64. Nico
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
NICO
M atteo was here to stay.
That fucker forced marriage on Arianna, but judging by my daughter’s face, she didn’t mind it. In fact, she was so deeply in love with him that she took it upon herself to protect him from my wrath. Of course, she knew I was a sucker for making any of her wishes come true, so naturally, I couldn’t rough him up a bit for daring to point a gun—albeit an empty one—in her direction.
That didn’t mean that I missed any opportunity to throw jabs at him. The fucker took that with grace and a wide, happy smile which certainly made it lackluster.
“Are we going to stare at this guy or get started?” Matteo growled, eager to dish punishment at Simón King, the child we never knew Marco produced. Jesus fucking Christ. How many people were part of this organ trafficking scheme?
“You’re only extracting information,” I muttered to my son-in-law. “Remember, the final punishment is for Hannah to dish.”
I must admit being surprised when I heard that demand, but if it helped my daughter get the closure she needed, so be it.
Matteo stood over the fucker who lay on the ground with his mouth taped, arms and legs bound together. He stared up at us with those same dark eyes that his bastard father and grandfather had. The very same eyes I hoped never to fucking see again.
I crouched in front of the man and yanked the tape from his mouth without a care.
“It’s bonding time,” Matteo said with a twisted smile and an expression I hoped my daughter would never see on his face. “You tried to have my wife killed and for that you’ll regret ever being born.”
“Let’s not forget you kidnapped my youngest and took the kidney from my eldest,” I growled with a scary smile.
“Think about your mistakes as we bring you to the brink of death, only to heal you and restart the torture,” Matteo growled. “This place, Simón King, will be your tomb.”
We were in the basement where once upon a time, I’d tortured a woman who dared hurt my wife. Today, this man would meet the same fate, minus the killing. Because I always kept my word to my family.
Placing a gun on the nearby table, where torture tools sat, I yanked Simón by his collar and Matteo reached for the hook and hung him by his tied wrists.
I reached for my knife and our prisoner’s eyes filled with terror.
“Now, time for conversation,” I drawled, while Matteo circled him. “Trust me when I tell you, my son-in-law is a master at torture. And I know exactly how to keep you alive for Hannah.”
Simón tried to kick himself off the hook but failed.
In the next moment, Matteo lunged, smashing his fist into the man’s face and the sound of crunched bones and a howl filled the basement.
“Tell me who you’re working with,” Matteo snarled. “Names. Your connections. Everything.”
“I’m not telling you shit.” The man tried to appear strong, but I knew that would soon change.
I smiled cruelly and dragged the knife across his chest, cutting him open. The next cut I inflicted was on his arm. Matteo smashed his fists into his sides, over and over again.
It took five minutes for the bastard’s screaming pleas to start.
“Let’s try again, shall we?” I said matter-of-factly. “Who are you working with?”
“I… don’t have a list of names,” he cried. “It protects and ensures that the cause goes on.”
“Organ trafficking,” I hissed. “You call that a cause?”
“And the FBI?” Matteo asked.
Luciano had filled me in on the potential undercover agent who worked the case and we knew his name. We think. Unfortunately, Aurora Nikolaev and her contacts haven’t been able to share any details. The case was classified as top secret and we had yet to identify a contact that had proper classification to be able to access the files on it.
“Wh-what d-does the FBI have to do with anything?”
Matteo and I shared a look before I reached into my pocket for the sketch Arianna shared. It was the man she claimed helped her and Gianna escape. Agent Lloyd. The very same agent that constantly crossed paths with Matteo.
I shoved it into our prisoner’s face who was heaving as he stared down at us.
“Who’s this?” Blood, sweat, and tears smeared all over his face, he blinked harshly. “I hate repeating myself. Who. The. Fuck. Is. This?”
“O-one of the men,” he cried. “He works for the organization.”
“What’s his name?”
“R-Ryker,” Simón sputtered before his eyes widened. “H-he works for the FBI? No… no… It couldn’t… be.”
But something in his eyes told me he just realized that indeed it was, but it was too late. Matteo clocked him with the handle of his gun, knocking him out cold.
“Why does it feel this organization is much bigger than we realize?” Matteo grumbled, facing me.
“If it’s on the FBI’s radar and they have undercover agents working it, it must be,” I admitted reluctantly.
It would be on our children to end it. Just as my friends and I’d ended it two decades ago.