The Italian Boss's Mistress Of Revenge
It was a filthy night. Which suited Dante Carrazzo's filthy mood right down to the ground.
The BMW's windscreen wipers struggled to keep pace with the blinding rain, while its headlights picked out little more in the night fog than the ghostly shadows of gum trees looming claw-like over the unfamiliar Adelaide Hills road. If there was a boutique-hotel anywhere in the area, it sure didn't want to be found.
Which was probably no surprise, given his plans for it.
He steered the car tight around another bend, his frustration mounting as his headlights met nothing other than their own reflection over a slick ribbon of road disappearing into the gloom.
Tiredness tugged at his senses and stung his eyes, eight hours behind the wheel after a full day's battling to bring the Quinn deal to fruition starting to take its toll. Dante clamped down on the weakness the same way he did any other, forcing himself to alertness. It had been a long time, but he knew this was the right road. It had to be here, hidden under this blanket of fog, somewhere…
He was past the poorly lit turn-off before he realized it.
With a muttered curse, he wheeled the car ... read full excerpt from: The Italian Boss's Mistress of Revenge ebook
