Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

“I know.”

“So what the fuck are you doing here today?” he roars.

Before, Massimo’s outbursts made me shake like a leaf. I would sit in this chair and endure his rage, too afraid to talk back to him. Not anymore. After everything he made me do, not to mention all the things I’ve done without his orders since we started this charade, his yelling has absolutely no effect on me.

Following my first kill, there were two more of Ajello’s infiltrators that required my personal “attention.” Each time, I pressed a gun to a man’s head and pulled the trigger without even the slightest shaking of my fingers. I’ve also condemned several of our men to death by sending them to New York to spy on that bastard. He discovered each one. I got them back—in pieces—by special courier delivery.

There were more. An employee in one of the casinos who was caught stealing. A bookkeeper who forged the accounts and skimmed off the top. They may not have died by my hand, but I was the one who gave the orders. It was their lives or the safety of my little girl. Not a choice at all, in my eyes. Keeping my child safe trumps everything else in this godforsaken world.

“I’m certainly not here because I had an urge to see your face, Massimo.” I cross my arms under my chest. “Batista’s health is getting worse.”

My stepbrother’s expression transforms from rage to concern. “What is it?”

“He had a brain aneurysm. It was a minor one. He’s being sent home in a couple of days and is being placed on special meds to hopefully prevent another, but the doctor can’t assure us that it won’t happen again, or tell us how serious it may be if it does.” I grit my teeth. “You need to get out and take over before he dies.”

“Do you think I fucking like it here? Do you think I would let myself rot in this dump if there was any way to get out sooner? I have eight more months till release. Let’s hope he lives long enough.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“If he doesn’t, we’re both fucked, sis.”

Alfonso Mendoza’s compound, Mexico

The sound of an explosion penetrates my hazy consciousness. I crack my lids open, but I can’t see anything other than darkness. The ground under me shudders as several more detonations go off somewhere close by, then, a cacophony of yells and screams add to the overall mayhem. Everything in me wants my eyes to stay open, but they keep shutting as if my lashes are weighed down with lead.

Automatic gunfire. Coming closer. More screams, shouts. I’m guessing one of Mendoza’s rivals is attacking the compound. Whoever it is, or whatever else may be going on, I don’t particularly care. My mind wants to return to the dream I was having before the noise chased it away.

A stand, laden with vegetables, and a beautiful woman lifting various greens for me to smell.

It seemed so real that I could almost inhale the pungent scent of dirt, but for some reason, I couldn’t recall her name.

I know her.

I know her very well.

My heart beats faster each time I see her. She’s always in my dreams. But lately—the past few days, or maybe it has beenweeks—her name escapes me. Every time, it’s at the tip of my tongue, but I can’t remember it.

The echo of running footfalls. More gunfire, closer now. I push it all away, slipping back into my dream.

I’m sitting on a roof, the woman is snuggled into my side. Her hair is tied up at the top of her head with a red scarf.

What is her name?

“Holy Mother Mary, Jesus, and Joseph,” a male voice says somewhere near me. “East corner. Get your ass over here. Now, Az.”

Another voice joins shortly after, but I block both of them out, trying to hold on to the vision in my mind.

A soft female voice, saying something next to my ear. It’s her again. Reading to me. Something about . . . cows?

Her name, what is her name . . .?

“Hold him down. I don’t want him going berserk thinking I’m an enemy.”

Hands grab my legs, the sensation dissolving my dream, just as I almost grasped it. I flip over, hitting the distraction with my foot. I want my dream back!

“Jesus fuck! I told you to hold him down, damn it!”

Something heavy lands on top of me. I roar and headbutt the son of a bitch who planted his ass on my chest. A sting of a needle in my thigh. I thrash around, trying to get the man off me.