Chapter Eighteen
Dante
The blowtorch snarls in my grip. The flame flares bright, orange, and hungry.
The man’s eyes bulge, and he keeps shaking his head, powerless. The soldier is struggling to break free without success. Likely because he’s naked and strapped to a steel chair in the basement of a deserted warehouse on the docks. He’s gagged and twitching beneath a single, harsh lightbulb.
I give him an evil grin. They call me “Il Malefico”, the Evil One, for a reason. My father made sure I became fluent in pain’s language. Hell, I’m more than fluent; I’m a fucking master at inflicting agony.
“Where’s Scarletta got her?” I murmur, my voice is low, almost kind, lulling him into a false sense of safety.
He spits some weird nonsense.
“I don’t know … please,” he cries through his tears. “He... didn’t tell me about any girl.”
Wrong answer. I press the torch closer to his bare thigh, moving it agonizingly close to his cock and balls. The scent of his piss and singed hair overwhelms the room, and his muffled scream is amplified by the concrete floors and walls.
I don’t give a shit. The screams make it that much sweeter because that’s when I know they’re about to break. This is the point the rambling truth spills out in an attempt to thwart the inevitable.
Handing the torch to Luca, I ignore the man’s pleas, pulling a knife from its sheath strapped to my leg, and running my finger along its edge. Its metal is cold and razor-sharp, so it’s perfect for making fine cuts.
As I draw it across his forearm, I go slow enough to savor every tremor. Hot blood bubbles from each cut as I sever a tendon or two, doing permanent damage. Not that it matters, this guy’s not leaving alive. He just doesn’t know it yet.
He needs to think his information will earn his freedom.
“Speak,” I whisper in a calming tone, like a priest in a confessional. “Or I peel your fucking skin from you. Piece by piece, limb by limb until nothing remains but bone. Then, I will use it to wrap the box I put your goddamn head in when I send it to your boss.”
Fiddling with his knife as he stands behind the chair, Luca winces. Likely because not only does he know I’ll follow through on the threat, but he also knows he’ll have to be the delivery man. Knowing Luca, he’s crossing his fingers that it doesn’t come to that. It’s a messy task.
The man finally breaks, as I knew he eventually would. Giving up more than I want or need, like names, routes, and dates. The information flows from his lips as he keeps going and going, giving up Scarletta’s supply lines, meeting points, and weakest links.
All valuable information, but that’s not why we’re here. I need to know where Evangeline is being held.
Grabbing him by the back of the head, I hold the knife to his throat. “Tell me!” I demand in a harsh growl.
My angel is scared and alone, and she’s at the mercy of the motherfucker I’ve let live too long.
This is all my fault.
Finally, the soldier gives up the details of the fucker’s safe house. Slitting his throat anyway, I leave him half-dead, barely breathing in gurgling gasps.
I’ve been where he is and know exactly what he’s feeling, watching as your life’s blood spills out on the floor. But right now, I have no mercy.
Mercy died at the hand of my father and his blade. Wiping my bloody knife on my black tactical pants, I motion to Luca, not being able to control the sense of urgency and impending doom.
Still reeling from watching the video of Antony carrying an unconscious Evangeline out the back door of Hart Pharmacy, I’m overcome with guilt.
It’s all my fucking fault he got his hands on her.
By the time I checked the video feed on my phone, just as I usually do almost every minute of every day, it was too late to save her.
Two of my men had been watching the pharmacy, but they got distracted. Same as me. I have a gut feeling that both distractions were very much planned and intentional.
There had been a small fire at one of our legitimate clubs across town that had pulled my attention away from my stalking of Evangeline. At the same time, a woman and a child outside of the pharmacy asked my men for help, keeping them from doing their jobs.
It was very fucking deliberate on Scarletta’s part. I stopped just short of putting bullets in the heads of my men who fucked up because I knew I fucked up as well. Still, they will never make that kind of mistake again after they recover from the punishment inflicted on them by Luca.
There’s no room for error in our business. Especially when it comes to my family or my woman.
It’s now been a few hours since they took her, and my blood is boiling with the need to fucking kill and maim those responsible. I can feel myself shaking with the fear something has happened to her simply for a power grab.
Desperate to get to Evangeline and too worked up to concentrate, I let Luca drive, a caravan of cars carrying our soldiers behind us. The entire time I’m praying it’s not too late for her, for me, for us. That she’s not become a casualty in this fucked up war with Scarletta.
She’s the woman I love and the only thing or person in this rotten world that doesn’t make me feel truly evil.
Slamming my hand on the dash, I rasp to Luca, “Hurry the fuck up!”
To his credit, Luca keeps his cool, looking at me with a worried expression. He’s never seen me like this. “We’ll get her. I promise. He’s not going to kill her. She’s too important.”
I press my clenched fist to my mouth with a nod, unable to speak as wetness floods my eyes. For the first time in my wicked life, I pray.
Please God, let me find her alive.