Epilogue
RHYS
Four Months Earlier
It’s late, and this place smells like rotting fish.
I swore I’d never return, but here I am. The warehouse by the docks is just as I remember it: cold, damp, and stained with the permanent smell of rotting fish.
Pressing the tip of my blade to my fingertip, I twist it as I eye the asshole in front of me. My men tied him to a chair, and they must have injected him with enough drugs to nearly kill him because it’s been an hour since I’ve received the call.
I take my time rolling up my sleeves, then check the time on my slate black, diamond- encrusted watch.
Fuck.
My patience is near non-existent at this point. After slowly walking toward him, I lean down until my face is in line with his.
“Rise and shine, you eegit,” I tease.
He groans with his chin pressed to his chest.
“Hey, fucker.” I bark louder this time and slap my hand to his cheek.
Blood pours from his open mouth, a long thick drip of crimson, syrupy liquid staining his bare chest. He groans, lazily rolling his head side to side. “Wh…?” he croaks.
“Time to wake up.” I fist his hair, yanking his head up.
His face is beat to shit. His left eye is split, while the other is swollen black and blue. A stream of blood pours from his nose, covering his already bloody mouth. He smells like utter ass and rotting fish.
He attempts to pry his eyes open, looking at me through tiny narrow slits. “W-Who…” He pants heavily. “Who are you?”
I sneer, delighted to know he’s finally talking. Now we can get this shit over with.
“I’m your worst nightmare,” I drawl, tilting my head.
As if it’s suddenly dawning on him, his head snaps in all directions. He’s looking around and thrashing against his chair. When he realizes he can’t break free, he turns his attention back to me.
“You’re Rhys O’Connell.”
“Ding, ding, ding.” I give him a devilish grin and stand. I wave my hand in the air. “Lachlan, give this asshole a prize.”
His eyes move over my shoulder, to my right-hand man and second in command.
“Don’t fucking look at him,” I warn the asshole in the chair. “You’re dealing with me.”
His face pales. Well, the parts that aren’t bruised and bloodied, anyway.
“I’d ask you if you know why you’re here, in this unfortunate predicament, but I think you already have an idea.” I lower my face to his level again. This time I nod toward Lachlan.
Lachlan follows my silent order and closes the distance to the man in the chair. The other men I have waiting in the shadows surround the man in the chair. One cuts the man’s left arm free from its tie, the others quickly grab it, holding it out in front of him, between us.
My eyes drop to the snake tattooed up his arm. I glance up from it to stare him in the eye.
“Who do you work for?”
He refuses to answer me, simply keeping his mouth pressed tightly together. His nostrils flare as he pumps out heavy breaths through his nose. His pulse is racing and the delicious look of fear fills his eyes.
Good.
“I’m only going to ask you one more time before Lachlan acts on my orders.”
Lachlan frees his blade from his back pocket, snatching up the man’s index finger. He bends it backward, causing the man to cry out in pain. Lachlan presses the tip of his blade to his fingernail.
“Now, here’s your last chance,” I drawl. “Who do you work for?”
“Fucking Irish,” the man grits between clenched teeth. “Entitled fucking pricks.”
I click my tongue in disapproval. “Wrong answer, Elia.”
His eyes widen when he realizes I already know who he is. Elia tries to jerk his arm away from my men, but he’s unsuccessful. Lachlan drives the tip of his blade under Elia’s nail. He cries out, screaming as Lachlan drives it farther. When he’s removed his nail completely, I try again.
“Okay, let’s cut the bullshit.” I tilt my head, clasping my hands behind my back.
“I know you and your brother were sent to kill my cousin and her husband. And while I fully intend on exacting my revenge for that mission, your brother took someone from me.” I grab Elia’s jaw, forcing his head back, pinching his cheeks as hard as I can.
“Either you tell me who it is you work for, or you’ll have no fingernails left by the time I kill you. ”
“Fuck.” Elia vibrates with panic.
Lachlan inches closer, bringing his blade to his middle finger. He digs it under his nail, slowly driving it deeper.
“Okay, okay, okay!” he shouts. “I’ll tell you.”
I snort, scoffing at his weakness. This wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.
Lachlan backs off slightly, but my men keep their hold on his arm.
“You work for the Italians. But who?” I ask.
“Francesco Ferrari,” he blurts out.
I eye him skeptically, waiting to see if he’s telling the truth. From what I can tell, he is. Losing your fingernails will do that.
Francesco Ferrari is head of the Italian mafia based in Rome. As far as I know, he’s never operated in the states, apart from having a few associates here in New York City.
“Francesco said someone called in a favor, so he sent us—me and my brother Enzo,” Elia continues. “If my brother killed someone important to you, he wasn’t part of the mission.”
“No, he wasn’t.” My skin grows cold, thinking of Tobias. “But foolish choices call for extreme payment.”
“Enzo’s death wasn’t enough?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “Does Francesco have any brothers or sisters?”
His lips part as he thinks for a moment. “I’m not sure, he might have a sister, but if he does, he’s only mentioned her maybe once. He doesn’t talk about his personal life often.”
“Huh.” I twist my tongue against my cheek, intrigued by this new bit of information.
“What are you going to do?” he asks fearfully. He trades glances between Lachlan and me.
“Oh.” I smile, pulling him back to me. “I’m going to take what Francesco took from me.”
“What did he take?”
“My brother,” I answer. “Tobias.”
Elia holds his breath, his entire body stiffening with cold realization.
“Okay,” he breathes out, tugging on his still-tied right hand. “I answered your question. I told you who I work for. Now, can you let me go?”
I laugh, sardonically. “Did you miss the part where I said you tried to kill my cousin and her husband?”
If Elia’s swollen eyes could spread any wider, they would.
“I don’t fuck with family,” I tell him, straightening my back. “But you can rest easy, Elia, knowing I’m finishing what you and your brother started. And while you’re at it, tell Enzo I said hi.”
I lift my blade to Elia’s throat and drag it across his flesh. A river of blood spills onto his chest, and the life drains from what little I can see of his eyes.
Once I’m certain he’s dead, I step back and snap a picture before heading to my waiting car outside the warehouse.
“After you’re done cleaning up,” I tell Lachlan, “meet me at the jet terminal in Boston. We’re going to do a little research into Francesco Ferrari.”
“Who are we searching for, sir?”
I stop mid-stride, grabbing a towel from a nearby table to clean my blade. “Like I told him.” I nod toward Elia’s dead body. “I’m going to steal what Francesco took from me. Apparently, that means we’re now looking for a sister.”