19. Dante
Chapter 19
Dante
T he dim lights in the warehouse flicker, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air is thick with tension, and the humidity makes it hard to breathe.
Edoardo is now tied to the chair, his face pale but defiant. He has blood stains on his shirt where a few of my men roughed him up before bringing him in, but the arrogant fucker’s head is still held high.
My posture remains relaxed, but the fury simmering beneath the surface is unmistakable. I don’t need to raise my voice; my presence is enough to instil fear. My brother inherited my mother’s softer side, but I didn’t. I am my old man through and through.
“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” My voice is calm, too calm.
Edoardo swallows hard and dips his face, but his jaw is clenched tight as he refuses to answer me. It’s enough to make me lose some of my resolve as I fist a chunk of his thick, greying hair in my hand and tug his head back until our eyes meet.
“You’ve been with us for a long time. You were like a brother to my father. Why did you turn your back on the family after all these years? After everything we’ve done for you?”
“You have done nothing for me, you smug little fuck. You took what was rightfully mine … I was supposed to inherit the title of Don.”
Something inside me fractures as my clenched fist connects hard with his traitorous mouth. It sends his head snapping back, and a sickening crack echoes through the room as a trickle of blood starts to drip down his chin.
“Listen here you smug fucking cunt,” I seethe, getting up in his face, “you were never meant to inherit anything. You may have been my father’s closest friend, but that’s all you were. You are not a Mancini … you don’t have my father’s blood running through your veins. None of it was ever destined to be yours.”
The look he gives me is filled with pure malice. He’s finally revealing his true nature. “If you had died like you were meant to?—”
That’s all he manages to get out of his filthy mouth as my hand shoots up to grasp his throat, squeezing it so tight his face turns an unhealthy shade of red, and his eyes bulge out of their sockets.
I could kill this fucker right here, right now, but I want answers first. I need to understand why. The more he talks, the more everything starts to click into place. He was behind it all. The drugs were just the beginning of his plan. His ultimate goal was to erase us all so he could take over the family businesses.
I’m guessing that’s how those fuckers down in Melbourne got involved. The only way he could pull it off and still save face was to bring in someone else to do his dirty work: the Mortellis. Our men would never have stood by him if they knew he was behind the execution.
My nostrils flare as I embrace that shadow of darkness deep inside me, the fire igniting in my soul with a fury I can barely control. The cold realisation that the man my father treasured for his entire adult life was the same person who orchestrated his murder is almost too much to comprehend.
A feral growl rumbles in the back of my throat. My grip is unrelenting as I watch his body start to jerk, his chest rising and falling with desperate, ragged gasps for air. The struggle is evident in the wild flailing of his lower arms and legs, which are the only parts of him not tied down. I wait until he’s on the brink of losing consciousness before finally letting go.
His head falls forward as he coughs and splutters, trying to get air back into his lungs.
I give him a moment before reaching behind me and pulling out the gun that I stuffed into the waistband of my trousers, then hold it to this side of his head. “Start talking motherfucker.”
“Why would I do that? You’re going to kill me either way.”
“True,” I say with a nod. I won’t sugarcoat this for him; he knows the score. “You do get to choose how you die, though. Quick and easy or long and painful.” I lean close to his ear, speaking softly so only he can hear me. “I hope you choose the latter because by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging for a fucking bullet.”
I draw back, and the defiance I see in his eyes only fuels my rage. He may have been able to manipulate my father at times, but not me.
He also doesn’t realise that, unlike Papa, I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. I’d never ask someone to do something I wouldn’t do myself.
With that thought in mind, I straighten and lower the gun until it’s pointing down at the floor. Edoardo smirks, thinking he’s shaken me during our little stare-off.
He couldn’t be more wrong.
I love when people fuck around and find out because I live for moments like this .
I don’t even hesitate. The finger I hold on the trigger of the gun shifts slightly as I put a bullet straight through his foot.
The shot echoes around the vast emptiness with a sharp, deafening crack that rips through the still air, bouncing off the walls and floor. I don’t even flinch as my predatory gaze remains on Edoardo as I watch his face twist in agony; the scream that follows cuts through the tension in the room like a knife.
I’ve summoned all my men here tonight to witness this because I need them to see what will happen to them if they decide to be disloyal to the Famiglia . I’m also keen to know if Edoardo had any of them help him. This shit will end tonight, one way or another.
“Talk,” I growl.
“Fuck you, you little cunt.”
I shift my gun to my other hand and clock him in the face again. This time, I hit him with enough force that it dislodges one of his teeth, which he spits from his mouth a few seconds later as more blood trickles down his chin.
I turn and face the rest of my men, eyeing each one individually before I speak. They all look pissed off and angry, not frightened or guilty.
“I’m going to ask this once and once only: were any of you in bed with this traitorous dog?”
I give them a moment to speak up, but I receive complete silence, so I turn back to Edoardo. “Did any of these men help you?” I study his eyes to see if they stray and give anything away, but his gaze doesn’t falter; it remains fixed on me.
Eventually, he raises his chin. “No,” he states, but it’s followed by a smirk to try and throw me off. This man has proven he’s not to be trusted, so I’d be a fool to take him at his word.
He’s being way too cocky, considering the circumstances he now finds himself in. “Was it just the Mortellis, or does it go deeper than that?”
When he doesn’t answer, I turn towards Romeo, who’s standing a few feet away. “Pass me those,” I say, nodding towards the bolt cutters.
Edoardo thrashes around in his seat, but it’s no use; he’s tied to the chair in two places. His chest is strapped to the back, pinning his arms from the elbows up, and his upper thighs are bound to the base of the chair.
“Was Stefano involved?” I ask, reaching for his hand.
“That double-crossing fucking snake. The biggest mistake you ever made was getting into bed with that cunt. I hope his daughter’s virgin pussy was worth it.”
The second he mentions Arabella, my anger spikes to a dangerous level. Searing white light shoots behind my eyelids, my vision blurring as every muscle in my body tightens. The world narrows to a single, burning focus … him .
My knuckles turn white as my grip on the bolt cutters tightens. Romeo’s words from earlier flicker through my mind. “ These come in handy if you ever feel the need to bash someone’s skull in .”
As much as I’d like to knock Edoardo’s head right off his traitorous shoulders, I know I can’t. I won’t get the answers I crave if he’s dead.
Instead, I roughly grasp his pinky finger—the one still adorned with the gold ring I gave him—cutting it clean off. The digit and the ring both fall to the ground the moment I let go. Only the ring makes a sound as it bounces against the concrete floor with a ting, ting, ting .
Edoardo lets out another high-pitched scream as he pisses his pants, and that sight has a smile tugging at my lips. That may sound cold, but this man was responsible for my father’s death and almost my own. I still have to live with the effects of those five bullets every day, both physically and mentally.
He sways in his chair as blood drips from his hand where I amputated his finger. A larger pool of blood has now gathered around his foot where I shot it. He doesn’t look great. He’s turned a deathly shade of white and is clammy, so I need to get this show on the road before he passes out.
“My father gave you everything,” I seethe, the words slicing through the air. “A place at his table, his trust, money, power, and you violated that in the worst way possible. He fucking loved you,” I bellow. “And what did that get him? A bullet through the back of his head.”
He sneers, unfazed. “Boo-fucking-hoo. Do you expect me to care? Your father had it all. I was sick of constantly seeing him winning at life. He had everything I ever wanted. The head of the Famiglia , the male heirs … the girl .”
That last part hits me like a slap, and I can feel the heat rise in my chest. “The girl? What girl? You mean my mother?”
He chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m guessing your father never told you how they met?”
My eyes narrow with a sharp edge. “It doesn’t matter how they met. My parents adored each other.”
His face contorts in rage. “Your father stole her from me!” he roars. “Caterina was meant to be mine.”
“I highly doubt that,” I reply, my tone laced with disbelief.
“It’s true,” he spits, his fury building. “I saw her first. I was the one who introduced them. That bastard had it all … money, looks, power. He used it to his advantage. Your mother couldn’t resist his charms. She was powerless to him.”
I rear back. “You did this out of jealousy?” I ask, the disbelief thick in my voice.
His facial features tighten as his jaw clenches. “She was supposed to be mine,” he growls through gritted teeth. He bows his head and repeats it, quieter, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself, “She was supposed to be mine.”
“My mother’s been dead for years.” None of this makes sense. “Why would you avenge something like that all these years later? Her death almost broke Papa. ”
He slowly lifts his face as his eyes lock with mine, and the twisted bitterness in his gaze sends a cold shiver coursing down my spine.
“But it didn’t, did it? Your mother was just as gullible as your old man. They put their trust in the wrong person. Do you know I went to the church that day to see her? I told her I was there out of concern because I didn’t feel safe with her driving at night on her own. When I offered to follow her to make sure she got home safe, she was so appreciative.”
He starts to laugh, and I sway a little on my feet, suddenly feeling faint. I know what he’s about to say, but I silently plea for him not to say it. “She had no idea accepting my offer would ultimately seal her fate. I ran the only woman I ever truly loved off the road and left her there for dead to get back at a man who had everything I wanted, and where did that get me? Nowhere.”
It takes a second for his words to register, but the moment they do, I drop the bolt cutters in my hand, and they land on the concrete with a loud, echoing thud as I reach for his throat again.
This time, the blinding fury that runs rampant through my body is unrestrainable. Nothing and no one can stop the inevitable. I shove my hand tighter against his throat, and when he opens his mouth to try and get much-needed air into his lungs, I reach behind me for my gun, shoving it deep into the back of his throat. I don’t even hesitate to pull the trigger.
I know whatever secrets this man still holds will die right alongside him, but I’m too fucked up right now to care.
I take a step back, my chest heaving as Edoardo’s head slumps to the side. A sickening gurgling sound comes from the back of his throat as he chokes on his own blood.
He’s only seconds away from death, but I’m thankful it wasn’t instant. This man deserves to suffer for the carnage he’s caused.
I retreat a few more steps. My head is spinning .
“Boss,” Romeo says, reaching out to place his hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t,” I grumble, shrugging it off. I’m barely able to hold my shit together right now, so the last thing I need or want is any kind of sympathy from him.
I hand him my gun without making eye contact. “Clean this mess up. Get rid of this and his car.” I finally manage to lift my head, meeting his gaze, and the compassion I see reflecting back has a tight knot forming in my throat. “Make sure they can never be found.”
“Okay,” is his only reply as I spin on my heel and get the fuck out of there.
As I step into the chilly night, I pause for a moment, retrieve the pocket square from my suit jacket, and do a haphazard job of wiping the blood off my hands.
When I’m done, I tilt my face towards the star-filled sky. “I’m sorry, Mamma,” I whisper into the darkness, my voice trembling as I speak.
Papa would be turning over in his grave right now. He never would’ve let this man live … or welcomed him into our life or home if he’d known he was the person responsible for her death. It may be twenty years too late, but at least I finally got to right that wrong.
My footsteps quicken as I cross the road, heading for my car. Images of my sweet, beautiful, saintly mother flash through my mind. Over the years, the finer details of her face, the scent of her hair, and perfume have started to blur, but the countless photos Papa kept around the house have helped me hold on to the fragments of her that time had stolen away.
By the time I seat myself inside the vehicle, I’m barely hanging by a thread. We always thought her death was an accident. When we were told she more than likely swerved to miss a kangaroo, my father developed a deep hatred for those animals. I even witnessed him shoot a few that came onto our property as if they were responsible for what happened .
I dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets as my vision blurs. The deep ache that floods through me is reminiscent of how I felt the day I realised she was never coming back.
After giving myself a moment, I reach for the push button ignition and start the car. I’ve never been more thankful that I’m not going home to an empty house and that I have my beautiful wife waiting for my return.
The way I’m feeling right now makes me want to lash out at the world, to watch it all burn. If it weren’t for Arabella, I’d probably head home, drown my sorrows in a bottle of scotch, and drink myself into oblivion. And with that, the monster inside would be unleashed, pushing me to do something reckless in the process, like boarding my jet and paying Stefano-fucking-Rossi a visit.
I’ve watched plenty of men be interrogated over the years, but this is the first time I’ve ever actively partaken. I did what needed to be done, but I think I’ve reached my limit of violence for one night.