ien

ack to that rain-lashed night a month ago. Harrington's rickety Ford slamming into me-too precise for accident. That sissy kid, Alessandro, tumbling out like gutter trash, purp

I could've ended him then, Colt kissing his temple. But a real Don doesn't soil his hands o

eaked through the door crack. McIntosh's drawl: "Cobb's a sadistic

No. This was the boy's work-womanish backstabbin

sofa, sweating rivers. Harrington stepped forward, shielding the fool.

up, McIntosh. Prove I look the sadistic part.

ut, voice crac

rtips brushed his tie, straightening it with mock care. "Lies and disrespect in Chicago?

mond eyes blazing mutiny. No tremble in that slender frame-not a shred of a

, dark and sweet. B

eet. "Gentlemen. I'm here to atone for that unfortunat

t, and his whispers were petty tantrums. Refuse? Insult a Don's grace. Uncle Clar

, pulse visible at h