The Game Changer

  The Game Changer

  By Scott Hildreth

  Terra

  I’m going to marry this man, and nothing will stop me.

  I didn’t expect it to be Michael Tripp who left when we made our announcement. He knows this life, he knows what it means to be a part of mia familia.

  He didn’t know he was marrying the boss’s daughter.

  I kept it from him—I lied to him.

  He came back, thank God. My love forgave me and the wedding is on.

  I’ll die before I allow any more secrets to come between us.

  Tripp

  I’m a man of my word. I love hard and tell it like it is. But the Mafia has me in their crosshairs and I’m in deep. Partnering with a crime boss is one thing. Working for a crime boss who is also your father-in-law...that’s just f***ed.

  I stepped up to the challenge. Shaking things up and making changes that needed to happen to secure our power. And the profits speak for themselves.

  No one could have seen the end coming. No one could have stopped it, not even me.

  The playing field has changed. And nothing will ever be the same.

  This book is approximately 53,000 words

  Carina Press acknowledges the editorial services of Lauren Plude

  Dear Reader,

  I’m practically cackling and rubbing my hands with glee at the amazing books we have in store for you this month. You’re going to fall in love with the newest additions to the Carina Press author lineup while enjoying the very best of our returning authors. Forgive me for saying it but...whee! Read on for the goodness...

  This month Lucy Parker brings us her much anticipated sequel to contemporary romance Act Like It. Pretty Face returns readers to the highly acclaimed world of the London stage with laugh-out-loud wit and plenty of drama. Iconic director Luc Savage is in for a surprise with his new show—not to mention a May-December romance with its feisty star!

  New-to-Carina-Press author Rhenna Morgan kicks off her new super-sexy contemporary romance series with Rough & Tumble. With his badass don’t-take-no-for-an-answer approach to life, Jace Kennedy is everything Vivienne Moore swore she never wanted in a man—especially after the rough lifestyle she grew up in. But Jace sees the hidden wild side in Vivienne, and he won’t give up until he shows her the safest place is in the arms of a dangerous man. By the way, Jace might be a badass, but he’s no alphahole. This is a guy every inch in love with his lady and willing to treat her like gold.

  We return to Lauren Dane’s Cascadia Wolves series with Wolf Unbound. We meet Tegan—a Pack Enforcer who, after the death of her mate, thought she’d be alone forever. Until she meets Ben, handsome, dominant...and human.

  Amber Bardan returns with a stunning new stand-alone sultry contemporary romance in King’s Captive. In Julius’s world, on his island, he is King. Money and power mean he rules all around him—including her.

  In fan-favorite A.M. Arthur’s newest male/male romance, As I Am, scarred shut-in Taz finally braves the outside world for intensely shy Will, but secrets from both of their pasts could destroy their fragile new love.

  Fans of Scott Hildreth’s The Gun Runner be prepared! Michael Tripp is back and as bad as ever in The Game Changer. Tripp and Terra are moving toward their happily-ever-after, but first they have to overcome the secrets they’re still keeping from each other—and her mafia family’s inexorable determination to pull Tripp into la famiglia.

  We’re introducing three debut authors this month. First, join Agents Irish & Whiskey in Single Malt, Layla Reyne’s debut male/male romantic suspense. Widowed FBI agent and Irish ex-pat Aidan Talley falls hard for his handsome younger partner, Jameson “Whiskey” Walker, as they investigate cybercrimes and the murder of Aidan’s late husband.

  In Mark of the Moon, a hookup with a vampire goes wrong when Dana Markovitz is scratched by a jealous were-cat. You won’t want to miss this sexy new urban fantasy series from debut author Beth Dranoff.

  From debut author Sarah Hawthorne comes Enforcer’s Price, book one in the Demon Horde series. In this romantic motorcycle club romance, Colt is just starting to trust again, but Krista is hiding something big. Can he still love her when she reveals sex and money go hand in hand for her?

  Don’t miss this amazing lineup of new and returning authors, and look for their next books in the upcoming months!

  Next month: Don’t miss Shannon Stacey’s return to the world of everyone’s favorite blue-collar family, the Kowalskis, with a heart-warming and funny all-new romance that also reunites you with all your favorite Kowalskis.

  As always, until next month, my fellow book lovers, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.

  Happy reading!

  Angela James

  Editorial Director, Carina Press

  Dedication

  To the one man who made everything in my life possible.

  My father.

  Author’s Note

  I get paid to tell lies. Yes, I made this story up. It’s a compilation of fabrications woven together in a manner that makes sense when read from beginning to end.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Scott Hildreth

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Michael

  I wasn’t obsessed with money, but at times it sure seemed I was preoccupied with succeeding. It just so happened that my means of measuring success was wealth.

  Based on the military experience behind me and my employees, the mob boss offered me fifty thousand dollars to provide a security detail for his business dealings. The first two transactions went without incident. The third, however, was a disaster. I quickly realized being in business with the mafia brought certain risks along with it.

  Life-threatening risks.

  I was caught in the middle of an attempted midday cigarette purchase that had gone to hell in the proverbial handbasket. The offer of one million dollars’ worth of tobacco for two hundred thousand should have warned me of what was to come, but I was partially blinded by greed.

&nbs
p; After Mad Sal’s inspection of the cargo, I asked him to walk away from the deal. The driver of the truck, a man named Wesley, seemed to have all his answers prepared, and right at the tip of his tongue. This, combined with his calm demeanor and odd grace, could only mean one thing.

  The operation was a setup.

  A disagreement between Wesley and me regarding our refusal of the shipment turned into an argument. The argument escalated, and he tried to grab me. An instinctive judo move on my part ended with him being humiliated—and landing flat on his back beside the cigarette-filled truck. Upon returning to his feet, he pulled out a gun in retaliation.

  A gun that was now trained on my temple.

  In response, an employee of mine—Cap—had his weapon drawn and pointed at the man I was convinced was a federal agent.

  All life-or-death situations bring with them uncertainty. A sinking feeling of losing control. Most of the similar instances I had been involved in, however, allowed me to react—and maintain control of my life.

  Be it because I had no time to respond, or that I was fully aware that I was no longer in control of anything, a potato-sized lump had risen in my throat. I fought to swallow and waited for the asshole to give his demands.

  He stood to my immediate right. Cap was ten feet behind him with his pistol pointed at the back of the gun-wielding prick’s head. Mad Sal, the orchestrator of the botched tobacco buy, was farther to my right, between Cap and the tractor-trailer rig’s cargo.

  “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, so I’m going to give you a little background on me.” Cap remained rock-steady with his pistol held at arm’s length. “Me and that fella you’re pointing your gun at go way back. We’ve lived through far too much shit for it to all end here. I’m gonna give you a chance to collect your thoughts and lower that weapon. If you don’t, I’m gonna put a bullet in your skull.”

  Say something, you son of a bitch.

  Anything.

  I could count how many times my instincts had been wrong on one finger, but the silence that followed sank into the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone.

  “I’m a former Force RECON marine,” Cap said flatly. “I’ve killed more men than I can count. Lower the weapon by my three count, or I’ll add you to the list.”

  “Get down on the ground and place your hands behind your head,” Wesley demanded.

  Shoot this cop son of a bitch, Cap.

  An immediate reaction on Cap’s part would have been nice, but it didn’t come. In hope of some reassurance that he and I were on the same page, I shifted my eyes in his direction.

  Cap’s jaw was clenched tight, and his focus was undeniable. I glanced at Mad Sal. He looked indifferent. It seemed he could care less.

  Cap cleared his throat. “One.”

  Sal’s eyes went thin. There was no doubt in my mind that he was armed, but his clear lack of experience in such situations left him uncertain of how to continue. He, no differently than the rest of the mafia, was far more versed in acting offensively than acting defensively.

  I counted silently as I waited for Cap to reach two.

  “Two,” Cap barked.

  Three seconds.

  Although no one else knew for certain what was sure to follow if Wesley didn’t lower his weapon, I did.

  One, one thousand. Two, one thousand...

  I leaped backward.

  “Three.”

  My eardrums were pummeled by the sound of the gunshot. Wesley fell with a thud at my feet.

  “You alright?” Cap asked.

  I could tell that he shouted, but it sounded like a whisper. I nodded. “I’m good.”

  He kicked Wesley’s gun to the side, then picked up his shell casing and put it in his pocket. “You think he’s a cop?”

  “Acted like one.” I nervously glanced over each shoulder, fully expecting a team of federal agents to come rushing toward us. Tingling from head-to-toe from the overdose of adrenaline that was running through my veins, I knelt and took Wesley’s non-existent pulse. “He’s dead.”

  “Toss him in the trunk of the Cadillac,” Mad Sal said without an ounce of emotion. “I’ll take care of the body. Who’s driving the truck?”

  “We’re leaving it,” I said.

  Sal returned a confused look. “Why would we leave it? We’ve got the money and the cigarettes.”

  I searched Wesley for any form of identification, and upon finding nothing, stood. “I think he’s a cop. If he is, I’m sure there’ll be a tracking device in the truck somewhere. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

  Sal tilted his head toward Wesley’s body. “Did he have an ID?”

  “No.”

  “We’re taking the truck.”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m in charge of the safety of this operation. The truck stays.”

  Sal chuckled a light laugh as if I’d told a joke. Cap stepped around him and climbed into the cab of the truck. After a moment, he returned.

  “Truck’s clean,” he said. “Clean, as in spotless. There ain’t anything in that fucker, not even a registration or driving log.”

  “I don’t like it one bit.” I looked at Sal and cocked an eyebrow.

  “We’re leaving the fuckin’ truck.” He turned toward the Cadillac and pulled his key fob from his pocket.

  Beep.

  The trunk opened.

  “Load him up.”

  I glanced at the lifeless body. A pool of blood had formed on the surface of the parking lot beside his head—a reminder that although my tenure with the mafia was short, it wasn’t without incident.

  And I had no reason to believe it was going to get any easier.

  We carried the body to the car and, with some help from Sal, eventually got Wesley stuffed into the trunk.

  “So.” Sal turned toward me and brushed the wrinkles from his suit. “When are you going to introduce us to your bride?”

  His lack of overall concern for what we were doing was proof of how commonplace the disposal of a dead body had become with him—and, in turn, the mafia.

  “Soon.” I had only been back from Belize for two weeks and, with Agrioli’s demanding delivery schedule, was left with little, if any, free time. “I’ve been too damned busy to think of anything but work. I’ll get something put together here pretty quick.”

  “First things first.” Cap shut the trunk of the car repeatedly until it finally stayed closed. “We need to wipe down that rig and get the fuck out of here.”

  I realized we had all ridden in the Cadillac, and that in a matter of minutes, I would more than likely be involved in the dismemberment and disposal of a body.

  “Come on.” I tossed my head toward the truck. “Let’s clean this mess up.”

  No matter how much detail we put into removing any clue of our presence, I had my doubts that it would be the last we heard about the abandoned truck, the cigarettes we had forfeited, or of Wesley’s disappearance.

  Chapter Two

  Terra

  Strong-willed. Honest. Outspoken. Stubborn. These were all words that had been used to describe me in the past. Although they were correct in most respects, when it came down to resolving my issue with Michael regarding who I was, somehow I became weak and incapable of speaking.

  No differently than anyone else who started out telling a lie, I was forced to continue to tell it for fear of what the repercussion might be when the truth was revealed. Yet, I knew that it eventually had to be revealed.

  The time had come for me to do just that.

  I had to be truthful with my father first. I stood on one side of the island, and he on the other. I wagged my finger toward the bar stool. “Sit. Please. I want to talk.”

  In the past, most of my family’s problems had been resolved in the k
itchen. One thing that an upset Italian man would always find comforting was food, and my father was no exception.

  I pushed the bowl across the island. “Carbonara. Your favorite.”

  He glanced at the bowl, then at me, and grinned. “Your mother.” He shook his head and reached for the fork. “She never makes the carbonara anymore.”

  It was midafternoon, and my mother was in Chicago on a week-long shopping trip with one of her friends. It was a perfect opportunity for me to talk to my father without her interrupting the conversation. It didn’t, by any means, make telling him easy—but it made it possible.

  While he slurped the spaghetti from the bowl like a man who hadn’t eaten in a week, I paced the length of the floor.

  “Sit,” he said over his mouthful of pasta. “You make me nervous with all the walking.”

  Reluctantly, I sat. With my knee bouncing up and down like an overanxious teen, I inhaled a deep breath. Along with it came enough courage to begin.

  “I’m in a relationship.”

  He stopped chewing.

  Completely.

  With noodles hanging from his open mouth, he stared back at me. After what seemed like an eternity, he swallowed the pasta and cleared his throat.

  “Who is he?”

  I stood.

  He pointed at the bar stool. “Sit.”

  When my father was upset, his voice changed. It never elevated to a scream—or even a shout—but his tone gave all the indication a person needed to understand his state of mind.

  And I knew him well enough to know that I needed to sit.

  So I did.

  “Who is he?”

  I clasped my hands together, drew a shallow breath, and looked right at him. His normally tired eyes looked well rested. I wondered what in his life might have changed, and hoped whatever it was brought along with it some peace of mind.

  “It’s a long story. Can I tell you without you interrupting me?”

  He lowered his chin slightly. His signature nod.

  “I’ve been seeing him for a while—”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin, and then leaned on the edge of the bar. “Who is he?”