I was going to die without saying goodbye.
I hung my head and accepted my fate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dom
I’d dealt with darkness my entire life.
Not once had I ever felt as guilty as I took lives from this earth and sent them to the fires of Hell.
This time, I did.
Because I cared for the person.
The biggest mistake you can make when working with the mafia, is to develop a conscience that forces you to hesitate when you should act.
I was hesitating.
Her breathing was labored.
She was petrified.
Still brave.
I brought the knife to the soft pale skin below her chin and held it there, waiting to see if she would beg for her life.
She didn’t.
Not a word.
Not even a tear.
Just acceptance.
It broke my damn heart into a million jigsaw pieces, the way she tried to leave this world, with her head held high, even though I could see her erratic pulse, taste her fear.
“This will hurt,” I finally said, trying as best I could to disguise my voice.
“I didn’t think death would be pleasant,” she said right back, though her voice shook.
“I’m not going to kill you.” Though she could easily die, as I had no idea what level of pain she could handle. I was going to kill Phoenix for making me think that this was an option.
My only option.
Prove her loyalty.
At the expense of my soul.
I pulled the knife away and slowly pricked the side of her neck and then pulled her into my arms. “Don’t move.”
She froze against me.
I wanted to take her mouth.
Her body.
Consume her.
Set her free.
I was too selfish for that.
Which meant only pain.
And hopefully when this was all over with — complete forgiveness.
I grabbed the rope and tied it around her body then kicked her to the ground. She winced as she hit. I ignored the way it made my chest hurt like someone was trying to rip my heart out.
I looked away and heaved her body upside down, tying the rope so that she was hanging from chains in the middle of the room.
And slowly.
Blood began to drop.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Every few seconds another drop would come, and she would get more and more delirious. And I would ask.
She would answer.
And she would either live through it and prove she belonged with us.
Or die protecting our only enemies.
I pulled the chair back and sat.
And after five minutes of pure hell.
I prayed for my soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Tanit
He watched me bleed.
I imagined he took great pleasure in watching the blood drip from the spot on my neck down to the floor.
I counted them.
Ten drops so far.
Not a huge amount of blood loss, but already I was seeing double. My mouth was gagged again, and I was stuck witnessing my own death.
There was no way out.
My blood was proof of that.
My body ached as I tried to find a comfortable position to hang in.
There wasn’t any.
Nothing, just the sounds of my own panicked breathing and the man covered in darkness, sitting in a chair, immobile.
Just when I thought I couldn’t handle being upside down any longer, he got up, released the chains so I fell flat on my face, then tied me to the metal chair again.
Was it over?
Was that it?
He pressed a hand to my head. Then his knuckles grazed my cheek as he finished tying my hands behind my back and walked off.
Dom
I was a weak piece of shit.
I pulled off my beanie and leaned back against the metal door, then quickly locked it shut and turned toward the stairs.
Thirty-two steps.
That led to two sound proof rooms we kept just in case.
They were state of the art.
With cameras and enough concrete to bury a city.
I took the stairs two at a time, and my stride faltered for a moment when I heard male laughter. The higher up I got, the louder it got.
When I reached the kitchen, all the guys were sitting around the table pouring shots of whiskey into glasses.
Chase had his own bottle that he was sharing with Dante, who looked ready to fall out of his chair.
“Seriously?” I mumbled.
Nixon smirked at me. “Sit down, have a drink.”
“She’s downstairs suffering and you want me to drink,” I said as disgust washed over me.
Chase stood, pulled out a chair, and pointed at it. “Trust me, this is better than torturing yourself.”
He would know, wouldn’t he?
I glared, but he just winked.
And I suddenly remembered why I liked him.
He was dangerous and manipulative, not the same man he used to be. In some ways better, in others, worse.
I wondered what that meant for me, for my own soul.
Dante grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Chase and took a swig. “So, Dom, how’s the dungeon?”
He swayed a bit.
I eyed him. “How drunk are you?”
“He said he wanted to go streaking in the quad,” Chase said cheerfully. “He’s hammered. Then again… he just found out that his wife is having twins!”
Everyone cheered while Dante took the bottle.
“Really?” I grabbed the nearest shot glass and chugged it. “Twins?”
“Two.” Dante held up three fingers. “Wait, is that right?”
“Absolutely.” Chase nodded. “Nailed it.”
Dante put down his three fingers and shrugged. “Holy shit, I’m going to be a dad.”
He reached for more alcohol.
“Being a dad’s the best.” Tex stumbled to his feet. “You know, when your wife isn’t screaming at you during labor and throwing knives.”
“Throwing knives?” For the first time in my life, Dante actually looked petrified, “She threw knives at you?”
Tex shrugged. “She threw multiple knives, and then stabbed me with one of them in the thigh, then drove that sucker in to the hilt. I never cry. I shed at least two tears. One because I was in pain and she had all the morphine, and two because within minutes I was a dad… And the pain was gone.”
He wiped his cheeks.
“Are you crying?” Were they all drunk?
“NO!” Tex yelled, “I just — got dirt — shit, kids are the best.”
“The. Best.” Nixon eyed me. “Unless they’re old enough to be your brother, then they’re aggressive little shits like this one.” He was pointing at me.
“Put your finger down. You’re ten years older, hardly a dad, Dad.”
He cringed.
“Dad, dad, dad, daddy-o,” I sing-songed while Dante burst out laughing and then fell out of his chair.
Phoenix and Sergio walked in when he hit the floor.
They didn’t ask questions, just eyed the whiskey and started downing it like water. Their hands were still covered in blood.
Nobody asked.
Just like nobody cringed when that same blood got on the table.
It was better we didn’t know.
“So.” Phoenix eyed my clothing. “You chose her.”
“I did.” I cringed at the hoarse sound of my own voice.
“De Lange,” Chase said it slowly, with hatred dripping from every pore of his body. “Better pray she’s not one of the weak ones.”
“She’s not,” I fired back.
He lifted the bottle to his lips and whispered, “We’ll see, won’t we?”
God, sometimes I wanted to strangle him.
And remind me why I still tolerated him.
Mo waltzed into the room, shook her head, and then frowned as Dante struggled to get back to his seat. “How drunk are you?” She helped him up.
Dante made a motion with his fingers, he showed her an inch and nodded, “’Bout that drunk. So you stabbed Tex?”
She looked around the table. “Which time?”
We all fell into fits of laughter.
Until Frank arrived with a bottle of wine, sat at the head of the table, and cleared his throat. “Who are we allowing into the fold? Tell me everything.”
Everyone sobered.
All business.
I started talking.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Tanit
It could have been hours.
Or it could have been minutes.
Time just blended together in one seamless void of pain. The longer I stayed glued to that chair the more hope I lost that anyone was coming to rescue me.
I was in the hands of my enemies.
And I no longer had any friends.
My mind drifted to Dom.
I told myself it was only natural to think of him in this situation, to wish that he had a white horse to ride in on — just like the one he’d put by my bedside. Then again, that was the cruel joke of the mafia.
There was no white horse.
No white knight.
Because in the mafia, those very terms weren’t ones of rescue — but of blood, betrayal.
I gulped as another lump formed in my throat.
At least I wasn’t getting tortured anymore, though I knew I was still bleeding, the cut had grown from me being hung upside down, and the monster who had taken pleasure in hurting me, hadn’t bothered to cover it up.
I closed my eyes.
Dom.
“Dom.” I whispered his name out loud this time. I’d had one perfect night with him. That was enough. I told myself it had to be. People go through their entire lives searching for something that I felt when he was with me, when he touched me, kissed me.
I replayed images of his hands on my body.
Convinced that if I was going to die, I was going to die with a smile on my face, with happy memories. If he was going to leave me, I was at least going to take that part with me, strip it from this world, and carry it in my soul.
It was my right.
His lips pressed against my neck, the feel of his teeth as he nipped down my collarbone, the way he blew against my skin and caused a flurry of butterflies to soar through my stomach.
Or the dominating way he lived and owned my body — marked it as his.
I smiled then.
Even as blood trickled down my neck and arm.
Even as the pain became uncomfortably unbearable.
And as the door clicked open, I sat ramrod straight in my chair and smiled at my kidnapper.
“You’re smiling.” His voice was gruff, hesitant, which seemed strange.
“I have a lot to smile about.” I kept smiling.
He would not break me.
The only way to break was for me to allow it, to allow him in, and someone else already owned that part of me — even if he didn’t want it.
They were his anyway.
My heart.
My soul.
My body.
I stared straight ahead.
All I saw was blackness.
But I felt light inside, like I’d finally decided how I would die, and owned up to the possibility it would be horrendous, but I’d had that night.
I’d had him that one night.
What had my mom ever had from my dad?
Nothing.
I’d had everything.
The man cursed as the door opened again.
More footsteps.
A lot of them by the sound of it.
“I’m going to ask you some questions… and every time you lie…” It sounded like his voice cracked. “…I’m going to whip you.”
“Sounds fair,” I answered, my body already cringing with what I knew would be such intense pain that I’d wish for a swift, easy death.
“Then let’s get started.” He cleared his throat and stood in front of me, the blood loss made it impossible to focus on his face, and it didn’t help that he was wearing a scarf over his mouth and the light was too dim to see above that, he was too tall, and I couldn’t crane my neck back far enough.
“Okay.” I found my voice.
“Tell me everything you know about Dominic Campisi.”
I gulped.
Tears welled in my eyes as I whispered. “I have no idea who that is.”
I had no preparation.
As the first whip struck true against my right leg.
“If you tell me what you know, I’ll release you.”
“Sir…” I licked my lips. Memories of his tongue licking my bottom lip then sucking like he couldn’t get enough of my taste, the way he braced my hands over my head exposing my neck, and the look in his eyes when I let him. “I have never heard that name in my entire life.”
The second whip came.
And I knew.
I really would die.
But I was going to choose how I went out.
And it wouldn’t be with hatred.
But love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dom
I couldn’t do it.
I had the whip in my hand, even.
I took a step forward and was stopped by Tex. He sighed and grabbed the whip. I watched in agony as he faced her.
The woman I wanted.
The woman who accepted me.
The woman I was hurting.
Allowing to be hurt.
Nixon stood next to me and whispered, “He’s taking your place.”
“He shouldn’t be,” I snapped under my breath, relieved I wasn’t the one having to tell her that I held that whip, I held her pain.
“Doesn’t matter what he should or shouldn’t do,” Nixon whispered. “He’s the Capo. The Capo holds all the sins and failures on his shoulders, the successes. Anything happens to Tex, and you need to be ready to stand where he is, no matter who sits in that chair, you need to be strong enough to hold that whip.”
I hung my head.
“Not all of us are born that way,” Nixon said. “I wouldn’t wish that responsibility on my worst enemy — and the last guy I called enemy ended up with his head on a stake.”
I smirked.
He didn’t.
Well, shit.
I looked away when he asked who I was.
My knees nearly buckled when she refused to acknowledge my existence. Stupid. Wonderful. Beautiful. Girl.
Another whip.
I clenched my teeth and then my hands into tiny fists.
He raised the whip again after another question.
I moved toward him and grabbed it out of his hands. Nixon was right. This would be my legacy, my job. If I couldn’t even do it now, I would never be able to do it later. Because unlike Nixon…
I was born this way.
With hatred in my blood.
And killing in my soul.
“If I told you…” I did a slow circle around her chair and then stood behind her. “…that I’d wrap this whip around your neck and choke the life out of you… if you lied… would you still lie?”
She didn’t even flinch.
“Well?” I leaned down so close to her neck I could almost taste it.
With a disappointed sigh, I stood and asked the question. “Dominic Campisi, what is his greatest weakness?”
“I don’t know that man,” she answered sternly.
So I wrapped.
I wrapped the whip around and around, my hands shaking with horror as I finally pulled tight enough for her to let out a gasp. “Tell me one more time, what is his greatest weakness?”
Her fingers grasped at the whip, fighting for air as she choked out. “I don’t know that
name.”
Still holding tight, I leaned down and whispered in her ear. “The correct answer… is you.”
I let go of the whip.
She gasped for air.
Nixon nodded to me and walked out the door, followed by Phoenix, Chase, Sergio, Dante, and Frank.
Tex was last.
He stared me down in the darkness, his eyes saying it all.
Mine begging him to let me keep her.
Slowly he walked over to me and pulled out his gun, then pointed it at her head. I closed my eyes. “Don’t.”
He moved the gun to my chest and pulled the trigger. “Blood must always be spilled.”
I crumpled forward pressing a hand to my right shoulder as the stinging sensation of the bullet spread down to my fingers.
“Shit!” I rubbed the spot. “A little warning next time.”
He shrugged, “Makes it hurt worse.”
With a smile, he put his gun away and looked at Tanit, who was staring straight ahead like she was afraid to move. “Welcome to the family, little one, hope you were worth it.”
I got up and sluggishly moved to her chair and started the agonizingly slow process of untying her. Once the ropes were loose, I fell to the ground again, my vision blurring from blood loss.
She stood over me and gasped.
And then kicked me in the ribs.
I let her.
I closed my eyes and felt the pain, her pain, her fears.
She kicked and screamed so many times I lost count.
And eventually, I just blacked out with a smile on my lips and a sense of peace in my heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Tanit
I’d never been so scared and pissed at the same time.
I didn’t even realize I was kicking him until someone came from behind and dragged me away, I couldn’t make out his face until he spun me around. “Phoenix,” I breathed, the scary one, the one who would kill me for touching their own.
He sighed and then pressed a hand to my mouth like I was going to scream or something. “Are you okay?”
I frowned. Why was he asking if I was okay? I’d just kicked the crap out of Dom, and he’d been shot. It wasn’t about me, was it?
I gave him a confused look.
With a sigh, he pulled his hand away and repeated. “Are you able to breathe, walk, talk? Are you… okay?”
I nodded quickly.
“Good.” He released me and stared down at Dom, a still bleeding Dom. “He’s going to feel like hell tomorrow, might need someone to nurse him back to health.” Was it my imagination or did his lips quirk into a small smile.
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