by Nicole Fox
“For fuck’s sake, Drago,” I sigh, throwing my hands up. “I was his fucking prisoner. He didn’t really concern himself with me.”
“Okay,” he says, nodding fast as though he’s trying to figure something out. “But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t messed with you.”
“What are you trying to say?” I ask. “Are you accusing me of being a traitor?”
“How did you just walk out of his compound? I was watching. His men just let you through the gates.”
I tense slightly, but I decide on the truth—or something close enough to the truth, anyway. “He decided I wasn’t valuable anymore,” I explain. “And he doesn’t kill for the sake of killing.”
The words leave a bitter taste on my tongue. Decided I wasn’t valuable anymore. Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty accurate. The shame of his harsh “Go” as I offered myself to him is still rippling through my body like venom.
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yes, Drago, that’s what he told me.”
He seems to accept that at face value. “Fine. Whatever. It doesn’t fucking matter. What matters is that I’ve got you back now. And my plans can move forward. I just—”
“You’re a fool if you think that marrying me off to Rokiades is going to win you back your empire,” I tell him. “He killed one of your men. Do you know about that? The moment he marries me, he’ll kill you, too.”
Drago frowns at me for a second, but I can see his head spinning justifications for everything I’ve just said. “You’re mistaken.”
I shake my head, frustrated at the depths of his denial. “I’m not,” I insist. “Rokiades has no interest in sharing power with you. He just needs a Lombardi to bind our men to him. He can accomplish that with me. He doesn’t need you.”
“I am the fucking don!” Drago roars furiously. “He wouldn’t dare kill me.”
“You overestimate your importance.”
“And you need to shut your mouth about shit you know nothing about,” he snarls, inserting himself into my personal space again. He grabs my arm, and before I can stop him, he twists it hard. “You don’t have a fucking clue—”
“I will not marry him,” I tell him firmly, refusing to wince at the pain lancing through my shoulder.
“The choice is either marry Rokiades or die.”
“Then I choose death,” I say, spitting in his face.
He throws me to the ground and pulls out his gun. I know he won’t kill me. That’s what logic tells me at least. He needs me too much to actually pull the trigger.
But for a second at least, I’m worried.
He leans down and presses the gun to my temple. “You fucking bitch, I’m not going to kill you. But I am going to make you fucking hurt. I’m going to make you hurt so bad that you’ll beg to be married off to that Greek son of a bitch.”
I realize something suddenly—I’m tired of fighting.
I’ve been fighting my whole life and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I’m in the same place I’ve always been—at my brother’s mercy.
I just can’t do it anymore.
So I close my eyes and I wait for the final pain.
32
Kian
“How many?” I bellow, ducking behind the gate as another bullet narrowly misses me.
“Not many,” Donovan calls back, from the opposite side of the gate. He darts out long enough to fire off two rounds and then retreats back behind his cover again. “Three, four max.”
“Ebanashka,” I curse under my breath in Russian. It’s one that Phoenix taught me—fucking fools. Really rolls off the tongue nicely.
“Rokiades, you think?” Donovan asks.
I don’t answer because I’m too busy shooting, but I know Rokiades isn’t behind this attack. For one, it’s too poorly planned. For another, the men in question are lousy shots. They seem to be banking everything on overwhelming us with the amount of ammunition they’ve got in their assault weapons.
I move out from behind the gate and meet them in the open space between the vehicles.
I catch one guy peeking out at me. It takes me only a millisecond to aim. My bullet hits him in the shoulder and he spirals to the ground with a scream that has me rolling my eyes.
Honestly, if you can’t take the fucking heat, then stay out of the kitchen.
My men follow me out. It takes another three minutes and four more bullets to put an end to the fighting. When they’re dead, the silence takes over again.
“Did we get any alive?” I ask.
“Doesn’t look like it. Sorry, boss,” Donovan comments, kicking over one guy who was shot right in the chest. His dark brown eyes stare unseeing at the sky above. “All kaput.”
I glance at their faces. “Italians,” I say, confirming my suspicion. I turn to the other O’Sullivan men at my flanks. “Rhodes, O’Malley—stay here and deal with the bodies. Donovan, you’re with me.”
With a curt nod, the men get to work. Donovan jumps into the driver’s seat and I climb in next to him. I pull up my phone and open up the app that links me to Renata’s tracker. It takes a second for the feed to load up again, but that one second has my chest constricting painfully.
“Take a left here,” I say urgently. “She’s nine minutes away. On Finch.”
We squeal out. I keep my eyes locked on the screen. Two minutes later, I realize she’s not moving. She seems to be standing in the same position. I can’t tell if that’s a good sign or a bad one.
I can’t help thinking one thing again and again: Dead bodies don’t move, do they?
Only when we round the corner of Finch do I understand why she’s been stationary for so long.
She’s so embroiled in the fight she’s having with the large man in front of her that she doesn’t notice our vehicle approach.
Thankfully, neither does he.
He grabs her hand. Possessive anger twists in my gut at the sight. Donovan comes to a stop a few feet away just as the asshole pushes her to the ground and points the gun at her head.
I don’t bother pulling out my own gun. I’m already out of the car and moving. The momentum carries me into the bastard, elbow careening into the back of his head.
THUMP. He keels forward with a surprised grunt. Before we even hit the ground, I’m snatching the gun from his limp fingers and springing to my feet. By the time he looks up again, I’m pointing his own weapon at him.
“Cheers, motherfucker,” I say, staring the illusive Drago Lombardi in the eyes.
At first, all I can see on his face is shock.
But panic quickly takes its place. While I wait for him to process, I turn to Renata, who’s still lying on the sidewalk opposite her brother. I offer her my hand, but she refuses it and gets to her feet on her own.
Drago, pathetic fuck that he is, refuses to be smart and just stay down. He struggles to his feet and is knocked backwards immediately by Donovan.
This asshole really can’t take a hint.
“Don’t you touch her,” Drago growls as he struggles to right himself again. I might have actually mistaken that for concern—that is, until he goes and says the next idiotic thing. “She is my fucking property.”
I glance at Renata. She’s not too happy about his claim, either. But she doesn’t say anything. In fact, I can tell she’s trying very deliberately not to say a thing.
“Your property?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you had any. Thought I took it all.”
“You bastard!” he bellows as he attempts to launch himself at me.
Donovan steps aside to watch the show. I don’t need his help; I’m kind of looking forward to schooling the arrogant Italian asshat on my own.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m definitely looking forward to it.
I wait until Drago is mere inches from me with his fist raised. Long enough for him to think he has me where he wants me.
Then I step to the side and grab the offending arm as it whistles past in a punch that never had a prayer of landing.
I twist it backward, forcing his body in the opposite direction, and bear down.
I put my weight on him relentlessly until I hear the audible snap I’m waiting for.
Renata gasps, but it’s lost in her brother’s scream. As he crumples to the floor, she’s suddenly in my face. “What the hell are you doing?”
For a moment, I can’t believe my eyes. She’s actually defending this asshole? Fifteen seconds ago, he had a gun pressed against her forehead. I raise my eyebrows. “I’m sorry, was that a serious question?”
“You didn’t have to do that!”
I gesture to Donavan to drag the softly moaning Drago into the trunk before turning back to Renata. “He was resisting.”
“You know he’s no match for you,” she says, her eyes burning. “You used unnecessary force.”
“Is there such a thing when it comes to a guy like him?”
“You were showing off,” she snaps, seeing right through me—not that I’m about to cop to that.
“This is business, Renata,” I say harshly. “About time you got used to that.”
Her eyes glaze over and her jaw tightens. “Of course it is. My fucking mistake.”
I’m in no fucking mood for the games today. “Get in the car.”
“No.”
I shrug and head for the vehicle. When she realizes that I’m about to drive away with her limp brother in the trunk, her eyes go wide as she realizes the choice she has to make.
“Wait!” She shoves past me and gets in. I climb in behind her, hearing a thump from the back and a muffled groan. Donovan must’ve gagged him well. Lucky for all of us, really.
“Is this necessary?” demands Renata.
“He pointed a gun at your head,” I remind her. “He tried to attack my man and me. I’d say it is actually pretty lenient, all things considered.”
She crosses her hands over her chest and shakes her head furiously. “You put a fucking tracker on me, didn’t you?”
I resist the urge to smile. “I suspected it wouldn’t take you long to get into trouble. And—shocker—I was right.”
“I was fine,” she snaps. “Perfectly fucking fine without you.”
“Fine?” I repeat. “You were on your ass on the pavement staring down the barrel of a gun. Fifteen minutes out of my sight and that’s the kind of trouble you get into?”
“That’s just how Drago and I fight.”
I stare at her until her cheeks flush pink. “You wanna repeat that for me one more time?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s what I thought. Donovan, take us back.”
We drive through the bullet-ridden gates of my mansion a few minutes later. My men converge around the vehicle.
“Take him down to the basement and restrain him properly,” I tell them as we get out. Immediately, two of the boys drag Drago out of the trunk. They’re not exactly gentle with him. I can tell that’s upsetting Renata. I’m slightly annoyed by that. But a part of me also marvels at the woman’s ability to feel for a man who had done nothing but hurt her for the last twenty years.
Brother be damned. Some siblings just aren’t fucking worth the trouble.
That’s how I see it, anyway. But then again, I’m blessed in that department.
“You’re taking him to the basement?” Renata asks as my men drag Drago inside.
He’s kicking and struggling a little, but it doesn’t seem very heartfelt. I have a feeling he just doesn’t want to be seen as meek or passive. He wants to be seen as a fighter.
The ship might have already sailed on that one, though. Everyone under the sun knows Drago Lombardi is a goddamn coward.
I head inside, aware that Renata is tailing my every move. I wait until we’re at the door to the basement before stopping abruptly. She slams into my back and I turn around with a smirk on my face. “Where do you think you’re going?” I ask pleasantly.
“I’m going down there.”
“No, I don’t think you are.”
“He’s my brother,” she snaps.
“I understand the relationship,” I tell her patronizingly. “What I don’t understand is the loyalty.”
She tries to push past me, but I block her easily. I’m in her space. Or maybe she’s in mine. Whichever the case, the air between us feels rife with the kind of heat that could ignite fires.
I’m pretty sure she’s aware of it, too—if her dilated pupils and hard nipples are any indication. Maybe this is our sick and twisted version of foreplay.
I try and lob away the distracting thought. For a second there, I almost succeed.
“Just let me come down with you,” she says, determination coloring her tone.
I give a long-suffering sigh. “Ask nicely.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You do like your control, don’t you?”
I wait patiently, saying nothing.
She hisses under her breath. “Fine. Master Kian, sir… please can I come down with you?”
I frown. “Not sure I heard you right. Did you say ‘come down with you’ or ‘go down on you’?”
Her eyes go wide and she tries to cover up her blush with a lot of pretend anger. “You fucking asshole—”
Laughing, I gesture for her to follow me downstairs.
By the time we arrive in the cell, my men have Drago secured to a chair. His hands and legs are restrained and he’s still wearing his gag.
I glance at Renata as the laughter dies on my lips. This is time for serious business.
“This is my interrogation,” I warn her. “And that means I do the talking. You want to be here? That’s your call. But I don’t want you interfering.”
She doesn’t really acknowledge my statement either way. Deciding that’s as close to agreement as I’m going to get from her, I leave her at the threshold and walk into the cell.
“So,” I say to the Italian, “which slime-covered rock have you been hiding under all this time?”
“Fuck you.”
I sigh. Then I punch him hard, causing his jaw to go slack from the impact.
“Hey!” comes a familiar protest from behind me.
I ignore Renata and continue. “Let’s try again,” I say calmly. “Answer me or the pain’s going to get worse. Your choice, really. I’d appreciate it if you helped me out here, though. I’ve got a busy day.”
Drago lifts his eyes to mine. His nose is bloodied, his lip is split, and there’s a bruise starting from the base of his chin up to his cheekbone.
“I have more allies than you think,” he snarls. “But the night you dropped in… well, I was only able to escape because of my dear sister.”
I keep my expression neutral, but I glance at her. She looks like she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. But I can’t help feeling a sickening sense of cold ripple through my stomach. Had she helped Drago escape that night? Has she known where he was all this time?
Has she been the one in control from the beginning?
“She called the cops,” Drago continues to boast. I can tell he’s desperate to show the reach of his power. “But she called the ones I taught her to call. The ones who recognize their true don.”
The pieces are beginning to fit tougher. “Ah,” I muse. “So the two cops at the door were just a distraction.”
“It was so easy to get you looking the wrong way, you stupid fucking Irishman,” Drago goes on. “Two clowns at the front door to keep you occupied. So it was simple business for a few more to come in the back and get me out while you two were pretending to play house.”
I grit my teeth. He’s right—such a basic fucking plan and it did exactly what he wanted it to do.
Though I am surprised by the allies he’s got hidden in the woodworks. I wouldn’t have thought there were many left in the force who still gave a damn about the Lombardi claims to mafia royalty.
“Fair enough. Tip o’ the old cap to ya, mate. So what’s the plan now?” I ask.
He flashes his teeth in a snarl. “I’m done talking.”
>
“Guess that makes it easy for me then,” I say with a shrug.
Then I start talking with my fists.
CRUNCH.
CRUNCH.
CRUNCH.
Skin splits, blood spills, bone breaks underneath a hailstorm of punches. Lombardi grunts in agony for the first few, but the ones that come after that are met with silence.
That is, until I feel a determined weight attach itself to my right arm. I shake it off hard. Renata goes flying back against the wall.
“Stop!” she begs, straightening up immediately and launching herself at me once again.
I whirl on her. “I thought I made it clear you that were not to interfere.”
“He’s my brother,” she cries—as though that means a fucking thing. As though that changes the evil stuff this bastard is made out of.
I shove her back against the wall, and for the third time, she comes flying back at me. She’s not just going to stand back and watch this play out. So I drop my fists and grab her instead.
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” she screeches.
Ignoring her, I throw her over my shoulder and leave Drago behind in the cell with my men.
“Kian! Let me down!”
“The thing is, darling… that’s not fucking happening.”
33
Renata
True to his word, he doesn’t put me down. He keeps walking. Up the stairs to the main body of the house and beyond, until we’re back in the room I vacated mere hours ago.
The instant my feet hit the ground, I shove him away from me, but his body may as well be concrete and steel for all the impact it makes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Me?” he growls. “I thought I told you to be quiet down there. Did I fucking stutter?”
“I will not be ordered around!” I yell back right in his face. “I am not your goddamn pet. I will not heel just because you bark a command at me.”
“But you’re willing to keel when your brother shows up?”