Dark Soul, Vol. 5 by Aleksandr Voinov

Author:Aleksandr Voinov [Voinov, Aleksandr]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing

The thought of that slimy attorney congratulating himself on how Goddamned smart he was was still gnawing on Stefano’s mind when he reached the villa.

We’re going to make history with his.

Asshole had stepped right out of a John Grisham novel. Good-looking man, getting heavy around the middle (“So definitely heterosexual,” he could almost hear Silvio say), black hair, green eyes the color of glass shards worn soft by decades in saltwater. His smile was an actor’s, though: too bright, too pleasant. Still, he had that physical solidity that attracted the weak, the troubled, and most likely a fair amount of women on the hunt for a nice paycheck, a set of broad shoulders, and a good listener. He had that kind of “trust me” vibe. Fucking snake.

Trust me, that kind of scrutiny would make everybody look bad, probably even me.

That was an interesting thing to say, or should that be “admit”? Was the bastard daring him to try to dig up dirt? But then, attacking a US Attorney would get him into even deeper trouble. Goddamn it. He’d walked into that like a beginner, had let the guy play his game, carefully scripted hours if not days before their little conversation.

Fucking bastard. Fucking asshole.

One week wasn’t a lot of time to dig up anything. He had nothing but a name. And few people he could trust with this. He couldn’t even go to Falchi—impossible to trust him to not throw him under a bus when the authorities came calling.

This was a surgically precise application of pressure around his neck. And very much a warning: Struggle too hard and you’ll be in a world of pain. Worse. Disgraced. Dishonored. Shamed.

Dead.

Stefano rubbed his face. He would not lose his nerve now. He was good at this, too. He had to find a way out. Some way to neutralize that attorney asshole, some way to weasel out of it.

He stopped outside Silvio’s bungalow and noted the late autumnal chill in the air. It was really starting to get cold.

He grabbed the dog by its neck, put it on one arm, and knocked on the door. He probably looked like a complete fool with the cranky puppy squirming against his chest. Hopefully, Silvio was in as he’d promised.

The door opened. “Could have used your keys,” Silvio said, then paused and looked at the dog. If it hadn’t been impossible to read in his black eyes, Stefano would have sworn his pupils had dilated, which was a surefire sign of pleasure or attraction.

“Sorry, had my hands full.” He jingled the car keys in the other hand.

Silvio blew out a breath. “Okay. Come in.”

Stefano walked in and closed the door behind himself. He turned back to face Silvio and smiled. “I guess this is happy birthday, Silvio. I’m not singing, you know.”

“What?” Silvio frowned.

“October twentieth. Your birthday. I have it on authority that you didn’t just materialize on the mortal plane. It’s today, twenty-five years ago.”

Silvio grinned. “Weirdo. Thanks. Uh.” He reached out and touched the puppy’s ear, tentative at first, then, still carefully, its neck.

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