"This ruthless monster you keep calling names? He's actually a mafia king. Real guns, real bullets, real blood," Richard snarled, jabbing a bloodied finger toward his chest. In one swift, furious motion, he ripped the sleeve off his arm, revealing a bullet-grazed wound.

"Ahh, damn it!" he groaned, the pain making his jaw clench as fresh blood gushed from the wound on his upper arm—a clean graze but nasty enough to sting like hell.

Annabelle stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. The ...