Chapter Forty-Seven
Achilles
I glanced at my Rolex. Five thirty-five. About half an hour until my brothers arrived for our meeting. Still plenty of time. I checked my phone again to see if Tierney had answered my last text. My heart did that weird stirring shit again when I realized that she did.
Tierney: Fine.
Fine? That’s all I got? Jesus, she was cold.
I should’ve known she wouldn’t let me breeze back into her life and put a ring on her finger the minute I finally succumbed to my Greek-tragedy-sized obsession with her.
It was inconceivable that a woman so beautiful, so bold, so sophisticated would deign to be with someone so scarred, so ugly, and as monstrous as me.
She could marry a Tate Blackthorn, a Wolfe Keaton, a Baron Spencer.
A dark, smooth stallion, gently bred, with billions in the bank.
But no Blackthorn, no Keaton, and no Spencer would ever treasure her the way I would.
If ever I could have her, I’d worship her so thoroughly, no man would ever fucking measure up.
My broken soul found her broken soul, and for the first time in my life, it felt whole.
Now I was on a mission to kill everyone who’d ever hurt her.
Well…except myself, obviously.
I was making good progress. In fact, the only asshole on my list I hadn’t pinned down yet was Tristan Hale. Fucker fell off the face of earth before I had the chance to punish him. But I was going to find him.
And once I did, I would suck out his intestines with a fucking straw.
I reached for the portable faucet in my parents’ basement, turning the valve all the way. It was linked to a dispenser. A stream of water turned into a one-drop leak.
The man tied horizontally under it ceased his tedious screams, darting his tongue out to lap the drops thirstily. What he didn’t know was that after the waterboarding came the water torture. Which was a slower, more painful way to die.
“Hey, wanna hear some mad shit?” I cupped my cigarette, lighting up a smoke.
Apparently, Dmitri Pavlov did not, in fact, want to hear some mad shit.
Because he started sobbing like a little bitch, like he didn’t deserve it.
I spoke over his cries. “So I sent my soldiers to help my fiancée pack up, and when I texted her to ask how it was going, she said ‘fine.’ Fine. What does that even mean?”
“Pozhaluysta,” he begged, eyes squinted shut, the water drip-dripping down from his forehead into his ears.
I made sure to change the rhythm and frequency of the pattern, as well as inserting a small amount of acid into the tank, for shit and giggles.
“I’ll do anything,” he said in Russian. “Please, let me go.”
“Can’t do that,” I answered back in his native tongue. Good thing I learned some Russian when Tier and I started out, so I could get to know her better. “You hurt my fiancée.”
“I didn’t! I—I couldn’t! I don’t even know American girls.”
I’d fetched Pavel, Vitali, Vlad, Bogdan, and Dmitri from different parts of Russia and smuggled them into New York.
I’d already killed the first four in spectacularly violent and slow fashion over the past week.
In fact, it was why I had gone MIA on Tierney for a few days last week.
Seemed like a good idea at the time, but I now realized I needed to be more present.
So instead of killing Dmitri by impalement as I did with the first four—watching as they starved to death while speared from their anus all the way to their mouths—I chose a relatively fast method for him.
The acid should burn his brain clean in the next few hours.
Oh well. At least he was going to feel every moment of it.
I’d always had a fascination with violent, gory deaths. Watching bad guys die soothed my soul.
“You knew this one. Tierney Callaghan.” I puffed smoke into his face.
At the sound of her name, Tyrone whimpered from across the room.
He was still bound by chains in a cage, shitting and pissing into a bucket, living on a can of beans and a bottle of water a day.
Tierney deserved to see the bastard take his last breath.
The only reason I’d waited was because I wanted to make sure she was feeling 100 percent, and I believed the time was near.
“Achilles, be reasonable. Let’s talk about this! I had no idea—” Tyrone started.
“Shut the fuck up.” I pulled my phone out again, thumbing the screen to answer my girlfriend.
Achilles: Hey, beautiful. I have a meeting with my brothers in ten minutes, then I’ll come home. Will you be there?
Three dots danced on the screen in front of me.
Tierney: idk.
Achilles: Want me to bring you a bite? Maybe dessert? ??
Tierney: idc.
Look at us. We were so fucking cute together. Me and my enthusiasm. Her and her dry acronym comebacks.
Achilles: I’ll pick up some takeout on my way back. Italian good?
Tierney: w/e.
Sure, she wasn’t the most talkative via text. But you could really feel the love shining through each word.
“Okay, this is getting boring.” I tucked my phone into my pocket.
It was ten to six, and I really needed to get this shit over with so I could take Tierney Dmitri’s head, along with the rest of these fuckers’, to heal her beautiful soul from what they’d done to her in that work camp.
Yes, my gifts to her tended to be outside the box, but it was the thought that counted.
“How about we speed things up a bit?” I winked at a lying, tied-up Dmitri.
“Nooooooo, nooooo, nooooooo!” He screamed and thrashed, arching from the bench press I’d used as a makeshift gurney while I unscrewed the water tank attached to the faucet and picked up the bottle of fluroantimonic acid.
I poured it into the container. An unbearable odor of fumes immediately filled the air.
“I’d say I’m sorry for the smell,” I told Tyrone over my shoulder, “but the stench is the least of your worries right now. Buckle up. What I’ve got planned for you will make shitbag here’s death look like a euthanasia in a six-star Swiss resort.”
I climbed upstairs, away from the racket of Dmitri screaming as the acid ate through his skin and brain, and from Tyrone, who rattled the bars of his cage.
The first to show up was Jeremie.
Peculiar, considering he wasn’t fucking invited.
He was wearing his usual outfit of black combat boots, black tactical pants, and a too-tight Henley.
Couldn’t fault him for the Henley. He was the size of a kraken.
I doubted they made human clothes his size.
I was definitely a scary motherfucker, standing tall at six feet four inches of muscles, scars, and ink, but Jeremie was easily six feet six inches and more shredded than IRS forms at a Midtown hedge fund.
“This is a Camorra meeting,” I informed him. “Ugly Bastards Anonymous is down the street.”
“And yet here you stand, the chairman of the club.” Jeremie pushed past me, his shoulder nearly dislocating mine. His deltoids were the size of his head. I threw the door shut with a frown. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone who wasn’t my sweet angel fiancée.
Speaking of…
I took out my phone and checked my messages. None.
Achilles: How are you settling in, fiancée?
Tierney: Stop calling me that. I’m not your fiancée.
Achilles: Yet*.
Tierney: Ever*.
Tierney: I’m at your apartment. You don’t have any Diet Coke.
My lips quirked deviously. My little flame thought I was one of those amateur stalkers who didn’t know the job.
Achilles: The Diet Coke is in the cooler in your room, next to the fancy ice machine I got for you.
Achilles: But if you don’t feel like walking that far, I put one in the fridge behind your baby carrots and soy milk, JIC.
Achilles: <3 <3 <3
Tierney: Stop with the heart emojis. It’s annoying.
She was looking for reasons to get annoyed with me. I refused to give her any.
Tierney: Actually, I feel like a whole wheat New York water bagel with ham and cheese.
Achilles: You only eat ham once a year. You think pigs are too smart and call it semi-cannibalism.
Tierney: Your point?
Achilles: No point. There’s a whole wheat New York water bagel in the bread box for you, plus ham and cheese from your favorite deli in the fridge.
I beamed at my phone with satisfaction, giving exactly minus twenty fucks about leaving Jer waiting.
Tierney: Fine. You win. I swooned. Happy?
Achilles: I’ll be happier when you fix the hard-on I’ve been walking around with since I saw you in that wet dress.
Before I could tuck my phone in my pocket, Tiernan’s name popped up with a message.
Tiernan: I see my sister is moving her things to your apartment. I want to remind you I know where you live. And I haven’t added a new skull to my collection in a while.
Achilles: YOU PUSHED A GUN INTO MY SISTER’S MOUTH ON YOUR WEDDING NIGHT.
Tiernan: Don’t change the subject.
Clicking my phone’s screen off, I finally threw a detached glare Jeremie’s way. “Oh. You’re still here.”
He stood in the same spot, unmoving. I knew the stubborn Russian would remain this way until I gave him what he came here for.
I groaned. “We’ll speak in the office.”
We went up to Vello’s office. He no longer occupied the space, too busy drooling on his shoulder ever since we’d mixed up his medicine.
The decision to get rid of him was a joint, albeit spontaneous, one.
Once Enzo and Luca caught Tiernan and me beating him into unconsciousness, we decided we’d be better off with him out of the picture.
It was obvious Vello’s next move would have been offing both of us.
And between Tiernan’s family with Lila, and Luca and Enzo’s loyalty to me, Vello had lost.
We still had time to sort out the don shit when he was officially dead, but I had agreed to withdraw my candidacy.
“You either get the pussy or the throne, but you can’t get both,” Luca had clarified. “You made your choice.”
It was the easiest decision I’d had to make. Tierney came first. The rest of the world after.
“All right, asshole, what’s up?” I landed on Vello’s plush chair, stacking my ankles on his desk.