10. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Alessandrio
W hen someone sees the end coming, their eyes widen and pupils dilate as their field of vision becomes larger. A natural attempt to assess danger. Olivia Dolmino’s eyes did neither. They narrowed in defiance and disbelief. She wanted to deny my existence, and it felt fucking good. Everything worked out better than I could have hoped. Her unwillingness to believe in the reality before her filled me with triumph. Anticipation thrummed beneath my fur, a consistent pulse that made my fingertips tingle. And now I have her.
The sound of my phone fills the cabin of the van and I glance in the rear-view mirror at the girl tied up on the mattress. The cloth around her mouth muffled her cries, but I had no desire for a blindfold. I want those eyes on me. I want to see them rounded in fear as she tries to deny me again.
“What’s up Jimmy?” I ask quietly.
“Just calling to let you know, I wiped the cameras, she will just disappear.” Good. “What’s your ETA?”
“Probably arrive just before three am,” I tell him, casting another glance in the rear-view mirror.
“Drive safe,” Jimmy adds before killing the line.
I put my paw down on the accelerator. The desire to get her back to New York makes me anxious. I want her subdued to get this all going. Emilio put his trust in me to see this done properly. I may be wayward but I have never let him down—well, almost never. That thought reminds me of Frankie. The rat in our den. I should have seen it. This will redeem me, though. I am his capo, his blade, his bullet. The executioner to his passing of judgement. Emilio’s left hand. We will have our revenge, and she is the tool with which to seal her brother’s fate. Our enemies might be vast, their hands always reaching for a piece of the pie, but the Greco enemy number one will always be someone with the last name Dolmino.
My hands clench on the steering wheel and I glance at the letters just visible on the short fur of my knuckles. Hell Bound . I have waited a long time for this.
“Fuck.” Anticipation of what’s coming with Olivia has left me rattled and tense.
She is something else entirely. Feeling the fight in her, the power in her movements stirred a need in me, and I don’t like it. I need to see Monique. It’s been too fucking long since I got my dick wet and my response to the she-devil has sickened me. I put it down to being too long since I’ve fucked. I need to fix that before I even so much as speak to Olivia. My claw tip punches into the power button on the dashboard and Korn’s Freak On A Leash fills the van. We make it through one whole verse before the muffled shouting starts. I turn the volume up, letting her be the back up track as I bob my head, excitement replacing all previous apprehensions—I am going to enjoy this.
Banger after banger comes on, and I think she’s exhausted herself. The screaming has stopped and her writhing has sent her rolling off the mattress onto the hard metal floor where she now lies motionless. While stopped at a set of lights, I glance over my shoulder and observe the rise and fall of her chest. Either she’s sleeping or waiting, and I can’t help but hope it’s the latter.
The streets of New York City, even in the early morning, are still teeming with life. Clubs and bars spill patrons onto the streets in a chaotic mess. In the distance, our family hotel is lit up like a Christmas tree, warm and welcoming, except this Christmas tree is missing its glittery star. The top levels are dark, no lights spill from the penthouse suites or the levels below it. My brother did a number on his apartment after he sent Lucia home, but he had nothing on the Alessandrio Zone. Eventually, they will restore it and reopen it to guests who will be curious about the four levels below that they cannot access. Emilio would never return to live there. Walls hold memories, a feeling I know well. A shiver runs up my spine, images of my family home rising from the memory banks, along with the familiar call of rage.
Nope.
I need to keep my head. The private garage doors rise as my number plates are read and I steer down the steep incline, feeling the familiar bump of the metal grate beneath the van. The cavernous garage is empty except for three covered cars, low to the ground, their power palpable even from beneath their covers, and I stare longingly at their silhouettes. Luxury cars aren’t a suitable vehicle for a monster who has a pair of horns protruding from his head. The thought of the points tearing up the inside of my babies makes me see red.
The engine dies with a turn of the key, and with it, the music. For a moment I just sit, listening. She isn’t making a sound, not even a whimper, and that annoys me. With a sigh, I open the door and climb out of the cab. The Golden Emerson Hotel staff know better than to frequent the basement garage. Upper management has made it off limits—that, and using the north wing private service elevator. Lorenzo runs the hotel for us, giving our staff just enough information that they need to know that their bosses don’t like to be disturbed and it’ll remain that way. My paws make a soft clicking noise against the cement as I walk, thanks to their claws, as I round the van toward the doors. I pause, gripping the handle, taking a few deep breaths to calm the pulse of excitement.
This is it.
The back of the van opens with a creak, but other than the grind of the metal hinges, it’s the only sound. She is playing this off well, remaining prone on the floor, her face turned toward the mattress. Her only tell is the bloodless knuckles of her clenched fists behind her back. I smother my laugh behind a cough and climb into the van, scraping my claws along the metal walls as it dips beneath my weight. The effect is immediate. Her back stills and a sob rises like music to my ears. Whatever plan she had fled her beneath the weight of her fear. I lean over her tense form before reaching down to roll her onto her back. I huff out a laugh at her screwed-up eyes, tears leaking from their corners.
“Oh princess.” She cringes at the sound of my voice, but her eyes remain tightly closed. “Where’s your fight? Don’t tell me it’s gone already?”
At my words, her eyes spring open. Cold defiance stares back at me before horror coats her features once more and my lips pull in a grin that seems to make her shrink back.
“Boo.” The sound, although soft, seems to bounce off every metal surface to echo back at us.
Her eyes close again, her head shaking as if to dislodge my image.
“If only it were that easy,” I snarl as the irony of her actions grinds on my nerves.
She whimpers as I grab her ankle and tug her back toward the lip of the van. There is a soft whoosh as I grip her waist and swing her onto my shoulder, her head colliding with my back. I swipe my key card for the elevator and tap my paw impatiently. Gripping the limp girl over my shoulder, I run over the plan in my head. I will keep her with me for two days, enough time to subdue her completely. She needs to know the length of her survival depends on her usefulness. My original plan was flawed and fuelled by my hatred. Emilio will have a better plan for using her, but I will drill home that when the time comes, her fate is mine. I have to be the one to end her. She’s a loose end and, as my brother says, loose ends can come back and bite you in the ass.
When the elevator arrives, I step inside and punch my floor with my thumb. The tension in my body is tantalizing. We have waited a long time for this, my brother and I. The Strega’s curse has almost ended us both, testing us and pushing us to our breaking points. Our revenge has been a long time in the making and now, with our enemies’ sister over my shoulder, I feel one step closer.
The elevator jolts to a stop. “Home sweet home honey,” I growl, stepping into the hall.
I fucking missed this place, but immediately realize that something isn’t right. Someone has been meddling, the hallway has been swept. When I emerge into the kitchen, an angry curse erupts. Once a scene of broken marble, is now a chef’s wet dream with all its state-of-the-art appliances and fresh white marble. For a moment I pause, just taking in the sight of it.
“Fucking hell.” I try to ignore the way its order makes me feel as I carry Olivia across the room.
Someone took the time to mend and repaint the walls. I’m relieved to see whoever is responsible didn’t get as far as cleaning up the hall. Debris still litters the floor. Our paws are better protected than human feet, and I barely feel the shards of broken plaster, glass and wood. Reaching the end of the hall, I nudge the last door and it creaks obnoxiously on broken hinges. The limp girl on my shoulder makes no sound as we enter my play room.
Emilio once called it a torture dungeon, an apt description. The floor to ceiling wall of glass shows an image of a city that never sleeps. I press the button beside the light switch and there is a mechanical whirring as the heavy curtains draw across the view, throwing the room into utter darkness. Striding across the room with my bounty still on my shoulder, I switch the light on in what used to be an ensuite that now holds a lot of broken porcelain and the last standing vanity with its surface covered in tools of the trade. The light from the bathroom spills across the floor into the almost empty room, only a lone metal chair in its centre.
Olivia squirms on my shoulder, but I hold her firm and drag the chair into the shard of light from the ensuite before dropping her onto it. Her hair is a thick gold curtain covering her features. She’s a stubborn little thing. I work quietly, securing her ankles to the legs of the chairs. A muffled cry comes when I pull her shoulders back to tie a rope around them, keeping her upper body locked in place. I ignore the sound of her distress, circling her to admire my handiwork before I give into an urge that is riding me.
I kneel beside her, my back to the light, to get a better look. The hair covering her face dances with each of her breaths and I watch it for a moment, mesmerized. Before leaning in finally, to use a claw to sweep the curtain of hair from her face, revealing wide eyes. With the light behind me, she isn’t able to see the details of my face, but I know my outline is enough when a muffled cry comes from behind the cloth in her mouth. Her eyes screw up tight again in denial and it stokes my anger.
“I’m the fucking abomination?” My voice is low but the rage in it is palpable, making her whimper and I have to stand and back away from her, lest I fuck this up already.
Triumphant rage sweeps in at the sight of her. My salvation and my vengeance. My captive. Jamming my hand in my pocket, I whip out my phone and take a photo. Olivia Stepanova-Dolmino, completely at my mercy. Soon. Soon we will begin. Before, however, I have needs and they have to be met before I play with the devil’s spawn. I pull up my messages.
Me: You want to make some cash?
Bitterness swells in me as I hit send. There was a time when I didn’t have to pay. It used to be freely given, but now? Now it costs me a pretty penny. Despite the late hour, I know Monique will be awake. She works at our club Ice.
Monique: I’ll have to check with my boss. ;)
Me: He says it’s okay.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I’m careful not to catch my skin with my claws; a reminder to cut them before she gets here. I walk past Olivia, refusing to look at her. Her presence is the match to the kerosene of rage in my veins, and I need a physical outlet before we engage.