Zurianne never imagined that saving her mother's life would cost her own freedom. Forced into an arranged marriage with Christopher Whyte the infamous Jamaican Don feared by many,she braces herself for a life of cold stares and ruthless commands. Bu...
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Sweat poured down my face as I sat in the dimly lit villa, gripping my gun so tight my fingers ached. My mind raced, replaying every second of what had just happened. The betrayal. The setup. The near death. My pulse hammered in my ears.
Then it hit me pure, unfiltered rage.
"Me ago kill dah pussy deh enuh!" I roared, jumping up from the couch and firing a shot into the ceiling. The sound cracked through the air, making the chandelier shake, dust falling like ash.
Matteo didn't even flinch. He sat back, cool as ever, watching me lose my shit.
"Yo, Chris, juss bill nuh man."
I spun on him, my blood boiling. "Bill?! How di fuck mi fi bill when di man juss play mi an' nearly get mi kill?!" My voice was hoarse, raw with fury.
Matteo sighed like he'd seen this a hundred times before. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. His grip was strong. Steady. The only thing keeping me from spiraling further.
"Yuh forget seh there's multiple ways fi ketch a donkey."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Wha dat supposed to mean?"
Matteo smirked slightly, his voice lowering, taking on that deadly, measured tone he always had before shit got real.
"Instead we guh afta him, mek we guh afta smaddy close to him."
The words sank in. And suddenly, I saw it.
I met Matteo's gaze, the fire inside me shifting from reckless anger to something far more dangerous cold purpose.
"Smaddy like him family."
Matteo nodded. "Now yuh thinking."
*************************
We wasted no time. Within minutes, we were in the car, slicing through the Vegas streets like phantoms. The city blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow, but I barely noticed. My focus was locked on one thing Scar's family.
We pulled up outside the house. It was a nice place, too nice for a man who owed us money and sold us out to organ traffickers. Di pussyole had a family and still played with fire.
Matteo let out a low hiss when he saw them. "Fucking guard man dem deh a di gate."
I clicked my tongue in irritation. Expected. But it didn't matter. Our men were already on their trail, and within minutes, the guards were nothing more than bodies cooling in the night air.
I signaled Matteo, and we slipped inside like ghosts, moving through the shadows of the house.
The scent of home-cooked food hit me first. His wife was in the kitchen, humming to herself. A soft, delicate sound, completely oblivious to the storm crashing down around her.
