Caruso;
The more I sit here doing nothing, it drives me over the edge. Can't think, can't fucking function.
Romano was right. She's not mine to bother about. But I do. That doesn't stop me either way.
Blood keeps thrumming hard in my veins, an unsettling sensation assaulting the balance of control I believed I had on my emotions.
Well, fuck it.
"Sir?" The Colombian bastard murmurs, a reluctant call slipping out.
My gaze sharpens on him, chin lifting slightly. The earlier monologue that sounded like whispers and whining a while ago snaps into loud, actual speech.
A shaky smile lifts his mouth, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. "I said the next shipment, when would you like it to be?" he asks, eyes glistening with the euphoria of being in a one-on-one conversation with a Giordano. Precisely, me.
I can tell he's a new recruit.
Irritation chafes at my insides, my jaw ticking once. "What's your name again?"
"David," he answers, a little too eager.
