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He places his elbows on the table, steeples his hands under his chin, and studies me for a few moments. My stare doesn’t falter, even though I don’t need to study him back. I know men like Luca Abruzzo. All the tattoos and none of the substance. Rode on daddy’s coattails his whole life, and now that it’s his turn to step up to the plate, he wants to show he’s bigger, better, and badder than his father ever was. In a way, he reminds me of Lorcan before he met Poppy. Cold and callous, but only to hide the fact he’s a lost little boy.
“You like this joint?” he says with a smirk, nodding towards the bar area.
I clamp my jaw shut, still glaring at him.
“Well, since you’re clearly not a man of many words, I’ll get straight to the point.” He pulls out a brown envelope and slides it across the table. “I know you’re a hitman, but rumor has it that you’re good at finding people too. I need you to find someone and bring them to me.”
I stare down at the envelope. No doubt Lorcan’s face is inside.
“Alive?”
“Very alive. As in, I don’t want you to touch a hair on her head.”
My eyes shoot back up.Her?
I’m confused for a fraction of a second before the pieces of the puzzle come together. He wants Poppy. He’ll hold her hostage until Lorcan gives in to his demands. I have to force myself to not shake my head in disbelief.
What a fucking rookie.
Without a word, I slide the envelope towards me and tear it open. But when I tip the sheet of paper out onto the table, my blood runs cold.
It’s not Poppy staring back up at me.
Breathe. No, breathe normally. Uncurl your fists, relax your jaw. Neutral expression.
Don’t show this fucker that you’ve just been punched in the gut.
I don’t need to ask questions to know where this woman is. But I need to knowwhy.
“Why do you need her?”
He smirks. Twiddles his cufflinks. “She owes me a lot of money. And dead girls can’t pay their debts, right?”
The anger swirls around my veins like a fucking virus. The corner of this club is dark, and there’s nothing but hot air between me and Abruzzo; nothing stopping me from reaching out and clawing at his fucking throat. From ripping the air out of his lungs and slamming his head against the table.
But I have more questions. Not ones for Abruzzo, but the woman staring back up at me.
Dahlia Rose.
I slip the photo back into the envelope, along with the set of notes, and rise to my feet. I choke back the rage, taking slow, even breaths to give the illusion of calm.
“I’ll get right on it.”
Abruzzo raises an eyebrow, throws his arm over the ledge of his backrest. “There’s not much information to go on. You think you’ll find her?”
“I know I’ll find her.”
He grins. A shit-eating grin I want to cut from his face with a rusty knife. “Then you really are the best. I can’t believe you were available.”
“Yeah. You got lucky.”
I turn to leave, stalking towards the exit.
“Yeah,” he calls after me, rising to his feet, “They don’t call me ‘Lucky’ Abruzzo for nothing.”
Dahlia
I start my day like I usually do. Study. Swim. Shower. Eat. Study.
