One of the guys drags over a rotting, wooden chair and I push Dario into it. He shudders, his eyes wide as I hover over him. My fingers tug at the corners of the tape and I peel it off with one quick tug. He screams, and I slap him across the face, holding up a finger to my lips.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl. “You know nobody can hear you, and if you have any hope of walking out of here, you’ll listen real good and then speak when I tell you to. Not fucking before.” I close my hand around his throat. It’s not too tight that he can’t breathe, just tight enough that he knows I can choke him if he doesn’t cooperate.
And I have other tools in my arsenal if the hand doesn’t do enough to scare him.
“I want to know exactly what happened tonight. Who was the girl who came for you?”
“Camille or Camilla,” he sobs. “I don’t know. She had nice tits and a great ass so, you know, I just—”
I squeeze his throat and he sputters, floundering in the chair. His hands are still tied behind his back, so it’s not like he can do anything to stop me. “You just ignored your responsibilities and dipped your wick into a pool that was off limits, that about right?”
He nods. “Y-yeah, boss.”
I straighten up, releasing his neck. “Boss,” I repeat, pacing around him like a lion about to pounce on his prey. “That’s a really important word, do you know why, Dario?”
“B-because…because…” Another sob explodes from his chest and he whimpers before finishing his thought.
I crouch in front of him. “The answer is because I am the fucking boss! Do you understand that, Dario? I am the boss, and I gave you an order, which you ignored so you could get sucked off by some slut bitch who was working with one of our enemies!”
He is in full-blown hysterics right now.
Poor fucking Dario.
It’s about to get a whole lot worse for you.
I pull out my gun and smack him on the side of the head with it. “Shut the hell up!”
“Boss, I swear, I d-didn’t know she was working with an enemy. I just figured—”
“You just figured that you must have won the fucking lottery because a hot piece of ass actually wanted you, right?” I shake my head. “And you thought getting off was worth the risk of exposing my drugs, yeah?”
“It wasn’t long,” he whispers. “Maybe half an hour. I didn’t think anyone would notice—”
“Well, because of your needy cock, we’re out a lot of cash. Do you know how much?” I seethe into his face.
“No,” he whimpers again.
“Five-hundred-thousand dollars, give or take,” I say, pulling away and crossing my arms over my chest. “So how do you think I should punish you for this gross negligence? Hm? Should I shoot you five-hundred-thousand times? Pound five-hundred-thousand nails into your flesh? Slice off your skin and pour five-hundred-thousand fire ants onto you?” I walk around, tapping my finger against my chin. “So many options. I could even mix shit up, you know? Do a little of each?”
The guys waiting to haul a dead body away exchange a look.
Good.
I want them to know how fucking sick I can be.
I want them to take that back to the rest of the crew so they know who they’re dealing with if anyone gets any ideas about crossing me ever again.
Slap me once, shame on me.
Try to slap me twice, and I’ll cut off your goddamn arm before you have the chance to swing it in my direction.
I stop circling Dario and narrow my eyes at him. “Nah,” I say in response to my own questions. “I have a better idea.” I look at the guys standing behind him. “Take off his pants.”
One of them holds Dario down, and the other pulls off his pants. I stick my gun back into the rear waistband of my jeans and pull out a knife from its hiding place, wrapped tight around my ankle.
I press the button to extend the stainless steel blade, resting the tip against my cheek.
“It’s only right that you are punished in the same way as you committed your indiscretion.”
Another scream pierces the air and I shake my head. “Dario, I sure hope you got fucked real good, since you’re never gonna feel the inside of a pussy again.”
The next few minutes are a blur. Perspiration drizzles down the column of my spine as my hand slashes and slices, white noise between my temples muting the earsplitting sounds expelled from Dario’s mouth as I morph into my vengeful and vicious alter ego. My pulse throbs against my neck as my insides flood with a rush of heat.
The once-spotless blade is stained with the sins of deceit and betrayal when I’m finished with Dario.
Seeing red is a gross understatement.
My line of sight—along with my clothes—is completely drenched in it.
Occupational hazard.
When I said I wanted the guys to relay a colorful picture, I wasn’t kidding.
I hope they take pictures.
I want everyone to know exactly what will happen to them if they abandon their responsibilities under my rule.
I want them to fear the consequences of their deception.
I want them to understand that no amount of money is large enough, no pussy is tight or sweet enough, to warrant the kind of torture and torment that I will bring to them.
I step away from my masterpiece, my shoulders quaking, my breaths coming in heavy pants.
Dario is barely conscious at this point, which is actually too bad.
I grit my teeth. He needs to realize that the misery I just caused him isn’t the end.
His head rolls back and forth after a few minutes, his eyes open a crack.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out, silencing a groan when I see Matteo’s name flash on the screen.
Anxiety consumes me as I regard Dario.
I made the right move.
Fuck, I had to do this! I had to prove to everyone who and what I am, dammit!
A nagging voice in my head reminds me that the king doesn’t carry out the executions.
He only orders them.
I hate this second-guessing shit! I did what I had to do to protect the family and our interests!
Whether or not Matteo will agree is another story, but I don’t have time to relay the grotesque tale right now. I decline the call and stuff my phone back into my jeans.
I look up at the expectant faces of the men standing in front of me.
They’re looking for direction, for strength, for leadership.
So I give it to them.
“Finish him,” I say through clenched teeth, abruptly turning around and storming out of the warehouse. My phone buzzes again and I stab the Accept button when I see Bobby’s name flash on the screen.
“Boss,” he says. “We’ve got Salvatore. And the name of his partner.”
Tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “Tell me,” I growl.”
“It’s one you know well from back home,” Bobby says with a deep sigh. “Frankie Amante.”
My throat tightens.
My ex-best friend.
Here in fucking Manhattan.
Screwing me years later, just like his father did to mine back in Sicily.
And the brother of my date at eleven tonight.
Chapter Four
Marchella
I stand next to the bar at the end of the night, counting my tips. I do well enough most nights, but tonight, the cash take is amazing. I actually want to cry out with glee. The five, crisp hundred-dollar bills that the sexy stranger, who also happens to be my date tonight, left on his table before dashing out of here are safely tucked away in the front pocket of my pants, not to emerge until I’ve gotten home and can slip them into my safe, along with every other dollar I manage to squirrel away for a rainy day.