025

Kaitlynn Stryfe sat in front of the mirror in the dressing room of the suite at the Four Seasons in New York City. She'd been running the brush through her glossy chestnut mane for more than twenty minutes, making sure that the waves fell just right. Moving gracefully to her feet, she set down the brush, tilting her head left and then right as she studied her appearance. Her eyebrows furrowed as those cool greenish-gold eyes peered back at her. They didn't look troubled or sad— instead they held that cold fury that had been simmering in her veins since Marco Petrillo had shot that fake Anthony Gambini in that warehouse.

It was too easy, far too easy to just walk in there and pull off an upset that was more fitting to something in a John le Carré novel. You should have known it was too good to be true, even if that man had Gambini's mannerisms down perfectly. You should have known the REAL Gambini would have never let his prey go that easily. The game is still on, Kitty. Don't be stupid. Marco is mixed up in this— you cannot trust that snake. He's already lied to you more than once. He's made it a point to only tell you things he thinks you want to hear, even if it involves skirting around the truth.

"Shut up," she whispered at her reflection, shaking her head. Arching her back, she cupped her breasts that were pushed up and perfectly accented by the lace underwire bustier she wore. It was pure white, like the softest snow— she'd bought it this afternoon via proxy, instructing the hotel concierge on where to find it in the city, and what measurements she required. She had its twin sitting in her walk-in closet at home, purchased specially for her wedding.

This could be a trap. It could be another level of this goddamned game that's been played with your life. Have you considered that? Did you stop to think that even though Samantha paid him to retrieve Alex unharmed, that he could still be working for the devil?

"I'm still alive," she murmured, conviction in those words. If he was in bed with Gambini still, he could have put a bullet between those perfect breasts of hers as effortlessly as he'd done to that double in that office. Sighing, she rolled her eyes at the thought rattling around in her head.

If he was working for Gambini, he had hours to kill me, or to take me somewhere else. Only one person knew I'd gone to New Jersey— Kyle Kilmeade, Gambini's damned brother. There's no way he's working for Gambini. No way. Look at how angry he was. He was almost spitting nails and he gave up that address pretty quickly. Unless he was supposed to... unless this was all.....

Turning so her back was to the full length mirror, she looked over her shoulder, inspecting herself. The tattoo on her lower back stood out clearly against the milky white skin above the t-strap of her matching white thong panties. She shook out her hair, letting it flow over her back, tickling her shoulder blades.

Oh God, am I really going to go over there and let that cretin have his way with me? If Alex finds out… he wasn't too happy about that little tryst with Christian, after all. He left once before, when he thought there was something going on with Larry. If he finds out that Petrillo was paid in sexual favors, he'll never forgive that indiscretion. Even with Gambini laying dead at his feet, the breach of trust would kill him. Have to make sure this goes off cleanly, without a single hitch. It has to. Gambini needs to die.

She reached over and picked up the black and pink workout gear that Under Armour had sent her. Sliding the jacket on, she zipped it up past her cleavage, concealing the sexy lingerie beneath. She pulled the pants on next, sliding them over her perfect ass. She had it all planned out. She'd take a cab from Central Park after walking over there, making it look as though she was simply going for a run in case anyone was watching her. She slipped her brother's old pocket knife into the zipper pocket, closing it afterwards. The gun that Petrillo had given her was too bulky— and it was also currently resting in the water next to his discarded burner phone. If she needed weapons for this, she was as good as dead.

Stop thinking like that. The slimy creep just wants to stick his dick in you. He doesn't want to stab you a thousand times and leave you for dead. There's no profit in that, after all. There's no bounty on your head… is there? God, even if there is, you're worth more alive. Alex would pay for a safe return. Maybe Samantha would too. It's worth the risk, you coward. Go and get it over with.

Moving out into the bedroom, she looked over at where her husband slept soundly beneath the sheets, having taken a dose of her doctor-prescribed Ambien at her urging. "I love you, Alex," she whispered, checking to make sure the matchbook was still in her pocket before she crossed to his side. Leaning down, she kissed him on his bruised cheek, "I'm going for a run to clear my head, darling. I'll be back soon."

Steeling her shoulders, she walked out of the suite and into what she hoped wasn't certain doom. She was doing this for him— for love— there was no nobler cause than that.