“Yes. The Sicilian’s team.” He lays the gun next to the reading lamp on the side table, groaning in the process. “Congratulations. Your head is worth two million nowadays.”
Dread ignites somewhere deep inside me. Something is wrong. I dash across the room and grab the lamp, turning it toward him. The front and side of his shirt are saturated with blood, and some of it is seeping onto the chair’s upholstery.
“Shit.” I kneel between his legs and start unbuttoning his shirt. “Bullet?”
“A knife.” He cups my cheek, tilting my head up. “It’s good to see you again, my tiger cub.”
I press my lips together to hide their quiver, peer into his eyes, and suddenly, it doesn’t feel like it’s been almost four years since we last saw each other. Same eyes. Still so haunted. But there are new secrets i
