Too Late For The Mafia Don's Regret

More

kicked open the door to Isabella's r

om was ful

headboard and holding a glass of champagne. Three of

thugs. There

hen they saw the weapon. Her

es bright with a manic sort o

on the handle until my knuckles crac

said, waving a hand dismissively as if swatting away a

her. Really

Red-a signal reserved for life or death-to get me ba

I said to h

past me like rats fleeing a sinking ship, avoidi

e liquid in her glass. "You'

ice was dangerously calm,

for me with a pouty entitlement.

to kiss

ed back onto the pillows, champagne

said, my voice dri

et, vibrating against my t

answering without c

as trembling. "You need to

usy, A

's about the dat

t bo

the papers. Sir... toda

edding?" I was confused. Ou

ere's death. And... th

cli

ease com

s and worked its way up, fr

reflection in her compact mirror, already o

around

screeching across the asphalt. I nearly clipped

study, breath he

face pale. He stepped back as I entere

, sat a thick black notebook a

. Divorce papers. Signed with a flouri

looked worn. Used. The spine wa

ened

list. A s

irthday -

name in slee

t the gala

my sins, cataloged in neat

was jagged, as if written with a shaking hand,

sacrificed our chi

ore

words. *Sacrif

clutching the book to my chest like it wa

the room had vanished, sucked

d him.

bella. For a bruised knee.

here she used to sit, imagining

" I whi

ence was absolute. It was the sound