18. Change of Plan #3
That’s why they sent her down here. To calm me down.
“Where have you been hiding this pretty little thing?” Damiano sneered, his tongue darting out over his lip like a fucking serpent tasting the air as his gaze roved over my sister.
“Don’t even look in her direction,” I growled, promising carnage. “I’ll pluck out your eyeballs and feed them to you after I’ve peeled off half your face, you sick bastard.”
Damiano ignored me, feeling so brave in his protective cage. “Is this the mute little Buccini virgin? Mm. Has to be. You look so untouched. So pure,” he moaned, crawling closer to her like a dying animal seeking one last meal.
Her cheeks reddened, and her gaze darted to me as my nostrils flared. I forced myself to hold back because I could taste it. His impending death was on the tip of my tongue.
Raya met my gaze, and a silent conversation passed between us in a subtle nod.
We’d been like this since childhood. We used to believe we could read each other’s minds if we tried hard enough.
We’d think of numbers or words, and the other would write them down on a piece of paper.
We were often more wrong than right, but when our thoughts matched, the celebration always made us feel invincible.
Like telepathic superheroes. At that moment, it made us executioners.
She shifted towards his cell, coaxing him closer to the bars as she peered down at him, putting on a show of meekness and innocence. His hand wrapped around the iron, and he dragged himself to his feet on his one unbroken leg, unable to resist the temptation.
“Come a little closer, pretty girl. Give a dying man one last wish.”
She shuffled forward just enough that if he dared reach out, he could grab her. He lunged, but I was quicker.
While he was distracted, my hand shot through the bars, burying itself in his filthy hair and yanking him towards me.
His yelp died halfway up his throat as I smashed his skull against the iron with a crack that vibrated up my arm.
Again. And again. Until a bone fractured and his skull caved just enough to let his head slip through the bars.
He was wedged, trapped, helpless, as his body flailed like a hooked fish behind him.
I shoved my fingers into his left eye socket, pushing through the warmth, the wetness, the soft give of tissue until I heard the satisfying pop.
It was ?glorious. Blood oozed down my knuckles as he screamed in agony, which made me enjoy it all the more.
I shoved my fingers into his mouth, forcing the ruptured tissue of his eye down his throat.
I lifted my gaze and noticed the long, sharp hairpin with a butterfly on the end sticking out of Raya’s hair.
It elegantly kept her mess of ringlets out of her face, and I reached for it, plucking it free.
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t flinch as I pressed the sharp point to his temple, pushing it deliberately slowly.
I savoured every scream, cry, and look of horror in his remaining eye as the pin burrowed deeper until it was fully submerged, with only the butterfly visible.
His mouth dropped open. Then shut. Then nothing.
I smiled when I heard his last rattling breath.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what you call art.
I let him go and stepped back, wiping the sweat and blood from my face with the back of my hand. He hung there like a sacrificed corpse, his head on my side, his body on his.
“That was my favourite hairpin,” Raya said softly, staring at the butterfly embedded in his skull.
“I’ll buy you another.”
“I quite want that one back.”
“Always so fucking sentimental,” I groaned, grabbed the pin, and yanked it free.
A spurt of blood shot out after it, then subsided into a steady trickle from the tiny, neat hole.
I wiped the blood on my shirt and handed it back to her through the bars.
She pulled half her hair back into a twist and fastened it with the newly christened murder weapon.
“Are you calmer now?” she asked, eyeing me carefully.
I leaned over, placed my hands on my knees, and took a few deep breaths. The world steadied. My vision sharpened. Yeah. Much ?calmer. Taking a stronzo’s life, who didn’t deserve the air in his lungs, always did wonders for my clarity.
Damiano’s words from earlier crawled back into my memory.
“He knew,” I breathed. “He took the job as part of a deal. He knew the wedding would happen even before Aria did.”
The timeline slotted into place like a gun being loaded.
I was pretty convinced Aria would have agreed to this wedding only after she found out about Damiano.
Piero and Callum must have been pushing for it.
That meant this was planned all along, but why?
It wasn’t surely just about me? I doubted it.
Her father must have been pushing her to marry Callum to keep her from me, yes. But Callum… What was in it for him?
That was the deal, you know? I only had to wait until after the wedding.
Someone had promised Damiano access to Aria after the wedding. Not her father. He would never. So Callum. Damiano was working for Callum. But why? What was the connection? Why the fuck was a guy like Callum linked to an ex-mafia soldier? And more importantly, what did he want with Aria?
“What is it?” Raya asked. “What do you need me to do?”
I straightened; an idea formed. It was probably the wildest I’d ever had, and it had the potential to go very wrong, but my brain wouldn’t stop working on it.
There would be consequences. Aria might hate me for it, but I would rather be the villain in her story than the man who failed to protect her.
“Go get Raffaele and come back. He owes me a favour.”
She nodded and headed back towards the steps. Moments later, Gio appeared, halting when he saw Damiano wedged between the bars.
“I left you for fifteen minutes. That’s impressive.”
“It was a miracle he even lasted that long.”
He smirked, bending down to examine my handiwork. He whistled low. “I wondered how you’d kill him with limited resources. What did you use?”
“Raya’s hairpin.” I narrowed my eyes, now thinking clearly enough to see that my brother was a sneaky, manipulative genius.
“Creative,” he chuckled, standing up. “Did you get what you needed?”
“If you mean, have I mellowed the fuck out now? Si. And if you also mean, did I get the information we needed… of course I did. He was working for Callum D'Ardenzi.”
“Hmm,” Gio nodded, not surprised. “Interesting. Alessio just got back to me about the remaining shipments at the port that are still in operation. Guess who owns them?”
“D'Ardenzi,” I growled. “Something bigger is going on here, Gio. She can’t marry him.”
Because she’s mine.
Gio sighed, folding his arms across his chest as we locked eyes.
“Let me out. I promise I’m not about to fly to Rome and kidnap the mayor’s daughter before her wedding.”
“You’re not?”
“Not exactly. The wedding’s still going ahead. There’s just been a change of groom. Go get a tux on, Fratello. You’re my best man.”