19. Elio
Chapter nineteen
Elio
The dim light from the desk lamp in my study barely illuminates the room. My cold fingers drum against the edge of a whiskey glass I’ve emptied twice already within a couple of minutes.
Aria, my Aria, was just in my arms, moaning in rhythmic melody to the passionate ramming of my cock into her wet tightness. Her naked skin was glowing under the moonlight, her soft, succulent breasts flapping against her torso as I desperately explored her delectable insides.
And then, suddenly, my eyes had caught something; a subtle flicker of movement in the shadows.
I had slowed the pace of my hips, squinting my eyes to decipher who was lurking around in the shadows, and then I spotted the too familiar black suit and shiny pair of shoes. Of course, I didn’t let Aria’s build-up toward her orgasm get interrupted by the realization; in fact, I used my slowing down to intensify her pleasure by making her beg me in anticipation.
But point in case, one of my men was watching us. Watching her. It felt as if he had ripped away part of her purity! A purity that was only mine to rip away! And that is beyond any betrayal I can imagine. The thought alone makes my blood boil.
My chest tightens as my breathing becomes ragged, and I clench my fists. The audacity. He dared to lay his dirty eyes on what is fucking mine, and mine only? He dared to reduce my woman to something they think they can covet?
My fingers grip the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles whiten. I had turned my head away from him immediately, or else I would have walked out right then and there, with my dick wet and hard, just to crush my fist into his disgusting set of teeth and then empty a bullet between his dirty eyes.
I’m struggling with how I can burn the world to keep Aria untouched by the filth of my life, and yet that bastard violated her with his eyes. One thing is dead sure. He’ll pay for it.
I had briefly cuddled Aria to sleep in her bedroom and, since then, have been back in my study, thinking of ways to inflict pain on the bastard.
A knock at the door snaps me from my thoughts.
“Come in,” I bark, my voice reduced to a low and dangerous growl.
Cortez marches in, his eyes dip a little as he walks up to me and slides himself into the seat opposite mine, hands laced together.
“Marcus Winston has contacted Evergreen, our bot suppliers, asking for a collaboration with their company.”
Laughter escapes my lips as my brow lifts in question. “What does he know about being an automated hotelier?”
Cortez takes his phone from his pocket, makes a few taps on the screen and drops it in front of me. “Evergreen is actually considering a collaboration. This could affect our partnership.”
My head is rolling in disagreement even before he’s done talking. “Put me on the phone with whoever’s in charge as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Capo . Also, my men are still working on finding out who Karl’s attacker is. Since he’s probably on many families’ kill lists, it’ll be a bit difficult to pinpoint the exact person that attacked him.”
Indeed, but there are other pressing issues to attend to that are crucial to this mafia. As long as we keep protecting him, no harm will come his way.
“Go do what I asked you to. And bring in that fucker who I’d requested earlier."
Cortez nods, rising to his feet and returning a moment later, dragging the man behind him. The sight of him, pale and trembling, does nothing to soothe the fury coursing through my veins. Cortez shoves him forward, and he collapses to his knees, his eyes wide with terror.
I stand up from my chair slowly, taking deliberate steps towards him. The room feels smaller now, the air thick with my rage.
“Stand,” I order, my voice cold as ice.
The man struggles to his feet, wobbling like a deer caught in a predator’s gaze. My gaze.
“ Mi scuso, Capo (I’m sorry, Boss). I didn’t mean...” he stutters, sweat trailing down his hair to the sides of his face.
“ Silenzio (Silence)!” I roar, my voice cutting through his stammering like a blade.
He flinches, his entire body quivering, barely able to hold up straight.
“Not only have you betrayed my trust,” I say, stepping closer, “but you dared to look at her . Lei! L’unica cosa sacra in questa vita di merda (Her! The only sacred thing in this shitty life).”
The man stumbles over his words, tears pooling in his eyes. “ Io... Io non volevo… (I... I didn’t mean…)”
I don’t let him finish. My hand lashes out, connecting with his face. The sound of the punch echoes in the room.
“ Non volevi farlo (You didn’t mean to)?” I mock, my voice rising. “Then why were you there? Hai un desiderio di morte, eh (You have a death wish, huh)?”
He’s sobbing now, blubbering incoherent apologies. It’s pathetic.
I walk to my desk and pick up my knife. The blade feels cold in my hand, familiar, and comforting. I hold it up, letting the light catch the steel.
“Rispondimi (Answer me)!” I shout, stepping even closer. “ Guardavi Aria perché volevi ciò che è mio?! (Were you watching Aria because you wanted what’s mine?!)”
“No, Capo ! Mai (Never)!” he cries, falling to his knees again. “Non era così (It wasn’t like that)! Giuro su Dio (I swear to God)!”
“ Giuri su Dio (You swear to God)?” I laugh bitterly. “Well, God cannot save you now.”
Without another word, I plunge the knife into his shoulder. He screams, the sound is high-pitched and desperate. Satisfaction courses through my body immediately.
“ Questo è solo l’inizio (This is only the beginning),” I growl, leaning in close. The scent of blood mingling with my cologne. “You won’t have the luxury of dying quickly.”
My hand gives a sharp swerve, twisting the blade before yanking it out, the blood spilling onto the floor. His cries are pitiful, but they do nothing to quell my rage.
I move to the desk again and grab a pair of pliers. The weight of them in my hand is reassuring. I kneel before him, gripping his jaw with my free hand.
“ Sai cosa faccio ai traditori (You know what I do to traitors)?” I whisper, my voice a deadly calm.
He shakes his head, terror visible in his half-open eyes.
“ Imparo a memoria i loro volti (I memorize their faces),” I say, my grip tightening. “ E poi li distruggo (And then I destroy them).”
My hands move and the pliers clamp onto one of his fingernails. He opens his mouth to let out a loud wail before I even begin.
“ Io... Io sono stato stupido (I... I was stupid)!” he sobs. “It was a mistake! Please… please forgive me!”
“A mistake?” I say, yanking the nail free in one swift motion. His scream is deafening, but I don’t flinch. Hopefully, Aria doesn’t wake up from his pussy-ass scream.
“ Capo ,” Cortez’s voice cuts through the noise. He’s calm, detached. “ Vuoi che lo finisca (Do you want me to finish him)? You have a call from our man at the NYPD.”
I glance at him, my breathing heavy, my hands slick with blood. For a moment, I consider it. But no. This is personal.
“No,” I say, standing. I look down at the man, a broken shell of himself. “ Deve soffrire di più (He must suffer more).”
I turn to Cortez. “Take him away. Keep him alive long enough to remember my name every time he feels pain.”
Cortez nods and drags the sobbing man out of the room. My hands are trembling, not from fear but from the insatiable adrenaline still coursing through me.
My pants rustle as I wipe the blood from my knife on them. I reach out to grab a sip of the whiskey sitting on my desk. It burns my throat all the way to my chest as it goes down, but it doesn’t quiet the storm inside me.
I think of Aria, now asleep upstairs, her world untouched by the darkness I carry.
“I would do whatever it takes for you, Aria,” I whisper to the empty room. “Whatever it takes not to taint your world.”
***
I stand by the sink in the bathroom adjoining my study, washing the blood off my hands. The crimson stains seem to cling to my skin like they belong there.
It’s not guilt. I’ve long since made peace with what I am, what I do. But the mess…the chaos, it has begun to bother me now that I have ?or at least think I have? Aria. I prefer to be in control. No vulnerability. Nothing to lose.
I feel the adrenaline from earlier starting to wear off, leaving me with a pounding headache instead and a gnawing irritation that refuses to let up. I need a shower, maybe even some sleep.
The corridor is silent as I step into the hallway and head toward my room. The world outside is dark and quiet, but my mind is anything but calm.
I spoke with Evergreen’s manager just a moment ago, and she said they’d collaborate with Winston if he meets their financial requirements. Marcus Winston is the second-best hotelier in New York, meeting the financial requirements would be a walkover for him.
This means he’s trying to take over my top spot in the hotels and entertainment industry in New York. I wish him good luck with that because no one could ever compete with a Donatelli...and win.
Just as I reach the staircase, my phone buzzes in my pocket again. I sigh, pulling it out. It’s my guy at the police station again.
“What is it?” There’s a pause, long enough for my irritation to flare. “Spit it out, already. I don’t have all night.”
“It’s about Donald Henshaw,” the gruff voice at the other end finally says, his tone cautious.
I stop in my tracks, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. “What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
For a second, I don’t register the words. “Dead?”
“Yeah,” he says, almost apologetically. “Heart attack. They found him this morning.”
My grip tightens on the phone, my jaw clenching. “You’re telling me the guy I was planning to pin Frank Paterson’s murder on has died?”
“I’m just relaying what I know, Capo ,” he responds cautiously again, his voice defensive now. “I thought you’d want to hear it from me first.”
I hang up without another word, shoving the phone back into my pocket. My hand is still on the railing, but I don’t move. My thoughts are racing, crashing into one another like waves in a storm.
This isn’t just inconvenient. It’s a disaster. Donald Henshaw was the perfect scapegoat. An ex-con with a history of violence, no family, no ties, no alibi. I had the police ready to close the case, and now he’s gone.
Just the way Mendez disappeared like smoke as soon as we got to him.
I grit my teeth, pacing back and forth in the hallway.
A part of me wonders if someone else is pulling strings behind the scenes. Someone who doesn’t want me tying up loose ends.
I stop pacing and lean against the wall, rubbing a hand over my face. I can’t afford to let this rattle me.
Henshaw’s death automatically changes everything. Without him, I have no one to pin Frank Paterson’s murder on. The cops will start digging again, and if they dig too deep, they might find something they shouldn’t.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to think clearly. There has to be a way out of this. And I always find it.
Ezra.
I make a mental note to call him first thing in the morning. It’s late now, and Ezra doesn’t take kindly to being disturbed after hours unless it’s life or death.
And this? This is damn close.
I head up the stairs, my footsteps heavy on the polished floor. The thought of calling Ezra to jostle his perfect life doesn’t sit well with me.
But I don’t have a choice. Not this time.
By the time I reach my room, the tension in my shoulders feels unbearable. I strip off my blood-smeared shirt and toss it into the hamper, making my way to the bathroom.
I grit my teeth, slamming my fist against the tiled wall. The sharp pain sears into my bones, but it doesn’t chase away the frustration. Hopefully, the warm water running down my body will.
I can’t let this derail everything. I’ve worked too hard and sacrificed too much to let one dead ex-con throw my plans into chaos.
I finally step out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry off. I have to play my most daring card in this particular game.
If I take this to him, I’m sure Ezra will have answers.
And if he doesn’t, I’ll find my own solution … by all means.