Chapter 2

Chiara

Tommy: My place at 8pm, babe.

Tommy: Just got to pick something up from Chiara’s place. Be back soon 😍

I clenched my jaw, reading their stupid messages to each other. Since when did he ever use emojis? And the heart-eyes one, really? 

Way to look desperate, stronzo.

When I had suspected that Tommy was cheating a week ago, I’d installed an app on his phone and hidden it among the iPhone’s Productivity apps. He never looked there—obviously, since he hadn’t deleted it by now. Desperate and stupid.

After sliding my phone into my purse, I picked up my bags of designer clothes from my shopping spree and walked into the building. My little talk with Alessandro had made me buy a whole new wardrobe, not because I didn’t want to get my clothes bloody, but because I wanted to piss him off. The men in this family were getting really annoying, and they needed to be put in their goddamn places.

You’d best bet that I’d be doing that in a pair of red bottoms too. 

From the garage level, I hit the button on the elevator and gazed at my phone, typing Alessandro’s name into Google. By his thick Italian accent, I could tell that he hadn’t been in New York for more than a few months. Daddy must’ve really thought he was good at what he did to fly him out from Italy and trust him with these shipments.

He couldn’t even trust his daughter not to fuck up.

There had to be some dirt on him. All the mafia men were involved in scandals. It didn’t matter if they were Italian, Irish, or Russian.

But when I searched his name, Google gave me no results. I sucked in my bottom lip. I had to get something.

The doors opened on the main floor for the lobby, allowing other residents on. Someone grabbed my phone from my hands and gazed at it. 

“Who’s this?” Tommy clenched his jaw, reading the name.

Great. I already have to deal with one stronzo later tonight, and now, I have to deal with Tommy being a dick.

“Someone who just started working for my dad.” I reached for my phone, but he pulled it away.

“Why were you looking him up?”

“Good evening to you too,” I said sarcastically before I could say something much worse and blow my cover.

“You’re my girlfriend, Chiara.” His words sounded so passionate, so protective, so loving, that if I didn’t know differently, I would think he was just a jealous boyfriend, not a cheating one.

Men thought they could pull a fast one on you all the damn time, didn’t they?

The doors opened, and I forced a stupid smile. “Don’t be jealous, Tommy boy.” I toyed with the ends of his hair behind his ear and stepped out of the elevator. “You know I have eyes for you and you only.”

He pushed me into the wall, trying to be sexy. “You’d better,” he said against my ear.

I turned to him and pulled him closer by the end of his tie. “Let me show you …”

He smirked and pressed his lips onto mine. I pushed away the thought of his lips on her fake ones and tried to act like I wasn’t planning his murder down to the very second. His hands roamed up my body, squeezing my breasts roughly.

After a few moments, he pulled away. His gaze lingered on my lips. “How about tomorrow?”

“You’re going to make me wait?” Thank God. I didn’t want to get any diseases from the stronzo and the whore.

“I have work tonight.”

Work? Good excuse. Very creative. The stupid girlfriend definitely won’t wonder why you’ve been working late every single night for the past twelve days.

I nodded, pretending to be that stupid girlfriend, and opened the door to my apartment. Tommy took my bags and brought them in for me.

After a few moments of lingering in the kitchen and searching through my stuff—you know, acting like he cared—he disappeared into the back room.

My phone buzzed, and a naked picture of the whore flashed onto the screen. She was in a tiny little black bra and even tinier panties. Everything about her was fake. F. A. K. E.

Tommy: I can’t wait to get back an—

I wrinkled my nose and stopped reading his response. This was pathetic. How long was I going to have to endure this disrespect before I could put a bullet straight through his head?

A few moments later, Tommy reappeared from my bedroom with a briefcase. He planted a kiss on my lips. “Don’t wait up for me. I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

“Okay, hon.” I gazed at him from the kitchen counter. “Be safe!” I really hoped he stayed safe tonight because he was my kill.

When the door closed, I reopened Google and searched Alessandro’s name again. I needed something. Anything.

His online footprint nearly didn’t exist. 

The whole article was in Italian, and I wasn’t fluent. I only knew the important words.

I pressed my lips together and hoped for the best as I hit the Translate button on the bottom of the screen. His name didn’t appear until the end. He had been granted one whole sentence.

26-year-old Alessandro Russo from Sicily—allegedly connected with the Sicily Mafia—was released from prison after serving only thirteen months of his 56-month sentence for drug trafficking.

The article was over two years old, but that didn’t matter. I had dirt on the man, and I intended to get more.