Yet what woman could have resisted the telling?
he thought.
It was simply the nature of love. And of Mary Yung. And of course, of Henry Durning. Who, with all he had caused to happen,
Gianni had never met. Not that they had to meet for Gianni to know about him. When it came to love, Henry Durning couldn’t
be that different. No one was.
Who didn’t goddamn love to talk about his love?
At one time or another, over the years and a few drinks, Gianni had listened to gangsters, murderers, leg-breakers, the rich
and the poor, the foolish and the brilliant. And their single common denominator, the one thing they invariably shared, was
a compulsive need to let him know how truly and deeply they had loved.
Look at me!
was what they were shouting. Pay attention. Never mind how I look or seem. Never mind what I’ve done.
Never mind what anyone says about me. I feel. I care. I love. And that in itself has to make me fucking lovable.
Then more softly, the eyes said, Listen. Please love me. Forgive what I’ve done. I didn’t mean it.
But try as he might, Gianni Garetsky could scrape up nothing for Henry Durning. Too many were dead who should not have been.
Maybe time will soften me and I’ll change.
Gianni didn’t know.
What he did know was that whatever gifts of grace Henry Durning’s troubled soul might be pleading for these days, they would
have to come from Mary Yung. He could think of no other heart big enough to pump out the required amounts of love.
Gianni looked at Mary where she sat, quietly waiting for him to stop his foolish judging and just start loving her again.
He smiled and saw her slowly smile back.
There are harbors left.
He’s from a family torn apart by the bloody
crosscurrents of American crime. And the seeker of
a redemption that can only come from his gift for
brilliant artistic achievement.
Now Gianni Garetsky will reunite with one of the
world’s most wanted assassins. He’ll track an innocent
child trapped in a jungle of predators. And in his
odyssey for survival, he’ll be joined by two women:
one with a secret that can destroy untold victims; the
other with a spellbinding erotic power more formidable
than any weapon wielded by the agents of death
that shadow them all.
“RACES LIKE A SPRINTERS PULSE!”
—St. Louis Dispatch
“IT GRABS YOU!”
—
Cosmopolitan
“GRIPPING… A FAST-PACED, BRUTAL, AND
KINKY TALE THAT MIXES CRIME AND POLITICAL
INTRIGUE WITH APLOMB.”
—
Publishers Weekly