ella

g the Underboss of the New York outfit murmur desperate,

he had intentionally allowed his own men to inflict ruining the sleeve of his royal blue

behind the abandoned Lincoln. The passenger door swung open, and Rosalie stepped out into the biting wind. Her face was

ime for

ak tree. I leaned heavily on my injured ankle, letting a genuine wince of

my voice trembling with the per

usion. Slowly, mechanically, he looked down at the woman in his arms. The moonlight caught the graying h

the gravel with a dull, heavy thud, rolling limply against the tire of the Lincoln. He scrambled

e slipping as her eyes darted frantically between me and

"Francesca was so worried about the route you suggested, Rosalie. She said it was to

ed form. Her hands shook as she examined the body. "She's dead, Miss Rosalie," Dia

ake as if I were sobbing. Beneath the cover of my pal

the chaos, they hadn't noticed that the woman they were stabbing was already dead. They hadn't seen the deep, jagged slice across her throa

He was still on his knees, his face pale and sl

r arm," I breathed softly, ensuring my voice carried over the roar of t

tted out, his voice tight with a mixture

cent admiration. "Yet you still bled for Francesca. I never knew the Underboss

so hard I thought hi

isible knife deeper into his fragile ego, "the entire underworld w

en reduced to a bleeding fool who cuddled a dead maid. His eyes, dark and venomous

tight fists at her sides, her chest heaving as she stared at the ruined wreckage of her perfect plan. The shock i