Theirs to Protect (Mafia Menage Trilogy 3)

Leave the knife. Taking the weapon with me would create a trail—even if I dumped it somewhere. There couldn’t be any possible link to my movements once I left this alley.

Go through the garage. I could stay out of CCTV range if I ducked into the parking garage to my left. I would exit on the other side and keep to the blind spots until I got halfway down the next block.

I allowed the now-clean knife to slip into the baggy pocket at the front of my enemy’s hoodie seconds before my humanity pulsed through the cold darkness around my heart.

The man’s eyes were closed, his pale face slack. His chest swelled with ragged breaths. Blood pooled on the damp asphalt beneath him, but I knew I hadn’t shredded any essential organs; I’d tortured enough men to know when I’d landed a killing blow.

Swallowing against the acid at the back of my throat, I tugged my sleeve down over my hand and fished the man’s phone from his jeans pocket. Even though the emotionless void that allowed me to maim was beginning to waver, I still possessed the sense to avoid leaving prints.

As long as my shirt provided a barrier between my fingers and the phone, I couldn’t operate the touchscreen. Instead, I maneuvered it beneath his limp hand and applied pressure to the back of his thumb, forcing him to select the icon for an emergency call.

Someone would come and find him before he could bleed out. He wouldn’t die.

I hadn’t killed him.

He’ll survive. He will.

The desperate promise echoed hollowly in my head as I pushed to my feet. I heard the muffled response of an operator through the speaker, asking for someone to report the emergency.

I couldn’t risk having my voice captured on a recording. I nudged the man with my boot, jarring his wound enough to rouse him. The broken groan that left his chest knifed through my own gut, but I turned on my heel and stalked away.

He would manage to communicate with the operator, and he wouldn’t dare report me to the cops. Not if he was a criminal, too. Implicating me would open up a whole line of questioning that he wouldn’t want to answer.

Maybe I’ll take a turn with your pretty slut once we’ve buried you and Russo. My fists curled at my sides as I recalled the bastard’s sick taunt. He didn’t want to see me arrested. He wanted Joseph and me dead. And Ashlyn…

I clenched my jaw almost hard enough to crack my teeth. If I allowed myself to think about his threats to my babygirl, I’d go back and finish the job.

Sirens wailed in the distance, commanding my attention. I had to get the fuck away from the crime scene before the authorities arrived.

I shouldered open the glass door to the waffle shop, careful to keep my hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets. I had to wash off the blood and destroy the last of the evidence.

Luckily, the tiny café was too busy for any of the staff members to greet me. Half a dozen people waited to place their orders at the counter, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing that I headed straight for the bathroom instead of getting in line.

Keeping my blood-soaked hand hidden in my pocket, I used the other to lock the bathroom door behind me. Even though the knowledge that I’d failed Ashlyn shredded my insides, I maintained the ingrained instincts to keep my crimes as clean as possible. Smearing blood on the doorknob in a bathroom near the crime scene would be a stupid mistake. As long as I didn’t fuck up, the cops would have no reason to even connect this café with the stabbing. They wouldn’t come here to look for evidence if I didn’t leave anything for the staff to report as suspicious. In a few hours, this bathroom would be bleached, and not a single trace of the man’s blood would show up in even thorough forensic tests. This was the ideal place to wash away the evidence of my darkness before returning home to my family.

I’d promised Ashlyn a sweet treat, and I would follow through. I’d walk out into the café and order her favorite waffle, as though this was just another Tuesday. As though I wasn’t a monster at heart and doting on the woman I loved would somehow erase all the darkness in my soul. When she allowed me to care for her, when she smiled at me with pure adoration in those lovely blue eyes, I could pretend that I was the man she saw. That I was good. Worthy.

As I lathered my hands, the pristine white bubbles blossomed into a nauseating shade of pink. I turned the hot water tap near to scalding, trying to scour the taint from my skin.