"I think you owe me that much," I growled. There was still some fight in me despite my aching body and throbbing head. I worried about Vicky about as much as I was angry with her. How could she let this happen? I always thought the risk was worth the reward, but now…
"I owe you a lot more than the truth," he replied ominously, a sense of admiration in his words that made me frown. "You have to do everything in your power to convince Nicholas that you aren’t the rat."
I sobbed. "But I’m not. I don’t know anything."
"I know that," William assured me. "But shit has hit the fan lately, and Nicholas isn’t fucking around. He’ll kill you, Juliet."
A sob tore through my dry throat. Kill me? "I didn’t ask for this. I don’t know anything," I cried out.
William gave me a look drowning with pity. "He'll test you. He'll break you. He'll burn you. You have to do everything you can to prove your loyalty," he said. "My brother doesn’t value human life. He cares about our family name and the empire he’s built. Everyone else is just in the way." That bitter admission sounded like verbal venom. William obviously hated his brother.
Swallowing, I felt stuck, trapped in a hopeless situation I couldn't escape. "How long is he gonna keep me here?"
William pulled away slightly and bit his lip. "Vicky just got on a plane to Italy, so I'm guessing his interrogation will start soon."
Pain rocked through me as well as relief. I didn't understand why Vicky had to go to Italy, but at least she was away from her monster of a brother.
"Who is he?"
"Nicholas is the boss and our oldest brother. He inherited this gangster kingdom."
My hope dwindled. "And who are you?" I asked. "All this time I thought you were her bodyguard."
His lips formed a tight smile, and he responded, "I guess in many ways I am. She's my baby sister. I just...I wanted to make sure she was okay. When you came along, I saw an easy way to help my sister deal with her grief."
He stood up and wiped his palms on his thighs before shoving both hands in his pockets. "Why does Nicholas think I'm a rat?" I asked. Maybe if I knew more, I could find a way out of this. Maybe I could prove to them that I was nobody. I didn't have any friends. I didn't talk to anyone outside of Grams.
A second person opened the door and walked through the threshold. The already chilled room seemed to drop another twenty degrees the moment Nicholas’s icy stare landed on me. "That’s exactly the kind of question a rat would ask. And for the record, while we’re here, you will call me Malice."
An icy chill struck me at that name.
Malice.
Malice.
Malice.
He fit his namesake perfectly.
Behind him, two strong men carried a prone body into the cold basement. I recognized one of the suited guards as Hale, the man who hit me in the head with a pistol. The man grunted and coughed, like every single one of his ribs was broken. Malice nodded beside me, and the two guards dropped the strange, broken man right at my feet. The crunch of bones made me nauseous. He cried out, and I looked to William. What was I supposed to do with this?
"Your Grams is a nice lady," Malice said while popping his knuckles. "Such a shame she’s sick. I suppose her medicine isn’t cheap. Cora pays her rats nicely."
I wanted to be strong, I really did, but more tears streamed down my cheeks. He’d seen my Grams? "Please don’t hurt her. She’s innocent."
Malice checked his watch. "I didn’t want the poor woman to worry, so I told her that you spent the night with Vicky. Strange thing, though. She didn’t even know who Vicky was."
I let out a shaky breath. "Vicky made me promise never to talk about her to anyone. She had rules."
"I see," Nicholas—Malice—said. "Tell me about these rules."
I steadied my voice. It was a mantra I knew by heart. "Don't ask any personal questions. Don't show up unannounced. Don't ever, ever let anyone know we’re friends."
"I’m surprised. Usually my sister is careless. She must actually give a shit about you," he mused while rubbing his sharp jaw. "So you never met up outside of the diner?"
"We met at the cemetery a few times," I replied. "But every other time was at the diner."
"And William was always there?" he asked.
I looked at my secret stranger and swallowed. "I didn’t know his name, but yes. He was always there, watching, listening." William shifted his weight.
"Interesting."
Malice walked over to his brother and tapped him on the cheek with his open palm; it didn’t create a smacking sound, but it still looked hard. "Three years you’ve gone behind my back. We will discuss this."
William nodded slightly, though his lip curled.
"You see, Miss Cross, I have some rules of my own. I keep a tight leash on my family because our enemies are creative bastards that like to tear us down. I’m not completely convinced that you don’t work for Cora—"
"I don’t even know Cora!" I sobbed, interrupting him.
He ignored my outburst and continued. "I’m going to need some leverage to make sure that moving forward, your loyalty is to the Civella name and my organization."
I sobbed harder. "I’ll do anything."
Malice nodded at the body before me. I’d almost forgotten the wheezing, broken man before me. I was still chained to the ground, kneeling like a woman stuck in perpetual prayer. "You want to prove you aren’t a rat? Kill him," Malice said before crossing his arms over his chest.
"What?" I gasped. "I don’t know this guy. I’m not capable of…"
"It's you or him. He’s been working with Cora behind my back. Actually, he’s the reason you aren’t dead right now. The fact that he didn’t know you probably saved your pathetic life," Malice said before undoing the buttons on both his wrists and rolling up his crisp white sleeves. "If you want to prove yourself worthy, kill him."
"No. I-I can’t just…" I looked at the man. His eyes were bruised and swollen shut. His shirt was stained red with blood. His leg was bent at an awkward angle. From the looks of it, he was already half dead. But I wasn’t a murderer. Did this man have a family? Was he an innocent bystander sucked into the deadly world of the Kansas City mob? "I can’t…"
"Fine," Nicholas said with a shrug before pulling out his gun and aiming it directly at my head. I cried out. William flinched.
"I’m not a murderer," I sobbed. "I can’t."
Malice walked over to me and crouched down until we were eye level, his head cocked to the side. He had the most beautiful emerald eyes. "You’re a pretty little thing, you know that?" He reached out and tucked my hair behind my ears, and the moment his skin brushed across mine, I started peeing myself out of pure, unadulterated fear. He looked down at the puddle forming around me but didn’t move to save his designer shoes from getting wet. Shame filled my body, and he laughed. "I’m not afraid of piss, Juliet Cross." He reached out and grabbed my throat and squeezed. "I’d fuck you in a puddle made up of your urine and that man’s blood without a second’s hesitation. Your existence is what disgusts me. Your fear just turns me on."