Hot Springs (Part II of Country Fever)
Already read Country Fever? Wonder what happened next? Your answer has arrived- Hot Springs!
**The contents below are the ‘innocent’ parts of the books. Again, I do not like putting ‘naughty bits’ on the internet, since those under the age 18 can see it. For a sneak peak of the naughty bits, message me and I can email you a part of the book **
I dumped the contents onto the bed—a smaller envelope addressed “Kit Kat,” a set of BMW car keys, an FBI file, a marriage certificate and a caramel-mocha chocolate. The chocolate was the only thing that made sense, because Paul had been buying them for me since I was little. I smiled at the gesture and then quickly devoured it. It was even better than I’d remembered it.
I read over the file. It was about Gregory Tortelli being busted for being an FBI agent. The man in the picture was Paul. Not only had he lied about being my father, he had also lied about who he was. He’d been an FBI agent since day one of knowing him. He was undercover as the mob boss, Vinnie “Gino” Rossi’s, right-hand man. He was trusted with the Rossi family, and up until a few years ago, still had their trust.
The file contained information on my mother’s murder. She’d been targeted by her murderer, Antonio Salvatore, because Paul had moved up in the ranks with Gino, and she was his love interest. Being a little girl walking into my mother’s murder was something I’d never forget. Antonio had murdered her, and in return, I’d murdered him. Eye for an eye.
I read the scribbled note on the back of the envelope. Paul’s testimony was supposed to stay anonymous for his and his family’s protection, but someone had snitched. In the upper right-hand corner, written lightly, so light I almost didn’t see it, was “Ti John.” No one would know what that meant, but I did. Ti John stood for Tiffany Johnson, my dear friend, who was an FBI agent. We’d become friends in junior high. She was really the only person who understood my anger and motive to survive. Plus, she liked fighting too. Paul had always picked the two of us up from school for fighting. We’d finally settled down when we’d discovered boys. I think he’d preferred the fighting.
The letter was short and sweet.
Kit Kat,
I know I keep fucking up your life, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. I need you to go to the pet store and get me a rat. I’ll take care of your vermin problem.
Love,
Dad
