Page 55 of A New Days Don

A wicked grin pulls at my lips, my blood sizzling with excitement.

“Correction, we are going on a date at one AM.” I cut her ramblings off, and she chokes then clears her throat.

“Is that how rich people live?” She mutters in confusion to herself, and I chuckle. If she only knew.

I really need to tell her, but it’s not the right time. She hasn’t fallen for me the way I have for her yet.

My phone vibrates in my hand again as the elevator door opens. The smell of mildew and wet concrete contrasts with the clean elevator as I step into the dimly lit underground garage.

Fuck. It must be important if he’s calling twice.

“I’m getting in my car. Why don’t you get yourself ready? I’ll be there in five.” I tell her.

“You do realize my house is thirty minutes at best from your condo,” Mila notes, her voice becoming stern, and it makes my blood race for my cock.

“Mmm, don’t tell the cops.” I hum, and she gasps.

“Massimo,” she scolds in a stern voice that I’m sure has most men standing at attention.

I, however, am standing at a whole other kind of attention.

I glare at my cock, currently bulging in my pants. This is not the fucking time.

“Mila,” I purr, “Five minutes. Dress in whatever makes you comfortable.”

We say a quick goodbye as I slide into the front seat of my Audi. I press Ren’s contact as I drive out of the garage and onto the dark, quiet street.

“Took you long enough,” Ren grumbles through the line.

“You have five minutes,” I grunt back, depressing the gas pedal and picking up my speed. I won’t be a minute late for my woman.

“What’s got a stick up your grumpy ass today?” In the background, I can hear Ren’s fingers flying across his keyboard.

I all but drift my car as I take a sharp corner going far too fast, but the Audi can handle it. If it couldn’t, I wouldn’t be driving it around. Streetlamps, pedestrians, and illuminated signs all blur past me, but I don’t stop or slow down, not even when I approach a red light. Car tires screech and angry drivers slam on their horns, more than likely waking the residents in the nearby apartments and hotels.

“Right now? You. So, either spit it out or fuck off and get Sammy to open up his gelato shop.”

“Ahhh,” Ren muses as if he just discovered Atlantis—spoiler, he didn’t, “Late for a date you overpromised and you’re getting pissy with me.” I growl, and he relents, “Fine, I have found a recording, or more accurately, the Colombians left a trail to a recording that they wanted me to find. It wasn’t encrypted or password protected. Listen to this.”

Static fills my car before a granular voice comes through, “You’re recording this?”

The man speaking is American. His tone and cadence almost sound familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“Of course we are. We wouldn’t be where we are today if we let people like you make private deals they could go back on. This is our insurance policy.” Now that’s a voice I can recognize from a mile away. Fabio.

Why is he in a recording with the cartel?

“You don’t need an insurance policy. I need something from you, you need something from me, it’s a gentleman’s agreement.” The American growls. His pompous attitude is almost too much to listen to.

Fabio chuckles sarcastically, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise in suspicion. Fabio has never been the most trustworthy person. He only ever looks out for himself—even his wife has been thrown to the wolves a few times, so he can get exactly what he wants. He has no honour.

“Boys.” Thiago’s thick South American accent snaps. His voice is silky and slow, and even with the single word, you can hear the command in his voice like an apex predator.

My car slows as the recording continues.

“This is an agreement between three forces. The Italians, Fabio, my cartel, and you.” Thiago must have turned to the mystery man, because I can hear the fabric shift.

“Of course. As I said, I will agree to keeping you off our radar.” It’s only as the arrogant idiot says this that it clicks. I know exactly where I have heard his voice. This same roughness, the same pitch, and the same unearned self-righteousness.