67. Basilio
Basilio
I stalked closer to the door and a red mist filled my vision.
“This time, I’m going to kill you, Gio DiLustro.” Wynter’s voice was strong, but underlined by trembling. “For what you’ve done to my mother. And for what you’ve done to me.”
My mouth pulled into a snark and I lost my shit. He dared touch my woman. I’d slice him up, piece by fucking piece.
His fist connected with her shoulder and pain flashed across my wife’s face but she held it in.
“I’ll show you how we present the bloodied sheets even with your cherry popped, you whore.”
Pulling the knife out of my holster, I charged against him. My hand wrapped around his throat in a crushing grip and I pressed my knife against his lower abdomen.
“You touched her,” I roared. “You fucking touched her.”
He never saw me coming; he was so intent on the two women. Wynter’s mother was on the floor, next to my uncle.
Father grasped my hand, choking the life out of him and his eyes bulged.
“Y-you can’t kill me,” he choked, his breathing ragged. “The Syndicate will obliterate you. Kill all the DiLustros, including your wife.”
I twisted the knife in his abdomen, fucking hating that he was right.
“You’ll die one way or another,” I said, a twisted grin curling my lips. “Like my wife said, your blood will be spilled today. Not hers. Never hers.”
“The Syndicate will-”
He didn't get to finish his words because I pulled out a knife and stabbed him again. His scream vibrated against the walls and it was the best fucking soundtrack.
I’d torture him, but then I’d have to run. I’d have to take Wynter and hide her so this sick motherfucker would never find her.
He opened his mouth to say something and I pushed my knife deeper into him. Pained gurgles filled the air.
“Basilio.” I recognized Dante’s voice behind me.
“Wyn, you okay?” Sasha lowered down on his knee, checking on my wife. I should be checking on her, except I lost my shit.
My eyes shifted to my wife, never releasing my father from my grip. Sasha was talking to her, but her eyes were on me.
“Principessa,” I murmured, regret lacing my voice. How badly did my father hurt her? I’d seen through my life what he was capable of. A feeling of dread settled in my stomach. Would she see my father each time she saw me? Would she hate me?
I finally understood why she ran. She had every right to keep away. I knew my father was to blame. He had hurt her mother and he hurt Wynter. And I wasn’t there to protect her. That fucking bastard.
He’d made enough hell on this earth.
My Uncle Franco stirred and Wynter’s mother leaned over him.
“Are you okay?” She watched him with trepidation.
“Dad.” Priest came down to help his father, his eyes looking to his mom. The two locked eyes and Wynter’s mother looked away as shame flashed across her expression. She knows.
I’d bet my life she knew Priest was her son.
Uncle Franco sat up with assistance from his son and his woman. Because the way he looked at Wynter’s mother, there was no mistaking that she was his woman.
“Who knows we’re here?” Uncle asked.
“Nobody,” I rasped, squeezing my father’s throat slightly harder. Unfortunately, it wasn’t hard enough to kill him. “Just the seven of us. Eight including this filthy father of mine.”
Wynter stood up, Sasha lingering behind her like a dark shadow.
“Basilio, you know none of us can kill him,” Uncle Franco rasped, rubbing the back of his head. A large bump told me Father must have hit him from the back. Backstabbing bastard.
“I can kill him,” Wynter said firmly, but we all shook our heads.
“You are Basilio’s wife now. You kill him, it’s on your husband,” Uncle explained.
Wynter’s mother swallowed. “I could try.”
But all of us immediately shook our heads. That woman was not a killer.
“I will,” Sasha chimed in. “I have no connections to the fucker and I’ve been denied that pleasure for nine months now. The longest I had to hold off on a kill. It’s worse than blue balls.”
Wynter shot him a sideways glance and shook her head.
“Nobody wants to hear about your blue balls, Sasha,” she snickered and it was right there and then, I knew. My wife never slept with Sasha Nikolaev. Then her eyes came back to me, soft and shimmering.
“I’ll owe you big time,” I told Sasha, my eyes never wavering from her. I hoped she’d forgive me. One day.
Because no matter what, I couldn’t let her go. It’d take a better man than me.
* * *
I shut the library door behind me, then locked it. There would be no need for witnesses and I definitely didn’t want interruptions for this.
The library was on the opposite side of the manor, but the voices of the guests could still be heard.
“We have to talk,” I rasped, cupping her face. Her one cheek was red from where my father hit her. The anger boiled so hot inside me, I had to choke it down.
“Yeah, I think so,” she agreed.
“Tell me why you left.” I needed her to tell me the whole goddamn story.
A slow shuddering breath left her, a hint of panic in that green gaze that fascinated me.
“I-I waited for you,” she admitted. “Then your father showed up and-”
Her voice faltered and the pain in her expression hit me right in the chest.
The sound of music played in the distance, vibrating softly against the windows and reflecting the anguish in my wife’s face and my chest. It was like a stab and twist to the chest.
“Whatever it is, it’s okay,” I whispered, knowing exactly what my father did to women. I’ve witnessed it plenty of times. “We’ll get through it together,” I promised. “And I’ll make him pay.”
My chest burned, the need to make my father pay now like flames that readied to set into a full blown wildfire.
“He showed up,” she whispered softly. “He said you two planned for it. That you left me there knowing he was coming. You only wanted the connection to the Russians.” I stilled, holding my rage back.
It burned through my chest like acid and I had to take a moment to swallow it down.
“He tried to-” She swallowed hard, the gulp loud between us.
“He tried to rape me, but he didn’t succeed. I escaped and Sasha found me.”
Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip and she averted her gaze, looking somewhere behind me.
I was glad she avoided looking at me, because she’d have seen the crazy monster that her words unleashed.
That demanded retribution. The monster inside me rattled the bars of its cage, demanding to set him free so I could avenge my woman.
My wife.
“He will pay.” My voice sounded distorted by the rage buzzing in my ears. “For what he did to you and your mother. And many others.”
* * *
We were in the Nikolaev specially designed basement for torture. Let’s just say Sasha Nikolaev was a crazy motherfucker, but I was seriously considering redecorating my own torture room.
I smashed my fist into his face. “You touched my wife,” I growled.
His bones crunched under my knuckles and nothing ever sounded so fucking good.
Gio’s beady eyes found me, and for the first time in my life, that cruelty in his gaze was replaced by fear.
Angelo’s dead body lay limp next to him.
The only reason he got a fast death was because he let Wynter go when she came out of the house bruised and bloody.
Rather than force her back in for Gio to finish her off.
“She wasn’t your wife at that time,” he tried to reason in a hoarse voice. It only pissed me off more.
Dante, Sasha, Priest, and Uncle watched from their spot against the wall, letting me have this moment. For nine months, I went crazy, hunting every Russian bastard in a hundred miles radius.
It was all his fault.
I dragged him off the floor and shoved him into a chair, then tied him up. He attempted to struggle. Unsuccessfully.
“It’s time for you to get a taste of your own medicine, Father.” The last word tasted bitter on my tongue.
Images of him attempting to rape my wife played in my mind on repeat. How scared she probably was. She didn’t have a single cruel bone in her body and that bastard tried to force himself on her. He lied to her, letting her believe that I knew about it, knew about who she really was.
No fucking wonder she ran.
With my knife, I leaned closer to him and smiled cruelly as I pressed the blade against his skin and sliced it across his chest. His blood trailed down his bare skin as he begged for mercy.
“Did you show my wife mercy?” I snarled. She waited for me, in my place, where she should have been safe and my father fucking attacked her. “Did you show my mother mercy?” I smashed my fist into his side. “Or Emory?”
“I gave you everything,” he spurted out, blood trickling down his mouth
Another fist into his nose. “Or any other woman?” I punched him again.
I sliced his forearm. Then his ear. His thighs. His finger. The memory of the voice in my head while I searched for Wynter was too fresh. Too raw. He almost cost me my woman.
Another few hours of torturing him and my breathing heaved. I felt blood splatters on my face, my hands were soaked with my father’s blood. I wasn’t back to one hundred percent but this was too good to miss. Too good to shorten.
My cell phone rang and I glanced at it.
Wynter’s grinning face greeted me. My wife was calling.
“Principessa,” I answered. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I was just wondering if you’ll be coming home soon?” Such a simple question. Yet it gave me the best feeling in the world. Coming home to her was the highlight of every scenario.
“I’ll be home soon,” I told her. “Is Emory with you?’
My body screamed for rest. We’d been at this for the past twenty-four hours. Our wedding turned bloody after all, just as Emory predicted. Except in the best way possible.
She chuckled. “Yes, her and the girls. And my mom.”
Good, I didn’t want her to be alone.
“Your uncle’s men watching the house?” I asked her.
My men guarded her too, but for the first time, I didn't mind reinforcements.
“Yes, it’s like a military base.”
“Good, I’ll see you soon.”
I ended the call and looked at the bloodied state of my father. He wasn’t worth any more of my time.
Turning around, I held out the knife to Sasha. I was grateful he took care of Wynter after her attack, but there was a part of me that still envied it. It should have been me helping her heal, easing her wounds.
Sasha pushed away from the wall and walked up to me. Taking the knife from me, he nodded then stared down at my father.
The look of pure hate shone in his eyes as he watched him. It matched my own hate.
“This is for Wyn and her mother.” He got down on his knees and got closer to him. “For every woman you hurt.” He raised the knife above my father’s chest then leaned even closer.
He jabbed the blade down into my father’s black fucking heart and left it there.
“And this is from a mutual friend.” Then he pulled out his own knife and sliced his throat. “Gia, remember her?”
My father was too weak to confirm. Though it didn’t matter. He’d remember her and think of his sins in hell.
“I’ll see you in hell,” I growled.
* * *
Four hours later, I was finally home.
I called Brennan ahead of time to tell him the deed was done. The debt to the Brennan’s family that started over twenty years ago was paid. Then I showered and changed before going home. Nobody could see me covered in blood, especially not on the night he’d turn up dead.
My father was dead. After decades of wishing him dead, he was finally gone. Forever.
Uncle Franco, Dante, and Priest had already come by the house. Apparently, Uncle and Wynter’s mother went to his own penthouse. No fucking clue where Dante and Priest went. Nor Emory. Brennan took the women back to his place, leaving Wynter and I to start our honeymoon.
Finally!
My body throbbed with dark hunger for her. I had yet to take my time and savor her body since I kidnapped her. The crazy part of me wanted to save it for our wedding night.
When I walked into my Hampton home, the house was quiet and dark.
“Where is my wife?” I asked my man watching the front entrance to our home.
“Upstairs,” he answered. “She asked me to give you this.”
He extended his hand with a small sealed envelope. Opening it, I read the message.
If I’m asleep when you get home, wake me up.
It was almost ten at night and I knew she’d probably be asleep. She was like a toddler with a sleep schedule. I nodded at him, crossed the foyer, then climbed the stairs two at a time.
When I entered the bedroom, I found her curled to the side and asleep.
Her short pink nightgown hiked up to her waist, exposing her ass in a matching pink thong.
I should let her sleep, yet even as I thought about that, I dropped to my haunches and placed my hand on her smooth thigh that was outside the covers.
The curve of her bare ass was tempting me, begging me to bite it. Yet, I couldn’t do it. As if she sensed my presence, her eyes fluttered open and our gazes connected.
“You’re home,” she murmured softly.
“Always,” I vowed softly. “I’ll always come home to you.”