When Twilight Comes. B.J. Daniels
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step back and let the blind knock against the window frame.
She moved quickly down the hallway, stepping into the laundry room and partially closing the door. Motioning to Lexi to be quiet, she held both her daughter and the cat as the back door opened. Franco closed the door a little more forcefully than usual. She pressed herself and Lexi against the wall as the man stormed past. She caught only a glimpse of him, but he looked angry. Probably because Lorenzo had made him come to the service entry. Why had he done that?
She breathed a sigh of relief as Franco’s heavy footfalls fell silent.
How was she going to get away now, though? He’d blocked her in. And what if he mentioned her car to Lorenzo? Lorenzo would know she was in the house—and he would know exactly what she’d come for.
LORENZO DANTE FINISHED his drink and poured himself another as he tried to calm down. He glanced at the clock on the mantel, checking it against his watch.
Nine fifty-seven. Franco was twenty-seven minutes late. He hated people who weren’t punctual. People who made him wait.
He gripped the glass, anger seething inside him as he looked around the country estate, reminded of all he had accomplished—and how little respect he’d garnered. He deserved to be treated better than this. Because Franco was taking his place in the organization, did he think he didn’t have to treat him with respect? The glass shattered as he crushed it in his hand. Blood ran down his wrist and dripped to the floor.
Lorenzo stared at it in surprise, having forgotten he was even holding a glass. Opening his hand, he let the pieces tinkle to the Spanish tiles.
Two shards were stuck in his palm. With a kind of distracted fascination, he plucked them out, dropping them to the floor as he watched fresh blood run from the cuts down his wrist.
He turned at the sound of footfalls behind him. “You’re late.”
Franco Benito stopped in the middle of the floor, clearly startled by the sight of the blood and the broken wineglass.
Lorenzo smiled as he stepped to the bar and leisurely wrapped a wet cloth around his hand, all the time keeping his gaze on Franco, considering the best way to teach the two-bit thug respect for his betters—and the value of being on time.
“I’d take a drink if you haven’t broken all the glasses,” Franco said, clearly irritated himself.
Lorenzo smiled at the idiot’s attempt at humor. Franco hadn’t liked being ordered to come through the service entry. Too bad.
Without being offered a drink, Franco stepped to the bar beside Lorenzo. Franco was a good-looking guy, not really big, but strong. His one great flaw was that, because he was taking Lorenzo’s place in the organization, he thought Lorenzo was powerless against him.
Franco was so clueless. He reached behind the bar and wrapped his thick fingers around the neck of an expensive bottle of bourbon. Taking a glass—the wrong kind for bourbon—he sloshed some of the amber liquid into the expensive crystal with arrogant abandon, spilling enough fine liquor on the bar to make Lorenzo wince.
Franco turned to face him, raising his glass in a mock salute. After drinking it down, he sighed and smacked his lips, smiling at Lorenzo, almost daring him to comment as he reached for the bottle to pour himself another. After tonight, Lorenzo wouldn’t have any power in the organization. And Franco would.
But the night wasn’t over.
Lorenzo grabbed the back of Franco’s neck and slammed his face down on the bar, into the spilled booze. He heard the thug’s nose break like a twig even over the howl of pain.
“Shut up. You’ll wake my daughter,” Lorenzo snapped as blood poured from Franco’s nose, a stream of bright red.
Franco staggered as he let go of the bourbon bottle and fumbled for his weapon.
Lorenzo could feel himself losing control, and tried to pull back as he snatched the bourbon bottle off the bar and brought it down sharply, dropping the thug to his knees. It would have been so easy to finish him right there and then.
Franco had his gun in his hand, trying to find the trigger through the blood pouring down his face. With a swiftness born of survival in the dog-eat-dog, violent world Lorenzo lived in, he reached behind the bar and came up with the sawed-off shotgun.
Jamming the end of the barrel against Franco’s temple, he brushed his finger lightly over the double triggers as he met the man’s gaze. It was all Lorenzo could do to restrain himself. If he didn’t, he would definitely waken Alexandria.
Franco glared at him, clearly caught between an irrational desire for retribution and the need to stay alive.
Lorenzo watched the ignorant thug weigh his options, and smiled to himself when Franco slowly dropped his gun to the floor.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded as Lorenzo lowered the shotgun. The thug plopped into a sitting position and leaned back against the bar to cup his hand over his broken nose. “Are you crazy?”
Lorenzo put the shotgun back behind the bar and poured himself another drink, glad he hadn’t pulled the trigger. It wouldn’t have just awakened his daughter, who was sleeping upstairs, it would have added to his problems with their boss, Valencia.
After tonight, though, Lorenzo would be free of Valencia. All he had to do was keep his cool, get the money he owed Valencia and give it to Franco. Just a few more minutes and it would all be over. He would have bought his way out of the organization and would soon be on a plane to another country. A new life. What did he care if Franco was acting too cocky? Or if Valencia was determined to stay legit now and thought he could run things without him? Let Franco try to take his place.
Lorenzo downed his drink. He unwrapped his hand and tossed the bloody bar cloth on the floor next to Franco. “Clean yourself up while I check to make sure you didn’t wake my daughter.”
“Just get the money.” Franco glared up at him, then angled a look at his gun, lying on the floor within reach.
Lorenzo cut him a smile. “You’ll get the money. If you live that long.”
Franco gingerly picked up the bar rag and held it to his nose, leaning his head back, closing his eyes—disappointing Lorenzo by not going for the gun. “Valencia isn’t going to like this.”
Lorenzo considered kicking the thug, but feared he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. He walked past him, his expensive Italian shoe brushing Franco’s calf, making the man draw his legs up and open his eyes. Lorenzo was rewarded by the fear he saw shining there. Maybe Franco wasn’t as stupid as he’d thought.
But Franco was right about one thing: Valencia wouldn’t be happy about this. Lorenzo didn’t know what had gotten into him. He’d never liked Franco, never trusted him, and he sure as hell didn’t like the idea that Valencia had picked Franco to take his place in the organization. Lorenzo didn’t like what it said about him that Valencia thought someone like Franco could replace him.
As Lorenzo climbed the stairs to Alexandria’s room, he felt his blood pressure start to come down, along with his temper. By tomorrow he would be on his way to a new life. No more Francos. No more Valencias.
And to make his new life even sweeter, he would have his daughter with him. He smiled at the thought of his ex-wife and how much pain that would cause her. Jenna deserved much worse. It would be all he could do to leave the country without killing her first. But he took pleasure in knowing Jenna would die a slow death just knowing he had Lexi, and that she would never see her daughter again.
At the top of the stairs, he glanced down the hallway, immediately on alert. The door to Alexandria’s bedroom was partially open. He was positive he’d closed it earlier. Had she gotten up for some reason? She’d been upset earlier, wanting to see her mother. He’d had to spank her to get her to quit asking for Jenna. Was it possible she’d run away, thinking she could find her way to that awful apartment Jenna had rented after the divorce?
Or