He let out a sob. "You have to help me, Jen!"
His plea fell on deaf ears as I tilted my head to study the gash. It was, I’d admit, pretty obscene. I didn’t know why the sight of it wasn’t making me want to puke, but it actually didn’t. I could see Damian’s implants, for Christ’s sake! But nope, no nausea. I was more satisfied at him getting his just deserts than anything else.
"Seventy thousand."
He blinked up at me with dazed blue eyes. "Huh? What are you talking about? Help me!"
What did he think I was going to do? Pull on my Wonder Woman outfit and save his ass as well as my own and get us both out of here?
Dumbass. If I was going to save anyone, it’d be my fine patootie, not this schmuck’s.
Snorting, I repeated, "Seventy thousand. That’s how many times you’d have to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ for me to even think about asking Luciu to free you. But seeing as that could take all night, I don’t think you have time to earn my cooperation."
His mouth gaped.
And I wasn’t talking about the slash in his cheek either.
"You crazy bitch! Are you being serious? You don’t want to help me?"
I frowned. "Why would I? Forty thousand in damages to the car, and thirty thousand for emotional damages?" I huffed out an indignant reply. "My feelings were hurt, Damian."
"Your feelings were hurt?" he squawked. "You were my whore—"
Temper rattled around inside me.
I could call myself that. He couldn't.
We’d been dating. He’d had no right to cheat on me. No right—
Luciu had just cheated on his wife with me.
And I’d instigated it.
Fuck, maybe I was as much of a piece of crap as Damian’s sneer said I was—
No!
Needing to shut up both him and that stupid voice in my head that sounded like Mom’s, I snarled, "You have any more of this duct tape? His whining’s starting to piss me off."
Luciu’s relative wafted a hand at the guy in the corner who moved away from the wall and gifted me with a roll of tape.
When he made to return to his perch, I arched a brow at him and asked, "You think I’m going to cut this with my teeth?"
The other guy snickered, while the man in front of me merely glowered as I pulled out a strip of tape long enough to cover Damian’s mouth.
He cut it with the end of his knife, which prompted me to say, "Hold his head still."
When he complied, I knew he glanced behind him for approval, but I was having too much fun, so I didn’t argue, just waited for him to do as I asked.
Damian cried like a girl as I taped him up, making sure I stuck it nice and fast to as much of his hair as possible, then I smirked down at him and murmured, "This is what you get for cheating on me, you piece of shit." His eyes flared with a mixture of panic, outrage, and fear as he wiggled around in the chair, looking less like a sausage now and more like a human centipede.
"My brother needs to watch himself if that’s your threat."
I turned back to the guy and asked, "Your brother?"
"Custanzu Valentini," he declared, his name more of a warning than an introduction.
"Expect me to curtsey?" I retorted, which earned me a smile.
"I see it takes one insane buttana to enchant a psychotic fuck."
"What does buttana mean?"
He wiggled his head. "In this instance, bitch."
"That’s me." I took a step back, eyed my work, then when Damian started sobbing, I felt a little bad and asked, "Is Luciu really a psycho?"
"It depends on your definition."
"On what?" I grumbled. "The DSM?"
He smiled at me, but I noticed he didn’t answer, then sat upright and leaned into the chair. It was only then that I took more than a quick glance at the room.
It was, in a word, freaky.
With its stainless-steel walls and stainless-steel floors, it looked like Dexter’s idea of a wet dream. One that’d save the environment from all the plastic sheeting he needed to keep a room spic and span.
I turned my attention back to Custanzu, now I’d had extra confirmation that Luciu could be insane, and questioned, “What are you going to do with him?" Maybe he’d answer that.
"He’s seen you now. Probably going to have to kill him."
Even though I didn’t think they were holding onto him for shits and giggles, the bluntness of his reply still took me aback. But it was Damian’s scream, though muffled from behind the tape, that had me jerking backward.
"He doesn’t have to die," I muttered.
"Kind of has to now." Custanzu shrugged, not appearing particularly bothered by the prospect.
If Damian’s scream had me jumping, when I heard, "Jennifer!" booming from what I assumed was Luciu’s office, I nearly scuttled back and fell onto my ex’s knee.
Talk about a faux pas.
"You should probably go to him. He gets kind of pissy when he doesn’t get his way." He grinned at me as he raised the cupcake to his lips and took a big bite. He hummed, the sound faintly sexual, and I wasn’t sure if that was because of the cupcake or the fact that I didn’t scamper away like he expected me to.
Though the squirming ex-boyfriend in the chair who was apparently going to die tonight definitely had my anxiety stirring, I rumbled, "Tough. He’s not the boss of me."
"He’s the boss of everyone in these parts," was Custanzu’s retort. He didn’t sound smug either, just matter of fact.
Okay, that was both terrifying and lust-inducing, which told me there and then that I was as bad as frickin’ Aoife, my BFF, and Savannah, my ex-BFF. Both of whom were entangled so deeply with the Irish Mob that they might as well have had the Tricolour tattooed on their asses.
I mean, by anyone’s standards, I was a gold digger. So Luciu being the big, badass boss was enough to make dollar signs pop up in my eyes with glee.
This, however, was an entirely different situation. This wasn’t just about money. This was raw, brutal power that could get me killed. This was unprecedented.
The annoying thing was, of course, that I got a sick kick out of seeing Damian all trussed up. Demeaned and belittled like he’d done to me.
Going back to his apartment and finding him fucking a couple of hookers before demanding that I screwed the others like orgies were a part of the trophy girlfriend job description was one thing, the abuse he’d hurled at me when I refused, another.
But when he’d shoved my face in the lines of coke he’d left on his nightstand even though he knew I hated cocaine because of my mom, that was when I’d run away and had decided to key his Ferrari.
I knew what I was.
I embraced it most of the time.
But when it came down to shoving my face in it like my reputation was a steaming dog turd, and then expecting me to lick all that right up, no. Nobody was allowed to do that to me.
No one.
So yeah, I found malicious pleasure in seeing Damian like this, and I wasn’t ashamed of that.
"Pezz'i miedda," Luciu boomed, and I twisted around as Custanzu hollered something back.
Heavy footsteps sounded down the hallway, and when he appeared in the doorway, looking as sinful as Satan himself, I tried not to back away. The temper in his eyes seemed to make the chocolate-brown orbs glow. I knew that sounded nuts. This wasn’t an episode of Agent Carter, for frick’s sake, but damn, he was mad.