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The gunshot rang out the entire dining room. Everyone glanced at me and then diverted their gazes back to their meals not questioning me or my authority. The Russells seemed wary of my decision to kill my own men off.
The truth is he had pissed me off two months ago and since then I have been trying to get my revenge. He had shown a desire to marry Evangeline and that for some reason pissed me the fuck off.
Leaning back, I rested a forearm on the table. Anger burned in my chest, I had to keep it in check so, I won't kill every single fucking person in here. And I really wanted to put a bullet in Paul Russell's head.
Grace's mother showed her distaste by glaring directly at me. Apparently, she did not like the idea of blood while she was peacefully eating her dinner. Why the fuck was she married to a Don then? I'm pretty sure Paul had done some pretty fucked shit in front of his family. It was the reason Grace turned out to be a fucking walking disaster.
In all honestly, this whole fucking thing was pissing me off. The fucking marriage charade. I was fucking pissed off and I needed something to take my anger out. Unfortunately for my soldier, he had to take a burn from it.
Having enough of this fucking family dinners, I got up from the table, excusing myself. My father's glare followed me and Grace clutched my wrists.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Going up to my bedroom for a smoke."
I headed towards the elevator and pushed the fucking button. I waited until I heard the clicking of the heels behind me. I didn't need to turn to see who it fucking was. Grace fucking Russell just didn't know when to fucking back off. I ran a tired hand down my face as the elevator doors slid open.
I walked inside and Grace followed me in, smiling coyly at me. I got off the top floor and so did she, I headed towards the rooftop and pulled out the cigar from my pocket. I lit it up and inhaled, relishing the familiar taste of nicotine spreading through my body.
Grace came running beside me. "Want a smoke?" I asked her.
She looked taken aback but then took the cigar from me, taking a long drag—a big fucking mistake. She coughed violently the second the cigar left her lips.
"How do you smoke that thing?" she asked, her eyes watered.
"Habit" I just said.
"Niko, I wanted to ask you something"
I rolled my shoulders to get rid of the fucking tension. "What is it?"
"I want to know what you feel about me?"
I took a long drag of the cigar and glanced at her. She looked up at me innocently as if she wasn't the biggest cocked-up barbie of the British Crime Firm.
How do you tell a person that you hate their fucking guts without actually hurting their feelings?
