The Killer's Prize

By Winter Sloane

Sergio Castello’s task is simple. Kill the unfortunate waitress who saw something she shouldn’t. As the right-hand-man of the Rossi Family Don, Sergio’s probably killed more people than he can count. Ending lives is his forte except he can’t bring himself to touch a single hair on Jessie’s beautiful head. She’s his latest obsession. His prize. No one else can ruin her but him.

Jessie McDowell is a survivor. When fate throws her into Sergio’s path, Jessie doesn’t know what to make of the hitman. He’s controlling and possessive but the attraction between them is raw and undeniable. Sergio promises to keep her safe, but he wants something else in return—Jessie’s body, heart, and soul. He’s one greedy bastard. If Sergio thinks he has Jessie cornered, he’s in for a rude awakening.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Apr 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9780369503312

Book preview

Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2021 Winter Sloane

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0331-2

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Audrey Bobak

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THE KILLER’S PRIZE

Winter Sloane

Copyright © 2021

Chapter One

Jessie McDowell couldn’t take her eyes off the man’s shoes. She knew she should be paying attention to their orders, but she couldn’t look away. They were white, wingtip Italian. Brand-new, save for the small red stain on the left shoe by the bottom laces. Like a pinprick of blood, Jessie thought.

You got all that? the customer asked her.

She clutched her pencil and parroted their orders. Her eidetic memory always came in handy in moments like these. … and a bottle of Chardonnay to complete the meal, she finished.

That’s right, gorgeous. The customer’s black eyes raked her from top to bottom, making Jessie suddenly feel self-conscious.

She worked at a pretty respectable restaurant, but she occasionally encountered a few creeps dining at Mama Rossi’s. Jessie knew she wasn’t much to look at. She had mousy red-brown hair, dark-brown eyes, and a figure some men would call curvy.

His unabashed stare raised goosebumps across her arms. In his late forties, he had more gray stands in his hair than black. He wore a suit, like almost everyone who came to eat at Mama Rossi’s. It didn’t look that expensive. Plus, it was white, like his shoes. Tacky, Jessie had thought. The suit also failed to hide his beer belly.

The dangerous men who often hung around the restaurant wore tailored suits that probably cost thousands. Jessie hadn’t always known Mama Rossi’s was operated by the Rossi Crime Family. When she applied for a job here, she’d been desperate and broke.

As long as she got a paycheck twice a month, she didn’t care who owned the restaurant. It was no different from working in other restaurants in Oakheart City. Jessie and the staff just needed to follow a certain set of rules, like not questioning the restaurant’s odd closing and opening times or the visitors the restaurant’s owner received.

Jessie really wished this sleazy diner would stop whatever he was doing. He reeked of alcohol, which told her he’d probably been drinking before dinner. His wife, tall, beautiful, and blonde, sat rigid in her seat, pretending to be interested in something else. The guy’s partner, also in his forties, gave her an almost bored look. Be professional, Jessie reminded herself. After all, she couldn’t afford to lose her job. She still had bills and rent to pay.

I’ll be right back with your orders, she said in a clipped tone. See? She could be professional, too.

Stop. I’m not done with you yet. The customer suddenly placed his hand on her ass and gave her butt cheek a squeeze. Jessie squeaked, taking a step back. The customer’s small black eyes grew mean and hard.

Don’t respond and walk away, Jessie told herself. She wondered if she could persuade Clarissa, another waitress, to trade tables with her. No. She didn’t wish to dump someone else on that pig.

Hey, I’m still talking to you, Mr. Big Shot said, rising from the table.

He grabbed her arm only to release it. Her head bumped into someone’s broad and solid chest. She let out a muffled yelp. That familiar cologne and scent hit her. She raised her head. Relief filled her as she spotted Sergio.

Sergio was one of the men who always hung around the restaurant. The staff liked to gossip during the restaurant’s low-peak hours. Sergio was apparently Mr. Rossi’s right-hand man. Whatever that meant. All Jessie knew was that all of Mr. Rossi’s guys and most of the customers were downright terrified of him. Jessie could understand why.

Sergio cut a pretty intimidating figure. He was six-foot-six, built like a linebacker. He had short, wavy brown hair that he wore short, and piercing green eyes Jessie swore sometimes changed color, depending on the lighting. Right now, it seemed more black than green. Sergio had a face most women would’ve called handsome, save for the harsh scar running directly down his left eyelid and across his cheekbone.

Back off, Piero. Our staff’s off-limits, especially to scum like you, Sergio said.

Aw, don’t be like that, Sergio. I was just having a little fun. Besides, she likes me, Piero said. She flirted with me first.

Piero sit the fuck down, the other man at his table said in a frightened voice. He tugged Piero to his chair.

Is that true, Jessie? Sergio asked in that growly, deep voice of his that made her shiver. In a good way.

It was a good thing Sergio couldn’t read her mind. Most folks might be scared of him, but she wasn’t. He’d always been nice to her, always greeted her and asked how she was every single day. Once Jessie would get home after a long shift and she lay in her lonely bed, it would be Sergio who starred in her erotic fantasies.

She remembered he’d asked her a question. Not at all. I just wanted to take their orders, she said.

Go on then, he said. Piero here won’t bother you any longer, especially if he wants to continue breathing.

Someone choked at the table. Jessie thought it was Piero’s wife.

She turned to leave, thankful for his save. Then Sergio uttered two words that sent a shiver down her spine and woke her soul. Good girl.

Jessie blushed as she left the dining area and relayed the table’s orders to the kitchen. She was at work, for God’s sake, and yet she started replaying a favorite fantasy of Sergio in her mind. Him pulling her down to his lap, his wicked lips on the nape of her neck, his big hands on her waist. His breath warm against her ear as he told her what a good girl she’d been.

Jessie, table twelve wants to order, said Clarissa, interrupting her train of thoughts.

Jessie slapped her cheeks, surprising the other waitress.

What’s up with you tonight? Clarissa asked.

She shook her head. Nothing. Been distracted. That’s all.

No surprise there. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Clarissa said. Piero Ricci hits on every waitress every time he comes here. Good thing Sergio came to your rescue, huh?

Yeah. Let’s talk later. The restaurant’s getting busy.

Speaking of shoes, Jessie remembered the ones Piero Ricci wore. Was the stain on his ugly wingtips blood? Something else? As usual, Jessie’s imagination often got the better of her. She needed to focus on getting through the night.

As she returned to Piero’s table with their orders, she noticed he avoided talking to her the entire time. Good. That was one asshole off her back. He didn’t apologize when he knocked over his glass of Chardonnay across the table, but she could feel his beady stare on her.

She grabbed a washcloth from the kitchen, biting her lip the entire time. Saying nothing would be the best course of action, although it was tempting to tell him off. Ask him what the big deal was.

Sergio, she noticed, had joined Mr. Rossi and two other men at a private table in the back of the restaurant. She should really stop thinking about the man. For one, Sergio was way out of her league. Why would a man like Sergio, so confident and put-together, would want anything to do with a plain and damaged waitress like her?

I’m taking my five-minute break, she told Tony, the manager.

He gave her a nod. Jessie went out back, to the alleyway behind the busy kitchen. When the restaurant got too overcrowded, sometimes it was a little hard to breathe in there.

Jessie traced the barely noticeable white scar on her left wrist. Very few people got to know the real her. To the rest of the staff, Jessie was well-liked, nothing special. Invisible. Sergio was different. He saw her. One time, she nearly dropped her tray, but he caught it and circled his hand over her wrist at the same time. The one with the scar.

He didn’t ask about it, but his eyes narrowed. It was such a forgettable, unremarkable moment for most people, but at that moment, Jessie had felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like a prey animal waiting to be shot down by a hunter. Some irrational part of her almost thought he’d report her to Tony, or worse, Mr. Rossi, and she’d lose her job. Then she realized it didn’t matter. She was a great waitress and never forgot a single order. The customers liked her enough to leave her big tips. That was all that mattered. Still, that encounter had unsettled her, even now.

Don’t forget he’s dangerous, whispered a voice in her head. If Jessie’s mother were still alive, she’d warn her to stay away from Sergio. Men like Sergio took and took, and never gave back. Just like her dad. Jessie took out the cigarette