SINS & Lies: Book 2 of SINS: The Deal

1. Enzo

There aretwo types of people in the world: those who tiptoe slowly into the shallow end of madness, and those who prefer to dive in head-first and drown in their darkness.

I am the latter.

I am Enzo. And, for the most part, I’m devoid of the petty inconveniences of feelings or emotions. Or for that matter, a conscience.

Normally, I carry out my wrath with surgical precision, strategic in who dies and who loses limbs.

Today, I’m out for blood.

Someone took my Bella, though I doubt if you asked her she’d say she was mine. Knowing her, she’d give you some bullshit about how she’s her own woman and that no one owns her.

Sweet little Kennedy. How wrong you are.

And I don’t give a shit if she was kidnapped. She’ll pay for every goddamned minute of the torture she’s putting me through right now, plotting vengeance on whoever took her.

Which, by all accounts, is probably my uncle.

The only sibling of my father, Andretti D’Angelo grew up in my father’s shadow. Both were smart, wealthy, and lethal. But where my father was tall and dark, Uncle Andre was stodgy and pale.

Unlike my father, whose demonic side could sometimes be tempered, Uncle Andre never switched it off. It’s no surprise he’s the prime suspect in my father’s disappearance.

As well as the reason my brothers and I continuously draw straws for who gets to rip out his toenails.

So, for the record, I despise my uncle. And I hate him that much more when he plays with my toys.

“Can you at least wait for me to get there?” Dante barks through the phone. “Just think this through.”

I’d say yes if his thirst for blood would kick in. But my brother’s tone reeks of rational thought and protectiveness.

Who has time for that shit?

My eyes drift to the arsenal sprawled across the seat beside me. Two Glocks, three hunting knives, an AK-47, and a dozen hand grenades. “Rest assured, Dante. I have thought this through.”

Though now that I’m thinking it over, I blow out a breath and sigh. This is my uncle. We own half the criminal underworld. He owns the other half.

Damn, I should’ve brought the Uzi.

“Let’s discuss this,” he offers. He may as well have offered me a subscription for anal waxing.

My voice is so calm I barely recognize it. “Go back to hosting your little tea party, Dante.” Aka, my birthday. “I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got a raging hard-on for some girl, that’s what you’ve got. And that girl’s about to get you killed.”

He’s right about one thing: my hard-on. But getting killed has never been in the cards for me, and when it comes to her being some girl, he’s dead wrong.

No woman has bear-trapped my attention the way my Bella has.

Which nudges my foot to floor the gas. I know all the ways my uncle might be touching her. Hurting her. Sharing her.

And I know the million and one ways I’ll retaliate if he does.

“Enzo, it’s a really bad time for you to declare war with Uncle Andre. Or have the feds breathing down our backs. Both of which will happen if you rush in, reckless and gun blazing and led by your dick,” Dante warns, frustrated.

“I’m not led by my dick,” I lie.

Ugh. I’m so totally led by my dick. But what does he expect? He’s been starved for months, and Kennedy’s cunt tastes like heaven. “You saw the footage,” I remind him.

“I saw a black BMW 4-series. Lots of people drive them. And?” he asks.

“And?” My jaw clenches hard. I can’t believe I have to connect the dots for him. “Uncle Andre and his band of dickless thugs all drive them. Because the cheap bastard won’t spring for the 8-series.” I scoff. “He snatched her, Dante. Right from under our noses in your own goddamned club.”

“It might’ve been one of his men.”

“Him. His men. Whoever it was is about to learn that no one steals from me.”

“So now this is a cautionary tale about stealing?”

“It’s about war. Thermonuclear fucking war.”

My heart thuds loudly in my ears. Is it one man? More than one? Are they forcing themselves on her? Taking turns with her body as she screams? Or all at once...

“Enzo?” His voice is like a pesky gnat in my ear now, barely registering over the roar of my own rage. “Listen to me. Wait for us!”

“If I need you, I’ll call.” With a quick flick of my finger, I end the call. My focus lasers in on just one thing: getting Kennedy Luciano back.

The road narrows tight against a thick band of trees. So much so that my foot eases up on the gas.

Hundreds of secluded acres, a maze of dense woods and ravines. As a child, these woods were my schoolyard. My wonderland. When my father and Uncle Andre were at least on speaking terms.

I think back, fondly recalling the mangled remains of a man, eyes bulged and neck broken. The sharp bone of his shin protruded through his flesh. His left hand gnawed away.

Uncle Andre dismissed it as just some hiker bad on his luck. Quite the coincidence, considering that the trident tattoo sported by that hiker happened to match the ones inked on the necks of all his capos.

I go with my gut and kill the lights. A flash of red darts out from the shadows of thick woods—brake lights—a crimson pixie leading me to Bella’s precise location.

And by pixie, I mean evil little bitch.

Between Kennedy and me lies another unforgiving ravine. Bella stands on one side, I on the other.

With a step forward, I instantly lose my footing, slipping on damp, moss-covered stones. I latch onto the nearest branch, legs dangling.

It takes me a minute to hoist myself back up, catch my breath, and steady my stance. When the pucker of my ass manages to unclench, I take three large steps away from el capo’s welcome mat, return to my car, and call for reinforcements.

“Hello?” he answers like an idiot. “Does someone need me?”

I quell the beast that wants to lash out with a fuck off and breathe through it. “Yes,” I growl.

I don’t need Dante’s help as much as the guy with him. Striker. Technically, my bodyguard.

But since my brothers assigned him to me, I do what I always do when I suspect someone’s allegiance is divided. I cut them like bait.

Which is why, with the threat of my brothers likely hanging over his balls like a guillotine if he loses me again, he’s with Dante. And armed with his night vision goggles, because, let’s face it, the freak’s never without them.

“Well, cell reception is shit out here and we can’t get a lock on your location. Where are you?”

I’m two seconds from firing off a flare when I make that evil little pixie my bitch. I slide behind the wheel and pump the brakes.

For what feels like forever, I stand there and wait. By the time the roar of Dante’s engine closes in, I’ve flipped through every image of torture I’ve ever seen in my life.

My fingers curl into fists, adrenaline coursing through my veins, fueled by pure primal rage.

Whoever’s on the other side of the ravine is about to be skinned and made into a motorcycle jacket.