The silence on the other end of the line only lasts for one heartbeat. “Vincent Mazzanti.” He says my name like it’s the most distasteful thing to ever come out of his mouth.
I can’t blame him. “Special Agent Clark.”
“So, you know who I am. And what I do.”
I’ve seen his photograph, both from Sasha’s background check and from her apartment, and John’s voice is exactly how I imagined. Hard. Low. As serious as they come. If I were dirty, he’s the type of agent I would not want chasing me.
“Yes.” I reply.
“You are going to tell me everything you know about that piece of shit Randal Smith. I know it’s your fault that he went after Sasha. My Sasha. My fucking baby sister.”
I grit my teeth at his use of my, but I know he’s right. He’s right about this being my fault. He’s right about Sasha being his. She is, just in a different way than how she’s mine.
John’s voice gets colder. “And I promise you – if any harm comes to Sasha… A scratch. A bump. A single goddamn bruise. I will bury you. I’ll bury you so deep, with my bare fucking hands, that no one will ever find you. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” My voice isn’t ice, it’s fire. Because I do understand. Because I’ll rip my own heart out if any harm comes to her.
“Good. Now talk.”
A glance at Sasha tells me that she can hear everything that John has said. And from the look in her eyes, I know she won’t be going back to sleep. I pull the phone away from my face and press a soft kiss to her parted lips.
“Go make me some coffee, sweetheart.” I wink then slide out of the bed.
She looks a little incredulous at my demand, which is exactly what I wanted. Plus, it will give her a task to focus on. And I have a feeling that my talk with John won’t be quick.
