His: Tony: The Sabatini Family by Fiona Murphy (mystery books to read .TXT) 📗

Inside, I key in the code, the alarm chirps. Closing the door and locking it, I reset the alarm for exterior sensors only.

As always, music is flowing out of the speakers that are in every room in my home. Today, Carmella left it on a classical station as she often does. Even though I know when she’s here alone cleaning and cooking she prefers, of all things, country music. I can control the music from various systems set up in rooms of the house, as well as an app on my phone.

My stomach growls, pushing me to the kitchen even though scotch and the escape of a book in my library are calling me. Walking into the kitchen, I bring up the app and change the music to my Dean Martin station. An exhale leaves me as his rich voice runs over me.

I scan the shelves of the refrigerator for something I can reheat easily. Carmella has added stuffed shells, one of my favorites. Taking out one of the glass dishes she packed it in, I put it in the toaster oven. Setting the time, I grab a bottle of water and sit down to wait at the kitchen table.

It’s still here, the file on Christina Teller. I’ve committed it to memory. I push it away as I consider the problem of Ms. Teller and her desire to kill me.

As her original plan had been rather simple, it would have also been maybe sixty percent effective. If she hated me as much as the file indicates she should, she would have gone for a headshot, And I’d be dead. If she had done what most people would, a shot to the chest since it’s not as hard to miss such a large target, the bullet proof clothing would save me. There’s a reason why my father ordered me to wear the suits, and I in turn, ordered Dominic.

Opening the file again, I flip to the last page where her pictures are clipped. One is from the funeral for Danny when she was, in fact, only ten years old. The other is a few years old, her badge from where she was a nurse at a hospital. In both, she is oddly older than her years. Lines that had formed on her small forehead when she was only a child are even deeper now.

Thirty only a few months ago. I’ll turn fifty-one in a few weeks. Christina is young enough to be my daughter. If I were her father, I’d put her over my knee, spank the shit out of her. Then I’d lock her in a room for a month until this shit worked out of her goddamn head.

I feel for the girl. I do. She had gone through hell, of that there is no doubt. I take no responsibility for it. The blame is on her psycho mother and her father for leaving his children with their mother, knowing she hurt them. Christina got through it to the other side. The life she made for herself was commendable—she hadn’t slipped into drugs or alcohol the way so many people in similar situations would have.

A few damn setbacks, and she’s going to dive back into the past instead of moving forward. It was easier for her to blame me. To turn me into the Boogie Man, than deal with the fact it was her own damn parents. It isn’t me she wants to kill—it’s her pain. But killing me won’t do it. For a person like her, it will only make it worse.

Reviewing her employment file, I can understand her shock at being fired. There was nothing but glowing reports. She had dedicated herself completely to helping people. She came in early, stayed late, giving all to her patients—leaving nothing for herself. Helping people, fixing people, gave her purpose. Was what gave her peace after all the shit she went through.

If she succeeded in killing me, there would be that high for accomplishing her goal. Then would come the anguish and the knowledge she had blackened her soul. Her regret will bring her the kind of pain she will never come back from. If she managed to walk away, I have little doubt she wouldn’t be able to live for long with what she had done.

The bell goes off on the oven. Even though food no longer appeals, I get up and retrieve it. Taking it back to the table, I eat without enjoyment. My cell goes off with a text; it’s Carlo. The message is brief, code for another hit. He wants to see me tomorrow. In visceral response, ice skims over me, ready to slide into my veins. It sends a different chill through me. No, not again. I had gone there, stayed far too long, and coming back from it was harder than getting clean from coke.

I’m yanked off-balance all over again at the sound of my doorbell. I frown as I wonder who it could be. It’s almost midnight. I check my phone for the camera. Thank fuck. Moving quickly, I key in the code and open the door.

Eve’s beautiful face is filled with concern. “Joseph hinted you might need company.”

Shame hits me, I hate the idea of using her. I ended our arrangement a few months ago. For almost four years, she had been my mistress. Until she wanted more, more I couldn’t give her. Eve had taken the end with grace and understanding.

She steps closer, her hand on my chest. “It’s okay. I need you too. Just for tonight. I won’t ask for more.”

I do not deserve her. But I need the escape her body allows.

5

Tony

When I wake up Eve is gone. Once again shame hits me. I’ve always prided myself on not using a woman, last night I did.

Even though I’m up almost a half-hour later than normal, I make my way downstairs to work out. After I lift, adding another twenty pounds to my usual, I hit the heavy bag until my