A Pet for the Mafia Dons
A woman stepped up, her blunt, fingers resting lightly on Piers Delano’s shoulder and O’Grady felt a sliver of apprehension as he looked into the hard black eyes of the slim woman, her short cap of black hair moulding her skull.
With a firm mouth, she looked dangerous and O’Grady knew he was looking into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.
Hila Ziadi. The deadly Israeli assassin. The one they called the Ghost.
Piers Delano moved back, his fingers steepled, amusement flickering lightly across the wide, sensual mouth. Yes, he had inherited that from his gorgeous mother, thought St Just.
“Is it to do with Cahill? And your mistress’ sister?” he asked, his voice flat, emotionless.
Bab Populer