But he doesn’t even turn around. He pulls open the door and stomps up toward the main house, never once looking back. I follow, still wrapped in the sheet.
“You can’t just walk away! You owe me, goddammit!” I shriek, all of the rage I’d kept buried now unleashing with a force that almost knocks the wind out of me.
And only then does he stop. My breath stills as I wait for him to turn to face me, his cold, hard stare icing my insides and shattering my already-shredded heart.
“Take my Bugatti and get the hell out of my house.” His jaw twitches, his gaze murderous. “Then you can consider my fucking debt paid.”
Chapter Eighteen
Aria
A FEW MONTHS LATER
I grip my shot glass tight, mentally flipping through scenarios where I mutilate and maim the asshole standing across from me at the bar. I’ve been watching him all night, and it’s time for him to meet the same fate as his buddy.
The one whose throat I sliced from ear to ear last week after he tried to snatch a petite brunette from this very club.
Headlines reporting the nearby kidnappings of three young girls over the past month drove me here. The articles claimed they came in to the club but never made it home.
Never seen from or heard from again.
No bodies.
No leads.
No security feeds.
Just gone.
Without a trace.
I know the story and it doesn’t end well.
There’s only one way to change the narrative.
Gut the fucking writer.
It’s my book now, with a brand-new ending.
I look around at the dark and seedy club. With its blacklights, dark corners, and private rooms, the place looks like it was erected for sin. And it’s crawling with predators looking to make a quick buck. Based on what I’ve seen since I started making the rounds here a week ago, the beefy security guys tend to look the other way once their palms are greased. A quick hand shake and they close their eyes. It’s a whole sordid ring of sleazy bastards who are all on the take. I’ve watched and waited, and now it’s time for my next attack. Each one gets me closer to my endgame.
The first attack was meant to be a message.
This one is meant to summon the boogeyman.
For months, I’ve worked with Paolo and his sons, keeping the family businesses running smoothly. I’ve done plenty of jobs that should have drained my deep-seated anger and rage by now, but each kill only heightens the fury and fuels my need for revenge.
I have no choice but to keep feeding it.
Pulsating dance music thunders in my ears, red coloring my vision. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a young blonde girl sway against the muscular guy next to her. Her long hair bounces on her shoulders as she giggles, her eyes taking on a vacant glaze. I recognize the look.
She’s been marked.
Drugged.
And if it wasn’t for me showing up here tonight, she’d be thrown in the back of a van with God only knows how many other helpless women waiting torment and torture so fierce, it makes my gut twist.
Because I’ve suffered through it myself.
This vigilante shit may not get me closer to finding Nikola in the short term, but at least it can protect innocent women from meeting the fate that so many others have. And when the dead bodies pile up, kingpins of the sex trade will think twice about how and where they bait their prey.
Patience will help me win this war, I’m sure of it.
I raise the shot glass to my lips and take a sip of the clear liquid as I watch him nuzzle her ear. She fires back a shot and he snakes an arm around her waist, leading her toward the dance floor. I leave my glass and move toward them with my bag swung over my shoulder, losing myself in a crowd of sweaty, writhing bodies. Groping hands slide over my ass as I wind my way through the throng of drunk and high clubgoers as they grind against each other. I peek over the tops of heads, on my tiptoes in my highest heels, trying not to lose them.
The path opens slightly and I catch them together, her pressed against the wall next to the deejay, him devouring her neck and feeling her up like he’s some horny teenager. Her head lolls against the wall, eyes drifting closed. He holds her up, his fingers reaching beneath the hem of her dress and sliding up the sides of her legs.
Bile rises in my throat.
Do not sink back into the past, Aria! Do not let that shit cloud you right now!
I grit my teeth, staring at him as he dry humps the shit out of her in the corner. A strong hand grips my wrist, jolting me from my reconnaissance.
“You like that, huh? Me too. Makes me fucking rock hard. How ’bout I watch with you while you blow me?” He grabs my hand and shoves it against his dick.
I ball my hand into a tight fist, ready to launch it at the scumbag hissing against my ear, but the show just ended, and now my guy is moving his target closer to the back exit. No time to beat the fuck out of this asshole.
I have work to do.
With a flick of my wrist, I pull out of his grasp and flash a sweet smile. “Hard to blow a guy that has nothing between his legs. But let’s make sure of that.” I drive my knee straight into his groin and he doubles over, sputtering and gasping.
It’s my golden move.
I never miss.
And for some reason, they never anticipate it.
I twist in the direction of the exit and see the blonde’s head bobbing from side to side. They’re almost out of here! I don’t have time for this shit.
“You fucking whore!” he yelps.
“I guess you’ll never know for sure, will you?” I seethe, kicking him once in the gut for good measure and pushing my way through the people huddling around the edge of the dance floor. I walk-jog toward them, the blonde now plastered against her scumbag escort. Then I see one of the bouncers nod his head toward a dark hallway, and they quickly divert in that direction.
Away from the exit.
But why?
Last week everything went as planned. The ironically unlucky victim and his ‘date’ left using the exit in the back of the club, just as expected. The parking lot was empty, save for a blacked-out van.
And me, of course.
When my knife was at his throat, the tip hovering over his carotid artery, I found out what I needed to know. He wasn’t part of a crew. He worked on his own, an independent contractor, and collected his fee based on the number of women he brought in at the end of the night. He told me he’d be in and out of each place within half an hour, and because security made a generous cut on each one, they were all too happy to help him escape with his prizes.
After that admission, I decided cutting his carotid was too easy. He’d suffer for a couple of minutes, but then death would whisk him away.
Yeah, I’d wanted to believe he’d burn in hell, but since I had no guarantees, I opted to inflict the pain myself, so I could make sure to witness the agony firsthand.
So I cut off his dick and choked him with it. I brought him to death’s doorstep, but then yanked him away. He still refused to tell me who he worked for, who paid his price.
That’s when I lanced his throat. And I watched him writhe on the ground, clutching his neck, the pathetic life seeping out of his body onto the pavement where he lay.
Last time was an act of vengeance.
This time, it’s an act of war, and I’m damn sure going to find out who I’m fighting.
I try to tiptoe down the hall so that my heels don’t give me away. Thankfully, it’s so dark in here that I blend into the walls with my dark hair and black dress. Even as I move away from the music, the ringing in my ears continues to mute my hearing. I strain to hear any sounds or noises coming from the end of the hall, but with each step closer to an uncertain end, anxiety grips me.
I wipe my hands on the sides of my skirt, running them over the knife blade taped to my upper thigh. A sliver of light peeks out of a closed door hidden in a corner. To my left is another door.
Another exit, hidden away from the patrons.
I move stealthily toward the light, holding my breath as I push open the door as quietly as possible.
Not that I needed to bother.
The guy has the blonde bent over a couch, and his pants around his ankles as he slams himself into her, grunting louder and louder with each thrust. She’s passed out, her hair splayed across the leather cushions, her arms hanging at her sides.
Flashes of light blast before my eyes, and my mouth twists into a grimace as I launch myself at him. I grab a fistful of his hair and drag him off of her, slamming him against a wall. Pounding beats vibrate the floor beneath our feet as I struggle against him. He captures me by the neck and flips me around, slamming my head against the wall so hard, I have to blink a few times to clear my blurred vision.
Fucking asshole.
Like that’s going to stop me.
I scratch at his hands, digging my nails into his flesh, but still he doesn’t let go.
“Get the fuck off of me!” I rasp.
He leers at me with a demonic smile. “Oh no, I’m gonna get the fuck in you, kuja.”
My eyes widen.
Sonofabitch.
He’s Croatian.
“I don’t like it when people interrupt my business,” he growls, tightening his grip on my throat.
“Y-you d-drugged her. And you r-raped her.” I manage to squeeze out those words, my air supply dwindling.
“She wanted it. She begged for my dick,” he says. “And anyway, I’m still gonna collect my money for her. But my boss, he don’t accept dead pussy. So you’re gonna stay right here.” He squeezes harder and then releases me a tiny bit…just enough that I can get enough blood flow to my fingers. His little fucking power play.
He should have thought twice before executing it.
With one hand still clawing at his, I use my free one to grab the knife from my leg and jam it into his gut. I twist it around before pulling it out. He lets me go, stumbling backward into the couch. He clutches his bloody wound, his eyes wide as he stares at me.
I stagger toward him, panting, with the knife poised in my hand. “Who’s your boss?”
The jerkoff actually smiles and flips me off. “Suck my cock, pizda.”
My mouth twists into a grimace and I plunge the knife into his side this time. If I kill him too soon, I risk not getting my answer.
He lunges for me, almost as if he doesn’t feel any pain. I duck out of his way and watch him crash into the wall where he just had me pinned. I latch onto his neck with my hand and smile.
“Looks like the tables are turned.”
He spits at me. “You think you’re gonna get away with this? There is a van full of my guys waiting outside. How far do you think you’re gonna get?”
I shrug. “I got this far, didn’t I? You should give me more credit.” I punch him hard in the gut, pressing against one of the stab wounds. “Now tell me what I want to know and I’ll walk out of here. Your guys can clean up your shit in here.”
He groans, doubled-over. Yeah, he definitely feels the pain now.
I grab his hair and hold up the knife to his ear. “Do you think I can puncture your brain if I stab you in the ear? How much would that hurt? I’ve never done that before. I usually like to go for the throat, but I’m always looking to spice things up.” I lift an eyebrow. “What’s it going to be? Information or a pierced skull?”
“I’m not telling you shit!”
“Then you’re going to suffer a very painful death,” I whisper, yanking his head back.
When his fist crashes against my jaw, I stumble backward with a gasp. He scrambles to his feet much too quickly for my liking and dives for his jacket. I grab him around the waist before he can pull whatever he has hidden in the pocket and pull him backward. He collapses on top of me with a loud “Oof!”
Bad move on my part.
But there isn’t time to lament.
I roll off of him and jab him in the thigh with the knife. He falls to the floor next to me, slithering away toward his jacket again, breathing heavily.
For the last time, actually.
I glance down at the floor and notice a slim business card has dropped out of his jacket. I grab it as he struggles for his gun.
As if he can get it with me hanging over him.
No such thing as third time’s the charm for this douchebag.
I stare at the card. Viviere. There’s an address but nothing else.
I hold it in front of him. “Are you going there? Or were you already there?”
He grunts but doesn’t answer. I grab a fistful of his hair. “Tell me!”
After a long, painful pause, he finally smartens up. “It’s next on my boss’s list.”
“You disgusting shit bag!”
I drive the knife into his spine and then again into the back of his neck until he finally stops moving. A hammering in my chest makes it hard to draw in oxygen.
I stare at his blood-soaked back for a long minute, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath.
Shit. This was bad. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t organized. It wasn’t what I planned at all!
I let the anger consume me instead of forcing him to give me a name. That was always the play. Death second, but a name first and foremost! How could I let myself lose focus like that?
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I know exactly why I lost focus.
It was the toxic words spewed from the mouth of this soldier of death and devastation.
They triggered me. I’d heard them so many times before…directed at me and the others.
It was Nikola’s voice that I heard. It was Nikola’s hands I felt. And it was Nikola’s threat I felt in every cell of my body.
I had no choice.
I grab my bag and pull out a long black jacket and use a cloth to wipe the blood from my heels and from the knife. I pull the jacket over my stained dress and wrap the strap tight around my waist. I slip on a pair of black gloves and stuff the cloth and knife back into my bag.
I stand up and examine myself before tentatively opening the door. I peek down the hallway.
Empty.
But for how long?
I tiptoe over to the exit and take a deep breath as I push it open, greeted by a lot littered with overgrown weeds, trash, and broken beer bottles.
It’s disgusting but a perfect cover.
I wade through the high grasses, heading toward the end of an alley where I parked my car. I only expel the breath I didn’t realize I was holding once I slip into the driver’s seat. I clutch the steering wheel tight, a sob escaping my mouth as the terror mounts deep in my chest. I slam my hands on the wheel and let out a frustrated scream.
When did I become this woman who crumbles in the face of danger?
Goddamn triggers!
I have to control them. I have to be strong, like the stone-cold killer who just slipped away from a murder scene scripted by her own hand.
Because Nikola is definitely here.
And he has to die.
Chapter Nineteen
Vincenzo
“Just take a bite! For once!”
I roll my eyes and push away the plate of decadent desserts Tommy shoves toward me. “No.”
“You know, I cook and I slave for what? Constant rejection? Don’t you know what you’re doing to my self-esteem?” Tommy chuckles as Ant pulls the plate away from me.
“Screw it, don’t beg him to eat it, Tommy. It’s got my name all over it,” Ant grumbles as he spoons a huge serving of Tommy’s famed…or so I hear…zabligione into his mouth. He lets out a resounding moan that makes me snicker.
“Christ, Ant. Are you gonna come?”
“Maybe,” he mutters, licking the spoon clean. “This shit is fantastic, man. I’ll be more than happy to finish the whole goddamn tray myself.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Diego growls, pulling the tray over in his direction. He spoons out some for himself and for
Cristian.
“You’re planning your wedding menu a little early, huh? You just got engaged,” I say to Tommy.
He shrugs. “Gemma’s having fun with the experimentation. And I’m having fun sampling what I make off of her. Makes for pretty fabulous foreplay.”
Everyone laughs and then falls silent while they busily devour Tommy’s culinary masterpieces. The peace and quiet thing doesn’t happen too often when we’re all together, so I relish it and guzzle my bottle of sparkling water as my brothers gorge themselves on sugar and whatever other magical ingredients Tommy uses in his creations.
Tommy lifts an eyebrow at me. “I’ve heard that excess sugar can turn an uptight prick into a reasonably fun-loving guy.”
“And I’ve heard that excess sarcasm can get a guy’s face pounded in, family or not,” I reply.
“Touché, asshole,” Tommy says, pulling out a package of unsalted rice cakes and tossing them to me. “Cardboard for the king’s discriminating palate.”
I snicker. “Nice gesture.”
“Oh, you like that?” Tommy asks, flipping me off. “There’s another one for ya.”
“Enough of the bullshit. I’ve got a plane to catch,” Cristian mutters in between bites. “What’s the plan, Vince? And how far along are we on the specs?”
I shuffle through some papers, trying to ignore the sweets spread out on the table in front of me. Tommy constantly likes to challenge my self-restraint, and the scent alone makes me grab a rice cake and stuff it into my mouth, occupying it so I don’t dive into the box of custom chocolates sitting in front of me.
I’ve been the victim of temptation before and it never ends well.
I grip my pen tight, gritting my teeth as I scan the timeline.
Even after so much time has passed, the anger still boils deep within my gut. I went out on a limb twice, and when it cracked that second time and crashed to the ground, it shattered me.
Made me realize how deep I’d waded into a cesspool of shit that could strip me of everything.
Fallen: A Dark Italian Mafia Romance (Men of Mayhem Book 4) Page 16
