64. Nicolai
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
NICOLAI
The screams inside the warehouse are deafening, and then abruptly stop.
Vico and his men emerge, wiping the blood off their hands with anything they can find.
“He’s all yours, boss.” I had given them five minutes, but since I’m feeling generous, I let it stretch to twenty-one—one minute for every year Luna’s been alive.
I step back into the hell I’ve created. D’Angelo hangs from the rafters like a grotesque marionette. His face is unrecognizable, but his eyes, wide and unblinking, still hold a shred of defiance. The same defiance Luna carries in her bones. I hate that I noticed.
I grab the blowtorch. “Let’s talk about your retirement.”
The blowtorch thrums in my grip, its blue flame hissing like a snake. D’Angelo’s swollen eyes track it, the last flicker of defiance drowning in primal fear. Good. Fear is a language he understands.
“Retirement,” I say, “is a luxury I won’t allow.”
The ropes bite into his wrists as he sways back and forth. The rafters creak, reminding me of a metronome or a morbid lullaby. Behind me, Mateo and the others blend into the shadows. They know better than to interfere when there’s work to be done.
I trail the fire along his feet. The stench of burning flesh is cloying and sweet. He opens his mouth to scream, but his vocal cords are already shot. I guess I’ll do the talking from here on out.
“It wasn’t that long ago you threatened to cut my child out of my wife’s belly.
Your own daughter. Your flesh and blood.
What kind of sick fuck would do that?” I murmur, leaning close.
“Before that, your goons tortured me and forced her to watch. It’s a tactic we use on our enemies, not our famiglia.
” The torch hovers over his balls. “You don’t deserve her, and God help me, I don’t either. ”
Prolonging the inevitable, I walk around so he can’t see me. I can smell his fucking fear from here. Ballless bastard.
I watch as he yanks against the restraints, his body twisting with whatever strength he has left.
He doesn’t know that every pull only makes it worse.
The ropes dig deeper into his wrists, cutting off his circulation.
His breathing is already ragged and uneven.
Death is knocking on his door, but he refuses to let go.
I step closer, but he doesn’t hear me. Not yet. He’s too busy wrenching his neck at a painful angle just for a glimpse of what lurks behind him. Me. The thought makes me smile. He doesn’t know if I’m still here or if I went out the back door.
I let the silence stall. A bit longer. Wanting him to feel hope, and when he does, I’ll snatch it right out of his fucking hands before I end him.
Once I get bored of playing cat and mouse, I speak. “You’re wasting your strength.”
He freezes.
Oh, yes. This is my favorite part.
“What do you suppose happened to Luna on her wedding night? Hmm?” I give him a shove, and the momentum has him swinging again. I know he can’t speak, but I want to taste his fear.
“Did you think Giovanni would be a gentle lover, knowing she was a virgin?” The blowtorch is getting heavy in my hand, so I need to get this over with.
In a few short strides, I’m facing the monster. His eyes are glazed over, but he’s staring right at me. The asshole’s bold, I’ll give him that. But not for long. I shut off the torch, laying it on the ground.
Then I grab the knife at my hip and flick it open. Wanting him to feel the pain he inflicted on his beautiful daughter when he handed her over to a monster.
“Gio used the handle of his whip to claim her virginity while he fucked her in the ass to get himself off. Every. Single. Motherfucking. Day. Before he marked her porcelain skin with the whip into submission!”
I catch a glimpse of remorse for a heartbeat, and then it’s gone. It’s not the response I had hoped for, but it’s enough. Enough to justify what comes next.
My knife slips inside the leg of his briefs, and with a flick of my wrist, they drop to the floor.
“As you can see, the blade is very sharp.” To prove my point, I drag the tip of the knife down his left leg. He hisses, but it’s not deep, just enough to cut. Blood oozes down his thigh and drips on the floor. Joining the filth of what he’s already left behind.
Then I fist his cock and balls in one hand and press the knife just beneath the ridge with the other.
Where the skin is paper-thin. “Watch me cut off the only part of your body that’s still intact.
” He doesn’t move an inch, and I know he’s holding his breath.
Questioning whether or not I’m bluffing. I’m not.
My hold is relentless, and with a yank and a swipe, his bloody manhood now sits in the palm of my hand.
And when he opens his mouth to scream, I shove the appendages down his throat and force his mouth closed.
He thrashes and kicks, but he's powerless with his feet inches off the ground. Hands tied above him.
I’m the only one in control.
I lean in and whisper, “Mine is the last face you’ll ever see.
This is my revenge and the only justice you deserve for what you’ve done to Luna.
” A cruelty I never knew existed rises to the surface as I witness him choking on his own filth.
“I hope you rot in hell. And don’t forget that I’m the motherfucker who sent you there.
” And then I watch as my father-in-law, the Boss of the D’Angelo family, convulses and then goes limp in my hold. Taking his last breath on this Earth.
My job here is done.
I spot the shredded remains of D’Angelo’s shirt on the floor and bend down, broken fingers screaming with every movement. Then I wipe my bloodied hands across the fabric; he won’t be needing it anymore. Then I stride out of the warehouse with Mateo and my new soldiers at my back.
“It’s over. Burn this fucking place to the ground.”
The adrenaline fades, and pain rushes in, angry and unforgiving. I tell myself a few pain meds and hours of sleep will fix it. But I know better. Only my wife can make it bearable.
“Take me to the safehouse. Then move everyone to the mansion in Westchester. We rest first. Then we rebuild.” Mateo is already making calls as we drive.
The night air is cold, but it’s nothing compared to the way my entire body throbs. There’s not a single inch that isn’t screaming. I don’t look back as flames swallow the warehouse. Smoke licks the sky, and for a heartbeat, I’m hollow. No triumph. No relief. Just the quiet hum of finito.
Luna’s face flares behind my eyelids when I blink—her smile, the way her eyes go soft when she thinks I’m not looking. I need to touch her, to prove she’s real, that any of this is.
The car seat grinds into my spine, but I lock my jaw and swallow the groan.
Mateo’s voice is fading in and out like a bad connection.
I close my eyes, letting the emptiness press in.
It’s over. Finished. But the burden of what’s left—the family, the blood debts, the fucking crown now sitting crooked on my head—crushes me deeper into the leather.
I breathe. One ragged pull after another.
Soon.
Soon I’ll see her.
Until then, I don’t get to fall apart.