Sloan had gifted me a ring of perfect bloody teeth marks on my index finger and I painted two bloody lines across my cheeks like I was a warrior headed into battle.
“This is the start of something great,” I called over the music. “Can’t you feel it, fratelli?”
“I can feel my arm still pissing blood all over the couch,” Enzo growled, pouting like a little bitch.
I sighed dramatically, lowering the volume of the music and Frankie took pity on me, belting out the chorus before I could switch it off entirely. I joined in with a wide grin and by the last line Enzo was singing too. We might have been a bunch of crazy motherfuckers, but we just so happened to be the best people I knew.
When the song ended, I killed the music and moved across the wide open space, dropping down to one knee before the cupboards which had been built into the wood panelled wall to the side of the room.
I grabbed the first aid kit out and tossed it down on the couch beside Enzo as I approached him.
“Is there still a bullet in there or did it go through?” I asked, grabbing a wooden chair which stood beside the small table in the corner.
“It went through. I’m going to have a fucking scar right through my ink though,” he grumbled, pulling away the ruined shirt he’d been using to stem the flow of blood to give me a look at the damage.
Sure enough, the bullet had punched a hole straight through one of the tattoos on his bicep, the howling wolf that sat there was now missing an ear and half of an eye.
“Now your wolf has a battle scar too,” I joked, flipping open the first aid kit and grabbing the bottle of antiseptic.
“Fucking Calabresis,” Enzo growled, shifting in his seat so that I could cover the wound with the strong smelling liquid.
“Well we’re paying them back for it by taking the little principessa,” I growled darkly.
“Can you imagine Giuseppe’s face right about now?” Frankie asked enthusiastically behind me. “I bet it’s all red and angry like a big fucking beetroot bastardo.”
I snorted a laugh as I caught Enzo’s elbow and turned his arm to look at the exit wound. If he thought the wolf was fucked up with its missing ear, he was gonna shit a brick when he saw the big ass mess the bullet had made of the skull on the back of his arm. The fucking thing was nothing more than a bottom jaw now.
“It looks like someone’s been fighting in a zombie apocalypse back here,” I joked as I smothered the wound in antiseptic.
“Per amore di Cristo!” For the love of Christ! Enzo cursed, twisting his arm to try and get a look at it then hissing in pain as he tugged on the wound. “What have they done to Isabella?”
“Isabella has lost the top half of her head. But her smile is just as beautiful as always,” I teased. Enzo had names for all of his tattoos and sometimes I got the impression they were his best friends in all the world.
“Mother fucker,” Enzo growled. “I’m going to carve Carlo Fabrini a few new holes of his own in retaliation for this one day!”
“Keep your mind on that while I’m sewing you up,” I replied, taking the needle and thread from the kit next.
“Fuck that, I’m going to opt for oblivion if you’re going to be poking me with a needle,” Enzo said, rising to his feet and stalking across the room to the liquor cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of thirty year old scotch and unscrewed the cap before tossing it on the floor.
“We don’t have a maid up here,” Frankie scolded him irritably. “So pick that shit up.”
“Fuck off,” Enzo replied before putting his lips around the mouth of the bottle and drinking from the neck until more than half the contents were gone.
He slammed the bottle down on the table and walked back to me with a slight stagger in his step.
“Give me five minutes before you start poking me, fratello,” he slurred, laying back on the couch and offering me his arm like I was his fucking nurse.
“You want me to kick you in the balls so you have some other pain to focus on while I work?” I asked.
“Vai a farti fottere,” he muttered. Go fuck yourself.
“That’s gratitude for you,” I deadpanned before pushing the needle into his skin.
Enzo proceeded to call me every name under the sun in both English and Italian and I smirked to myself as I kept stitching.
Frankie tossed some big logs onto the fire as it started blazing and the warmth of it began to chase the freezing cold of winter from the room at last. It must have been fucking freezing down in the cellar and the thought of that brought a cruel smile to my lips.
“So are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” Frankie asked, pouring himself a measure of bourbon and taking a seat in the armchair beside us. “Or more accurately, the bride in the cellar?”
I snorted a laugh and Enzo winced as I stuck him a little too hard with the needle.
“I’m sure we can do rather a lot with her,” I said, my gaze staying on Enzo’s wound. “Namely luring her father out somewhere that he’d be vulnerable so that we can finish what we were supposed to do today.”
“You think he loves her enough to put himself at risk for her?” Frankie asked doubtfully.
“What father wouldn’t trade their life for their child’s?” I asked.
“Ours wouldn’t,” Enzo put in, his voice a little slurred.
“Alright,” I conceded, though I wasn’t entirely sure that that was true. Papa may have liked us to fight our own battles and never balked at the idea of putting us in danger, but if we’d been taken hostage I was pretty sure we’d find out just how much he loved us. “What father wouldn’t put himself at risk for his daughter?”
“I dunno,” Frankie said, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. “He might give a shit about her, but trade his life for hers? Nah, I can’t see it. Giuseppe Calabresi doesn’t have it in him to be that self-sacrificing. No one could have done the things he’s done and walk around town with a big ass smile on their face if they had that much of a conscience. My guess is, we hurt his pride more than his heart when we stole his little Sloan.”
I growled my agreement to that point and finished up stitching Enzo’s arm before I added anything further.
“Well, even if he won’t trade himself, I’m sure we can make plenty of demands on things he will agree to.”
Frankie nodded at that, a smile dancing around his lips. “We must be embarrassing the fuck out of him.”
“We should go down to the girl and cut off a finger,” Enzo said with a snigger. “Then post it to him so he knows we’re serious.”
“Fuck, Enzo, we’re not doing that!” Frankie blurted in disgust.
“Yeah,” I agreed, clapping my idiota brother around the ear. “We can’t go around cutting off fingers like a bunch of savages. At least not until we have to-”
“Why the fuck would we have to?” Frankie demanded, his lip curling back.
“To send them a message!” Enzo pressed.
Frankie looked to me for help and I rolled my eyes as I pushed myself to my feet. “We aren’t sending a fucking finger message,” I said flatly, no room for negotiation.
Enzo sighed like I’d just told him he couldn’t have a puppy and Frankie shot him a look which said what the fuck is wrong with you??
I wrapped Enzo’s arm in a soft, white bandage and he patted me on the cheek affectionately just before his eyes fell closed as I finished up. I was pretty sure he’d still be right there on that couch come morning if everything went the way it usually did. Aside from the girl I’d stolen who was hanging out in the basement of course.
“Sometimes, I worry that he was born without that part of the brain that makes you empathise with other people,” Frankie said, taking a long drink from his bourbon as he watched our brother through narrowed eyes.
“Don’t worry about Enzo,” I teased. “He only needs a firm hand to keep him in line.”
“Easy for you to say,” Frankie muttered. “He listens to you. I’m the one he always torments.�
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“And yet you still haven’t seen him cut off any fingers and send them out in the mail, have you? Just forget about the stupid shit he says. Until I see him chopping fingers, I’m not going to worry myself over it. He’s no Guido.”
Frankie cringed as I mentioned our creepy ass, psychotic cousin and I smirked as I walked across the room to claim a drink too. Frankie blew out a breath that said he wasn’t wholly convinced about Enzo, but he wasn’t gonna push it any further either.
“Fine. So what are we going to do with our little house guest?” Frankie asked, his gaze trailing after me as I drained a glass of bourbon.
I took my sweet time drinking. Because I actually didn’t have an answer for that. Stealing Sloan Calabresi from her own wedding had seemed like a brilliant fucking plan when I’d done it. And I had to admit that the idea of Giuseppe and Nicoli racing all over Sinners Bay in a desperate bid to find her had me feeling all kinds of happy. But the reality we were now in was that we had a girl locked in the basement who would need watching constantly, not to mention some level of care to keep her alive.
I sighed, placing my glass down and the look in Frankie’s eye said he knew I’d just let myself get carried away back at the church. I hadn’t wanted to lose face. Didn’t want it to be another failure. So now I had to make good on this plan.
“For now, we have the Calabresis shitting themselves and crying themselves to sleep over their missing principessa,” I said. “So I say we let them squirm for a few days until Papa gets back from his trip. Let him make the call on where to go from there.”
Frankie’s face broke into a smile at that suggestion. He always had been a papa’s boy. He much preferred it when his instructions came from the man in charge and though that kinda riled me up sometimes, in this instance I had to agree with him. Because taking Sloan hostage had been the easy part. Figuring out what was best to do with her now was a little trickier.
I glanced down at my blood stained clothes and decided on a shower as my next port of call.
“Can you fix us something to eat?” I asked Frankie as I headed for the door. Being the getaway driver had plenty of perks, including the fact that he was the only one of us who wasn’t bleeding all over the hardwood floors.
“Sure. I’ll put together some sandwiches,” he offered, following me out of the room before heading to the kitchen. Sandwiches were about the best any of us could do food wise and the closest town was too damn far away to order take out. I’d probably go pick up a bunch of food we could reheat tomorrow though or we’d be in for days of sandwiches and junk food.
I took the curving staircase in the hallway up to the second floor, walking along the wood panelled balcony to the master bedroom at the far end of the walkway. I crossed through it to the huge en-suite, stripped out of my ruined pants and stepped straight into the hot flood of water in the shower.
Dirt and blood swirled down the drain as I tipped my head back and enjoyed the peace of the shower.
A slow smile spread across my face as I stood there.
Sloan Calabresi had brought shame on my name when I’d failed to kill her all those years ago. But now, finally and somewhat unexpectedly, I was going to wipe that memory from everyone’s minds.
I was making it right, evening the score. And this time, I’d be doing whatever it took to keep my reputation spotless.
I opened every damn wine bottle in the cellar, pouring them all over the floor instead of smashing them. I wasn’t going to draw the Romeros to me until my plan was ready. First, I had to make this place inhospitable so they couldn’t leave me down here even if they wanted to. It was a gamble, but my life was worth the risk even if the consequences of this terrified me.
What if they punish me?
What if they decide I’m not worth the trouble and put a bullet between my eyes?
I couldn’t let myself dwell on those possibilities. I had to try something, I couldn’t just lie down and accept this, because that option would surely lead to my death.
I’d found a corkscrew on one of the racks and it had taken me nearly an hour to drain every bottle. Then I started on the barrels, opening the valves and letting them pour out like a river of blood, washing over my feet as it spilled everywhere.
When the job was done, I grabbed the two bottles I’d saved and tucked the corkscrew down the front of my dress.
I took a moment to will away the fear burning through me and though it didn’t work completely, it gave me enough strength to keep going.
Just do it, Sloan. Be brave.
With all my might, I threw a bottle at the wall and a huge crash sounded as glass shattered everywhere. Then I screamed for help like I was in pain, flicked the light switch off and ducked under the gap beneath the stairs. There was no banister on the wooden steps so I’d be able to climb up past whichever bastard came to find me. It was reckless, crazy and my heart was pounding out of control as I finally put my plan into action. But I had to try. I couldn’t give up.
The door wrenched open and a rectangular patch of light illuminated the steps. “What the fuck is going on down here?”
It was Enzo’s booming voice and he jogged down the stairs in a wife beater, the muscular, tattoo-covered bicep of his right arm bound with a bandage. “Merda santa!” he cursed as he switched the light on.
With a surge of adrenaline, I hauled myself up onto the steps, wielding the wine bottle and swinging it at the back of his head. A hollow donk sounded as it connected and Enzo crashed forward into the pool of wine face first. The bottle slipped from my fingers but I couldn’t waste the time trying to retrieve it. I fled up the stairs, trailing wine behind me which had soaked into the hem of my dress. My feet were bare, giving me a silent ascent and as I reached the hall, hope shone through me like rays of sunshine.
I ran to the door, unlocking the latches with fumbling fingers then yanking it open and spilling outside.
Glorious fresh air rolled into my lungs. I darted forward with no plan but to run for my life and search for help. I made it to the first step of the porch when strong arms closed around me from behind and my gut lurched in horror.
I screamed to the dying sun which hung low in the sky, praying my voice would reach someone, anyone. The noise echoed back from the mountains and was cut off as Rocco slammed the door, whirling me around and throwing my back against it. “You wanna die out there in the snow, principessa? Because that’s what’ll happen if you go running out into the wilderness. Either that or the wolves will get you.”
I spat in his face and he laughed, rubbing it into his cheek. “Thanks for the free facial.”
“Psycho!” I snarled and he laughed harder.
I struggled to break his hold on me, but it was no use. He dragged me back across the hall toward the cellar then paused at the top of the stairs, tugging me against his hip.
“Fuck!” he roared as he spotted Enzo lying in an inch of wine at the bottom. He was struggling to get up, seeming drunk and disappointment flared inside me that he wasn’t dead.
I scratched and clawed at Rocco’s hand and he caught my chin in a tight grip, making me fall still in fear.
“Enough,” he commanded, his angular face looking sharp and unforgiving as he frowned at me. “You can’t win.” He turned and I spotted Frankie striding towards the cellar, throwing a dark scowl at me which I felt right down to my bones. If there had been any hesitation in him before about keeping me here, it had vanished at the sight of his brother at the bottom of the cellar stairs. He hurried down to help Enzo and I feared what was about to happen to me in penance for this.
Rocco’s eyes slid down to the wine dripping from my dress and he growled low in his throat. “What am I going to do with you, hm?” He didn’t wait for an answer before hauling me toward the staircase and dragging me up them. I stumbled, nearly falling but his grip was too tight to let my knees touch the ground.
He swung me around on the landing, pulling me along and I dug my bare feet in to the floorboards to try an
d stop him, but I kept slipping in the wine which trickled from my dress. My eyes fell on a door up ahead and I glimpsed a bedroom beyond it. Fear like nothing I’d ever known took hold of me and I started screaming again, battling against his hold, but he just kept tugging me along. I used every trick Royce had taught me, but none of it overpowered sheer strength. I was powerless to stop him and terrified of him bringing me into that room.
I’d rather die than that.
At the last second, he turned sharply into a bathroom and kicked the door shut. My relief at not going to the bedroom was short-lived as he shoved me forward, letting go of my hand. The wine made a red stain on the white bath mat beneath me as I curled my toes up in the fluffy material.
He took out a switch blade, flicking it open with a loud snap. Adrenaline bled into my veins. I hooked the corkscrew out of the front of my dress, wielding it at him with a shaking hand even though I knew it was stupid, useless. But it made me feel less out of control.
Rocco smiled darkly then lunged at me, snatching the corkscrew from my grasp before turning me sharply and sliding his knife down the back of my dress. The icy blade kissed my skin and with one sharp cut from top to bottom, he sliced the material open then yanked it down to reveal my white bridal underwear beneath. I gasped as his hand closed around my arm so I couldn’t escape. His breath rolled over my bare shoulder and a shudder rushed along my spine in response.
I tried to cover myself up as he lifted me out of the remains of the dress around my legs. I stumbled back against him then shoved him away, trying to cover my breasts with one arm whilst holding him off with the other.
“Shower. Now.” He pointed with the knife. “And if you get any ideas about using any bathroom products against me, you’ll regret it.”
I nodded, hating that I had to comply, but at least he wasn’t cutting off the remainder of my clothes. And I had to hope that meant he wouldn’t force himself on me either. If he did, Royce had taught me a few tricks that might give me a chance to run. But in this house, it didn’t seem like I’d get anywhere far without a Romero hunting me down.
Beautiful Carnage: A Dark Mafia Bully Romance (The Boys of Sinners Bay Book 1) Page 5