Chapter 37
37
MICHAEL
“Find me Marie Cabello and bring her to the dungeon,” I tell Lorenzo as I walk down the hallway, casting one last glance back at the bedroom where I left Gianna sleeping, her face finally peaceful after everything she’s endured.
Lorenzo’s brows shoot up in surprise. “Marie? Isn’t she Aldo’s wife? Was she a part of this all as well?” A short nod is all I can manage, too pissed to even speak.
I leave Lorenzo to his task and motion for Marco and two of my men to accompany me to what my brothers and I fondly call the dungeon—an abandoned storage warehouse not far from Rafael’s penthouse that he uses to hold and torture traitors and enemies.
It takes almost an hour to get there, and just as Marco pulls up in the parking lot, my phone buzzes with a text.
Lorenzo
Got her. She was at the airport trying to sneak out of the country. On my way.
Primal satisfaction surges through me. I wait in the parking lot for him since the airport is only a short twenty-minute drive away, and distract myself with the live footage of Gianna still sleeping peacefully in our bed. The sight of her calms the savage beast inside me, if only temporarily.
She’s safe at home, surrounded by the most trusted men in my army, with my security system locked down tighter than ever—no one authorized to let anyone in, not even her.
After the meeting that was disrupted by Aldo accusing my wife of being a cheat and traitor in an attempt to buy himself immunity from whatever punishment we might levy on him for his crimes, the commissione decided on a unanimous vote that both matters were separate issues to be judged independently.
Aldo was sentenced to be punished however I deem fit, since the crime was committed against my wife, and Gianna’s alleged ‘crimes’ were left to me and my brothers to judge, since they supposedly happened in our territory. My brothers immediately bowed out after the meeting, leaving me to deal with her judgment alone.
So nothing turned out for Aldo like he had hoped.
And he’s about to learn just how big of a mistake that was.
Lorenzo arrives, his truck pulling up next to my Cullinan, and I take off my cufflinks, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows as I get out at the same time he does.
He moves to his trunk and pops it open, revealing a bound and struggling Marie. She glares at me as Lorenzo drags her out.
“I don’t know what it is about Gianna and Agnes that have powerful men bewitched, but she’ll pay for it!” she screams.
I frown, not getting her twisted logic. I never could understand vindictive witches. “Why do you hate your niece so much?”
“That child is no niece of mine,” she spits with vitriol. “Agnes stole Cesare from me. I was betrothed to him, but that slut went and got pregnant with his child, leading Cesare to break off our engagement to marry her.”
Ahh, it all makes sense now.
She was jealous that Gianna's father married someone else instead of her, and she let that bitterness eat into her so deep, she’d hurt an innocent girl because of what her parents did decades ago.
I thought maybe Aldo had misled her, but no—she knew exactly what she was doing. She’s every bit as evil as her husband and son.
My brothers and I swore never to physically harm women and children, but there are several ways to make her regret her actions and existence on earth without laying a finger on her.
I nod at Lorenzo, and we go into the warehouse, down to the basement twenty feet underground where her husband is waiting—stripped naked and strung up like a piece of meat at a butcher’s shop.
She inhales sharply as soon as she sees him and starts thrashing wildly, but she’s no match for Lorenzo, who makes tying her to the restraint chair look as effortless as subduing a toddler. Once she’s immobilized, I pick up the bucket of cold water and splash it over the unconscious Aldo.
He jolts awake with a violent gasp, body swinging like a pendulum from the horizontal pole his arms are tied up to. His gaze finds mine first and fills with such intense hatred that I can’t help but smile, savoring it. Then his gaze shifts to his wife, and naked fear replaces the hatred. “What is she doing here?”
“Have no fear, Aldo. Unlike you, I don’t hit women,” I say conversationally as I pick up a thin leather crop and stretch it between my hands. “She’s just here to watch your torture.”
The momentary relief in both their eyes is almost comical. Aldo gapes at me, comprehension slowly dawning. “What–what does that mean?”
I circle him slowly, crop in hand, watching him track my movements with growing panic. Then I come to a halt in front of him and, without warning, lash the crop right across his chest. He and his wife let out simultaneous screams as he thrashes like a worm on a hook—but he’s going nowhere. The restraints hold firm.
“Who scrambled the cameras in my house and gave you the virus to override my laptop’s security?” I demand of Aldo, who only groans in anguish.
I whip him again in the exact same spot, and this time his scream echoes off the walls. Again and again, I strike, my rage building with each crack of the leather against his skin, but he stubbornly refuses to give up his partner in crime.
I start alternating hits—chest, neck, face, even his dick—but the bastard still won’t reveal anything.
Whoever this partner is, it makes me wonder who the hell they are and why he’s so damn scared to talk.
“You’re going to kill me anyway,” he groans, his body shuddering as blood seeps from the shredded flesh left by the crop. “I’m not going to give her up when she had no reason to help me but did anyway.”
Her? “So it’s a she? Who is it? Someone I know?”
“Just know there’s someone out there who’s after you and your brothers,” he answers cryptically, then clamps his mouth shut with finality.
Hit with frustration from the dead end, I drop the whip and approach the wall of tools, selecting a chainsaw. “Since you’re so determined to keep your mouth shut, I’ll make sure to draw your death out,” I threaten, raising the chainsaw to eye level.
He flinches as I power the machine on, and a stream of piss suddenly rushes out of his limp dick, puddling on the floor.
I step back in disgust before the liquid can splash my shoes.
Behind me, Marie sobs hysterically. “Please… don’t make me watch anymore. Take me out of here!”
I barely spare her a glance as I wait for Aldo to finish emptying his bladder. When the puddle stops growing, I take a step towards him, position the tool just below his knee, and start sawing through his right leg. Blood sprays the air, splattering my shirt and face as his anguished screams mingle with Marie’s crazed wails and the chainsaw’s mechanical roar.
My ears ring from the hellish symphony as sweat pours down my back from how taxing sawing through his bone is, even with the powerful machine in my grip.
Finally, the flesh cleaves completely, and his severed leg hits the floor with a wet thump. Blood gushes from his mangled stump in rhythmic pulses, quickly pooling around my feet. Aldo’s screams rise to an impossible pitch, only to abruptly cut off as consciousness abandons him.
“That’s for attempting to break my relationship with Gianna,” I tell his unconscious body. Then I wipe the sweat off my face, inadvertently smearing some blood across my skin as I move on to his second leg. “And this is for trying to frame my wife.”
Aldo regains consciousness midway through the second amputation, his mouth stretching open in a soundless scream, head thrown back as he stares at the ceiling with a crazed expression.
With both legs detached from his body, I methodically move to his wrists, then his arms.
I’m sawing through his left elbow when a foul stench suddenly fills the air.
I look up to see his eyes wide open but lifeless, his face frozen in shock, while steamy shit falls to the ground from his ass. He’s dead but still shitting himself. My nose wrinkles in disgust, and I glance back at Marie.
Lorenzo is standing behind her, fingers forcing her eyelids open so she has no choice but to watch what I’ve been doing to her husband. Her gaze flickers to mine, and she whimpers pathetically, her whole body shaking like a leaf against the restraints.
I turn away from her and continue the process of dismembering Aldo, limb by limb. It’s a long, tedious process, but I don’t rush.
Once I’m done, I have his mutilated body released from the pole and toss his pieces into a thick sack, tying it securely.
Only then do I face Lorenzo again. “Take her to an asylum. She’s to be locked in solitary isolation, never to be let out to see the sun until she dies.” My judgment falls on the woman like an executioner’s axe, and she begins struggling with renewed desperation.
“Just kill me!” she screams. “Please, kill me. Kill me! ”
I don’t spare her another glance, just pick up the sack of her husband’s remains and haul it out of the room, her hysterical pleas following me.
One of my men steps forward to take the burden from me, but I wave him off. This is my responsibility to carry, and I bear it with grim determination as we ascend in the elevator, cross the warehouse floor, and return to my car.
During the drive, I hold the sack between my legs, not giving a damn about the blood stains. They’ll wash out.
The sun is just coming up when we pull up in front of my house.
My men avert their gazes as I throw the sack over my shoulder and carry it inside, up the stairs and into the bedroom I share with Gianna.
She’s pacing the room when I enter, and the second she sees me, her face twists with worry.
“Where have you been? I woke up and you weren’t there, and I’ve been—” Her words die in her throat as she takes in my appearance—the blood on my face, my stained clothes, and the dripping sack slung over my shoulder.
I drop it and spill the gruesome contents across the floor before her. Aldo’s severed head rolls to a stop right at her feet. She recoils in horror, her face draining of all color as she spins away, bolting for the bathroom with her hand clamped over her mouth.
I frown and follow her, my heart pounding as I find her on her knees, hurling into the toilet. Shit. That wasn’t the reaction I expected.
Quickly, I gather the dismembered limbs back into the sack and place it outside the bedroom door. Then I join her in the bathroom, kneeling beside her hunched form.
“I didn’t realize you’d react like that,” I admit softly, rubbing circles on her back as she heaves. “I just wanted you to know that I’ll deliver the limbs and pieces of anybody who dares to hurt you—no matter who they are.”
She gags over the toilet bowl for several more seconds before slowly raising her head to look at me. What I see in her eyes isn’t gratitude or even relief—it’s fear. “I think–I think I might be pregnant, Michael,” she whispers, her voice trembling.
For a second, I’m stunned, just staring at her, my brain struggling to process her words. Then a wild, uncontainable joy rushes through me. Holy shit. I didn’t realize this night could get any better, but apparently it could, it could.
She must mistake my silence for anger, because she rushes to explain, “I don’t know how this could have happened,” she sobs, hitting the side of the toilet bowl in frustration. “I took my pills religiously, I–”
“What pills?” I interrupt her sharply, though I know exactly what pills she’s talking about. The placebo I substituted for her real birth control, a decision I’d almost forgotten in the chaos of the recent events.
She actually took them?
She hesitates, biting her lip. “Just… pills. And I know you meant well, Michael, but you can’t just bring people’s bloodied head and body parts into our bedroom—no matter what they’ve done. Promise me you’ll never do that again.”
She’s changing the subject. But I let her, giving her a short nod. “I’m never letting anybody get close enough to hurt you or our baby,” I promise fiercely as my gaze drops to her still-flat belly. I’m going to be a father.