The Hitman's Dancer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Snake Eyes Book 2) (12 page)

I pause, replaying the last twenty-four hours in my head, laying the pieces together. “You ordered the hit on the restaurant.”

“I did,” he says, pride oozing off his pathetic lips.

“Shooting up a public place full of people doesn’t exactly scream diplomacy-in-action to me, kid.”

“Sacrifices are a part of every war, Hart. Once my father makes his, you and I can rebuild Chicago into something
greater
.”

“I’m not interested.”

He inhales slowly, stretching way down into his bravery to quell the tremble in his voice. “If your girl didn’t waltz over to our table at that very moment, all of this would have ended last night.”

“You saying I owe you something?”

“I’m saying either you do… or she does.”

I dig my nails into my palms, deep enough to draw blood. “Leave her out of this.”

“Gladly,” he says. “Just help me take him out and all will be forgiven.”

“I’m not looking for a promotion, kid.”

“Is that a no, then?”

I pause, not even flinching at his sudden shift in patience. I really don’t have time for this crap but I can’t burn this bridge just yet. At least not until I’m out of Illinois. Then he can go as
viva la revolution
as he fucking wants. “Let me think it over, Marty.”

His eyes roam my front hall again. “This can’t wait, Hart.”

“What’s the big rush?”

He closes his mouth and his phone chimes in his pocket. “Excuse me.”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to throw him out by his earlobe while he answers it. It’s only a matter of time before Spencer starts to stink up the place and I’ve got mid-morning traffic to beat. Then again, Marty’s disgusting aftershave will probably cover it up just fine for now.

“Hello?” He looks at the floor. “No, Dad… I didn’t see the news this morning.”

Fuck me.

Well, it was nice knowing you, kid. I guess the revolution will have to start without you.

I reach behind my back to grip my gun as his eyes slowly rise off the floor and land on me.

“You don’t say?” he mumbles with knowing eyes. “Yes, sir. … No, I’ll take care of it myself.”

I grip the gun and click the safety off with my thumb.

“Bye, Dad.” Marty lowers the phone from his ear and slides it back into his breast pocket. “Well…” He clears his throat. “That was an interesting phone call.”

“Oh?”

“It appears that I’ve made a mistake coming to talk to you today, Hart.”

I roll my finger over the trigger. “Maybe you have.”

“Then again…” His brows bounce. “An undercover agent might be just what I need to
slither
my way up the crime ladder.”

“Sorry, kid.” I cringe at his pun. “I’m retired.”

He chuckles and reaches behind his back. “I thought you’d say that—”

His arm jerks forward, drawing his gun from his belt. I do the same, moving far faster than his inexperienced hands. I line up his face in my sights and pull the trigger before he even extends his elbow. His flight responses pull him back but not fast enough to dodge the bullet striking just below his right eye.

I grab my bag from the corner and bolt out the front door before his body even touches the floor.

Chapter 10

Lucy

I thought daydreaming about Dante’s big cock was going to be what kept me from giving one-hundred percent at rehearsal today. Turns out, seeing a dead body for the first time is
way
more distracting. Scratch that.
Watching your lover murder a man in his front hall
is way more distracting.

I’ve known what he was since the moment I met him. A hitman. A contract killer for the fucking mob. But I still can’t make sense of it. There’s no rhyme or reason for what I saw this morning. One minute, Dante was the perfect man: laughing and cuddling and
not
killing people. The next minute, his fetish for choking went a bit too far.

But he let me go. Why did he let me go? Wouldn’t letting me go be the
last
thing a man like him would want to do? Don’t I know too much to still be breathing right now? But what exactly do I know other than he has a really,
really
sexy tattoo that ties him to an underground organization of assassins?

Oh, god.
What if he comes back? What if he realizes how much of a liability I am?

Well, there goes sleeping for the rest of my life.

“Lucy!” Cynthia’s voice calls out my name from the first row of the auditorium. She’s pissed — as usual — but I don’t exactly blame her.

I pause, lowering my arms to my sides while the other nine dancers stare at me with impatience. “I’m going to take a five…” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”

Cynthia calls after me but I think I’ll just let her scream this time. My father will be able to smooth this over. Maybe I can actually play the daddy-to-the-rescue card girls are always talking about. It should still be in mint condition.

I rush backstage, push open the exit to the hall, and bolt down to the women’s restroom. My body temperature rises with each step I take. I need cold water and I need it
now
.

What the fuck was I thinking getting involved with a hitman?

I dry heave into the sink, spitting out any water I try to swallow.

Why the fuck didn’t I just say no?

I didn’t have to go to dinner with him. He playfully hinted that I had no choice but it was just banter. It didn’t mean anything. I could have put my foot down, said no, and Dante would have respected that. He’s a decent guy (disregarding his career of choice, of course) and I don’t see him being the type to force me into something I don’t want to do.

His eyes. Those black, soulless eyes. I can’t stop going back to how he was when we were alone. Charming. Witty. He’s the only man I’ve met that could keep up with how fast I talk. A horrible poker player but that just made me like him more. No matter how amazing of a man he was, I knew what he was capable of from the start. I shouldn’t be so damned surprised about all of this, and yet…

A muffled screaming hits my ears. A clamor of voices rise from the auditorium down the hall, followed closely by the quick rat-tat-tat of what can only be one thing…

Gunfire.

My pulse leaps into my ears, deafening me completely. I pull the door open and stick my head out into the hall as the bullets cease.

A voice calls out, one distinctly young but booming and powerful.

“Where is Lucy Vaughn?!”

I fall back into the bathroom, overcome with a million different emotions in three seconds.

A single bullet blows, triggering a wave of fresh screams down the hall.

“Where is Lucy Vaughn?!”

I clasp a hand over my mouth as tears spill from my eyes.
What did I do? Oh, god — what did I do?

Another bullet. Another batch of screams.

They’re shooting them. One-by-one.

Looking for me.

If I don’t go out there, more of my friends will die—

“Lucy Vaughn?!”

I gasp, falling back into the bathroom. That voice was much closer — just outside in the hallway. Boots stomp down the corridor, growing louder and louder. I bolt into a stall and slam the door, too scared to think of what noise it makes.

The restroom door bursts open. I cower in the corner, unable to move or even think. His boots continue into the room, tapping towards my stall until they pause just outside.

He leans back and kicks the door open.

I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. Fear overwhelms every sense, leaving me nothing but a broken shell. I look up into his face and wince in horror at his mutilated skin.

“There you are…” He pushes his pistol into his belt.
“Lucy Vaughn.”

I blink in recognition. The right side of his head is completely covered by a white bandage, spotted red with his own blood, but the rest of his youthful face remains. I push his name off my tongue with all the force I can muster.

“M-Marty Zappia?”

Chapter 11

Dante

The Chicago skyline disappears from my rearview mirror and I breathe a little easier.

Part of me knew it would end this way. Not the part about Snake Eyes being exposed — that was a bit surprising — but rushing out the city with my eyes glued over my shoulder? That was pretty much a guarantee from the start.

There’s only one thing every employee I’ve met working under the Zappias has in common and that’s a giant target on their back. If they aren’t taken out because of disobedience or (alleged) betrayal, it’s because Mr. Zappia had a bad fucking day and needed to shoot someone to feel better about himself. A thug until the very end, as Marty so accurately pointed out.

The kid wasn’t wrong. Too bad he didn’t live to gloat about it.

They’ll go after her.

I slam on my brake, ignoring the flurry of car horns screaming behind me as they pass me by.

Four little words bring my heart to a standstill.

I shot Marty Zappia in the fucking face in my front hall. Eventually, his body will be found, if they haven’t tracked him there already. Zappia will send his best to hunt me down and make me pay for killing his precious baby boy. They’ll never find me but they’ll try really hard and that means
interrogating
the ones closest to me.

Starting with the girl I brought to dinner last night.

Little Lucy Vaughn. Daughter of Terrance Vaughn, the dancer man.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I slam on the gas and perform a solid u-turn, spinning around to head back into the city. This whole time, since the moment I saw the television report, I’ve thought of nothing but retreating underground. It’s all a part of our training in Snake Eyes. Focus on the mission. No distractions. Anything less gets you and your squad killed. That was never an issue before now. Sure, I worry about my siblings, but they can take care of themselves. I never have to lay awake at night worrying about Elijah getting caught or Lilah taking a bullet.

But Lucy…

What the fuck was I thinking getting involved with her at all?

I push a little harder on the gas, weaving in and out of traffic as I race back into the city. Traffic slows me down, refusing to let me go faster than ten miles per hour between stop lights. White knuckles poke out of my fingers as I watch the minutes tick up on the digital clock on my dashboard. Her apartment isn’t far. I could run there faster at this fucking pace. I growl in frustration and try to calm myself down by thinking about her. She’s probably there, stunned and broken, lying in her bed with bloodshot, fearful eyes and it’s all my fault. I strangled a man right in front of her. That was Stupid Shit 101. I let her in.

I should never have let her in…

I finally arrive at her building and I run up the stairs as fast as my knees can push me. She’s on the third floor. Apartment B. A one bedroom loft with two neighbors. One’s an old lady and the other is some college kid with vast amounts of debt he’ll never pay off. I checked on both of them and they’re clean—

Fuck. I can’t even focus.

“Lucy!”

I reach out to knock on her door to find that it’s already open. Several inches ajar, as a matter of fact. I wrap my fingers around my pistol and nudge the door open a little more.

“Lucy?”

It’s trashed. The furniture is torn up. Her throw pillows are shredded apart for no reason. The television is smashed. Flowers on the windowsill have been destroyed.

This was no robbery.

My eyes fall to the floor, catching sight of the small, red droplets staining the red carpet.

“Lucy!”
I march into the back, drawing my gun to be ready. Please, let there be someone here I can beat on. Or better yet, kill. Someone, anyone who can answer for this before I make them suffer…

Her bedroom is in worse shape than the living room. There’s more blood here as well, sprinkled along her floor and bed. Red hand prints sit on her dresser with mushed fingerprints staining her panties.