions trickle down the East Coast like a bleeding wound.
And here—in Evercrest, Pennsylvania, just northwest of Pittsburgh—Veleno is King.
Or, at least, it was…
“Bossette?” Lace asks, all her brawn towering above my very attractive mark. “He should be just about to wake up. Ya ready, or should I give ’im another dose of ketamine?”
I hum, stroking my moonglow boa’s soft white head. Cupcake, my boa constrictor, rests around my shoulders while I recline in a leather chair in front of her vast enclosure, which takes up the entire back wall of my bedroom. I feel exactly like a Disney villain.
Which is, of course, intentional.
My single aspiration in life is abiding by when Megamind said the difference between a villain and a supervillain was presentation.
I’ve switched my frilly outfit into a vinyl romper, and the tight black something-something paired with a six-foot-long, pure white boa constrictor screams staged, but I am nothing if not committed to my role as princess of the Rosanera Family.
My papa always says to be a swan.
On the surface, I display flawless, graceful beauty marked by simplicity. Beneath the water, there’s frantic kicking backed by hours of planning, moments of observed details, and decades of experience.
Be a swan.
Work hard, but never let anyone see how hard.
Seem effortless, and never let anyone know just how deep the roots of the Rosanera go.
Until, of course, it’s too late.
And they’re choked out like weeds.
A smile curls my lips. “I’m ready.”
From the foot of my bed, Chip snickers. “You sure? I’m not positive the lighting is dramatic enough yet.”
I glare at my underboss’s husband in the precise moment Rowan’s brows knit and a grimace overcomes him. His bleary near-black eyes open, squinting at the floor. One lip pulls into an annoyed sneer.
He’s perturbed. Not frightened.
Waking up strapped to a chair in an unfamiliar place irritates him more than it scares him.
He frees a deep, not again sort of sigh, and my expression might tip subtly toward manic.
I thought it briefly when I first saw him—through his security cameras, after hacking into them—but now that he’s seated in front of me, it’s twice as apparent.
He looks like a Grim Reaper.
