CHAPTER 1
Rachel Forrester gazed into the full-length mirror, almost not recognizing her recent transformation. An hour earlier she’d arrived at the pricey Hotel Devonshire dressed in a pair of boot-cut jeans, a T-shirt, and neon-colored running shoes. She wore no makeup and no jewelry, not even her princess-cut wedding ring.
Rachel checked into the fourteen-hundred-dollar-a-night penthouse suite and was escorted to her room, where her own on-call butler showed off the amenities, including a spectacular view of New York City’s Central Park. She’d grown used to these late-night rendezvous in fancy, upscale hotels. Too bad they were coming to an end.
After soaking in the oversized marble bathtub, Rachel removed the satin ribbon from the box that had been left for her at the edge of the bed and changed into the outfit she wore now—a ruby red and black corset, black thong panties, silk stockings clipped into garter straps, and the sexiest pair of black-and-gold studded Manolo Blahnik’s she’d ever seen. Rocco “The Rock” Romano may have been a tyrant, but she had to admit, he had exquisite taste when it came to women’s clothing.
Rachel lifted one of the shoes from the box with a finger, dangling it in front of her face. Admiring. Appreciating. Calculating. This pair in particular must have set Rocco back eight-hundred bucks at the very least. She curved her mouth into a smile, fully aware that she was worth it. Worth every copper-colored penny.
Seductive vixen wasn’t a role Rachel thought she’d ever play, but being hard up for cash opened all kinds of previously closed windows. When the woman who hired her fanned ten large in front of her face, saying no just wasn’t an option. The money was too enticing to resist. When she was all done up in Rocco’s “gifts,” she knew she was exactly what he sought—looks and body included. She was good at playing the role of doting mistress, even allowing a small part of her to fall for Rocco’s charms. On the outside, he was intelligent, collected. On the inside, sensitive and warm. At times it was hard for her to see him for who he really was—a cold-blooded killer.
Rachel gazed out of the bedroom window, reflected on the first time she met Rocco a few months before. She’d sat at a table across from him at La Vita e Bella, an Italian restaurant he frequented. After tailing him for three weeks, she’d learned his habits, his likes, his dislikes—anything and everything she needed to know so she could nail him to the wall when the moment was right. There was a twenty-five-thousand-dollar bonus in it for her when she did, and she wasn’t about to let anything screw it up, not even her feelings for the guy.
Rocco had taken to Rachel quickly that first night, striking up a conversation before inviting her to dine at his table. Rachel chose her words carefully, inserting a few shared interests into the conversation, things to reel him in, get him interested. Within thirty minutes, he was hooked.
Two months later, Rachel almost had what she wanted. In the living room of his house, Rocco had dropped his guard and engaged in a private conversation with his underboss and consigliere right in front of her. He’d smiled at her, confident she wasn’t smart enough to decode what he was actually saying.
He was wrong. So wrong. All she needed now was one last night, and it would all be over.
The clothes. The attention. The parties. The sex.
Rocco. The sound of Rachel’s phone vibrating on the nightstand brought her back to the present moment, as if jolting her from a moment of tranquil meditation. She glanced at the name on the caller ID. Rocco.
“Thank you for my present,” she said.
“Did you put it on?”
“I’m wearing it now. It fits perfectly. All that’s missing is you taking it off of me.”
“I have one last stop to make, and I’m all yours, baby.”
“Three days without seeing each other is three days too long,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
“I had other things to attend to or I would have seen you sooner.”
Calm. Cool. Collected. Always in control.
“Other things like your wife?”
Her sharp words cut through the air like needles seeking out a target. It was too much. Too brazen. She knew it. She also no longer cared.
“Trust me, even when I am with her, the only woman I’m thinking of is you.”
He always had a way with words. A perfect way. For a moment, Rachel felt bad for his wife. Almost.
“I had something else delivered,” he continued. “Did you find it?”
Rachel canvassed the room. “Where?”
“Look in the kitchen.”
She combed a hand through her long, ash-blond hair as she walked into the next room. “I’m here.”
“Do you see it?”
“The wine?”
“I bought it special, just for tonight. Try it.”
“I’d rather wait for you,” she said. “Try it together.”
“If you like it, I’ll order more.”
Rachel grabbed the bottle, stalled for a time, then said, “It’s wonderful. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
“Good. Have another glass. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
The call ended, leaving Rachel with a sense of uneasiness she hadn’t experienced with Rocco before. Up to now, she felt confident about every move she made. Tonight, on the phone, something was off. His voice. It was different. Still in charge, in command, but changed somehow. Plain. Monotone. He seemed insistent about her trying the wine. Too insistent.
Rachel sized up the bottle, which she hadn’t actually opened. She paid particular attention to the seal. It was intact. There was no evidence to show it had been tampered with, nothing to prove it was anything more than the kind of drink they always shared together on nights like this one.
Stop being paranoid. You’ve done everything right. It’s nothing, just a simple bottle of wine.
Simple or not, Rachel stopped herself from partaking of the dark-colored beverage, instead erring on the side of caution. She popped the cork, opened the bottle, took a whiff. It looked fine. It smelled fine. She went to the sink, dumped half the bottle down the drain. Whether his intentions were innocent or not, Rocco needed to believe she’d done what he asked. She could pull off the tipsy-girlfriend act. She’d done it before.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the latch to the hotel room door clicked. Rachel reclined back on the bed, bent her knees, posed in the kind of way that would strike Rocco’s fancy when he came in.
A man rounded the corner. He wasn’t Rocco. “Carmine?” Rachel’s voice tensed. “What are you doing here? Where’s—”
“Rocco says to say goodbye.”
Carmine reached into his coat pocket, pulled out something black, shiny, with a silencer attached to the end. Rachel screamed. She swung her body off the bed, narrowly avoiding the first bullet as it whizzed by, pelleting the pillow her head had rested on a moment before.
She dropped to all fours and scrambled to the bathroom where she’d concealed her gun behind a few spare toilet paper rolls under the sink. She cursed herself for not practicing at the gun range this week like her boss had suggested. She hadn’t thought she needed to. She was an excellent shot, always had been.
She’d assumed—clearly mistakenly—that she had Rocco by the balls. That he was devoted to her, incapable of harming her like he’d done to countless others when deals went south. She was no deal. She was his mistress, his lover. He had feelings for her. Genuine feelings. Didn’t he?
Apparently not. A second shot fired from Carmine’s gun. This time it connected, the bullet searing Rachel’s leg as it broke through the skin. She smacked the bathroom door closed with her foot, reached up, turned the lock. Blood seeped through her stockings, dripping splotches of red onto the cool marble floor.
“Come on, Rach,” Carmine teased. “Don’t make this harder than it’s gotta be. We all die sometime, right?”
She yanked open the cabinet, fingered her gun. “Carmine, please. Don’t do this.”
Don’t do this?
Was she out of her mind?
He was doing this. Nothing she said would stop him. She’d been a fool. He’d been sent there on a mission, a mission that only ended one way: with her death.
“The wine, did you poison it?”
“Poison it?” Carmine roared with laughter. “Whaddya think we are, a bunch of sissies? Rocco wanted you to relax. That’s all. You should have stayed put on the bed, made things a whole lot easier on both of us. I would’ve made it a clean shot. No pain. Now you’ve made me come after ya.”
She crouched in the corner, her gun centered on the door. Ready.
“How did he find out, Carmine?” she asked. “How does he know? If you’re going to kill me anyway, you may as well tell me the truth.”
“You know somethin’, Rach? I’m sorry it has to be this way. I mean it. I liked you. Orders are orders, though. You understand.”
Carmine’s next bullet shattered the doorknob. He stepped inside. Gunfire was exchanged. Rachel managed to get two shots off, Carmine only one. One was all he needed. The target had been acquired.
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