Rico Private Kowalski Skipper Novels & Stories

Marco emerges from behind a rusted container at exactly the appointed time, though my head of security’s usual swagger has been replaced by nervous energy that makes him look younger than his thirty-five years. “You look like hell,” I observe. “Feel worse. What I found is going to fuck with your head, Castellano.” He glances around nervously before pulling a manila envelope from his jacket. “Remember how you asked me to dig into the hit-and-run that put the Ricci girl in the hospital?” “What did you find?” “It wasn’t random. Someone hired a professional to take her out.” Marco hands me the envelope with reluctance. “Contract killer named Viktor Kozlov. Russian, expensive, and very good at ma

I tensed until I recognized the shape that stepped into the alley—broad-shouldered, hood up against the misting rain, gaze sweeping every angle. Rico. He didn’t smile. We didn’t hug. We weren’t those kinds of friends. He just jerked his chin toward the door. “You still thinking like a CEO?” he muttered under his breath. “Try bastard. Bastards don’t wait for permission.” I swallowed my pride because I didn’t have the luxury of ego. “Lead the way.” We waited until the forklift noise peaked to cover the sound of the lock pick Rico jammed into the backdoor’s old latch. He worked fast, shoulders blocking sightlines from the dock. The lock clicked open with a faint metallic sigh.

he said flatly, lifting a glass of whiskey to his mouth. Ice clinked as his fingers shifted. I couldn’t help noticing the small, bleeding cuts across his knuckles... and remembering what that man’s face looked like afterward. Goddess, Lorenzo was a sexy brute. “That’s me… Victoria Bian… Greco” I answered, standing there like I was in an interview. “About last night…” “The first time, you didn’t think the Greco family was worthy. You were too ‘precious,’” he cut in coldly, one dark brow lifting.

To plan. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. Kat was so close. I could feel her. But I couldn’t reach her—not with the warehouse locked down like a damn prison. I needed more men. I pulled out my burner and dialed a number I hadn’t used in years. KC Marquez. Old friend. Old fire. Dangerous as hell. He had connections to the Riccis—loose, tangled, but real. He’d know how to move through their world without setting off alarms.

I watched Rhyker standing behind the counter and flipped the scrambled eggs with his pan, he was shirtless and wore a white apron with black joggers. He had one particular tattoo on the back of his neck, it's a drawing of a crown, the crown of Rosla. He whistled while making scrambled eggs. "Are you awake Hemilia? I'm sorry I wasn't in our bed, I wanted to make breakfast for you." He said not looking at me, I gawked at his strong and broad back that is able to give comforting hugs from him. "What's the special occasion?" I chuckled and walked toward him, he turned around and smiled.