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“You sound like a Consigliere,” I taunted.
“But I’m not, and I won’t be. Some things aren’t meant to be. I’m not fit to be a consigliere. I know my limits. Maybe you should start considering yours.”
“Limits are there to be broken down.”
Alessio shook his head. “Not every limit. Some limits are worth being honored, especially if they are meant to protect the people who deserve our protection.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll behave, but don’t pretend you’re against becoming Consigliere because you want to protect others. You’re being a prissy because of completely irrelevant circumstances.”
“Blood isn’t irrelevant.”
“The only time I care about blood is when it runs over my hands and fills the air with its metallic scent.”
Alessio chuckled. “You’re the craziest fucker on this planet.”
“Not crazy enough to get it on at a Famiglia wedding. You know they honor their virgins.”
Alessio didn’t say anything.
I let out a whistle. “Don’t tell me you really banged a virgin?”
Still nothing. Alessio had a good poker face if he wanted to. “You’re being awfully secretive about this.”
“Let’s go back to the party.”
I shook my head with a chuckle. Knowing Alessio, he’d probably fucked some neglected MILF, not an honored virgin. Always working on his karma.
I got dressed, and then I grabbed Rory’s underwear. Under watchful eyes, I tossed away her bra, hoping he hadn’t noticed how I’d stuffed her panties into my pants pocket. I’d long given up figuring out the reasoning behind my actions, so I didn’t even try this time.
It was three in the morning when I finally gave up on sleep and decided to leave the hotel before I accidentally killed a Famiglia soldier and caused another war. I needed to let off some steam. I particularly needed to keep my mind busy and as far away from what Amo and Greta were currently up to.
I short-circuited a motorbike I found in the underground parking of the hotel and left the premises with smoking tires. I didn’t care if this was one of the Famiglia’s bikes. There was a high chance that this belonged to either Matteo, Maximus, or Marcella’s biker boy, all of them people I loved to piss off in whatever way I could. Stealing a ride for the night was one of the lesser transgressions I could commit, considering the rage I was feeling. I bought a bottle of cheap vodka on the way to a part of the city where most people didn’t want to be stranded at night. Those were usually the places where the most fun could be had. I doubted Luca would get his panties in a bunch if I killed off the scum of his city. And if he did. Oh well.
Two hours later, I sat in a puddle of warm blood on the dirty floor of a biker meetup. Beside me on the ground, a biker took his last gurgling breaths, blood spurting out of his chest and throat wounds. I dropped my phone on the floor after I’d told Fabiano to pick me up. His voice still echoed from the speakers, but I wasn’t listening.
I tried to count how many I’d killed, but it was a mess. I regarded the samurai sword in appreciation. It was my first time using one. I should probably thank the owner of the pub for having it on his wall. But I suspected he was among the chopped-up bodies around me.
Most of the events after I’d stepped into the establishment were blurry or blacked out. Sometimes when my fury rose too high and my blood lust took over, I became too frenzied to remember details.
I hung my head, the alcohol really taking effect now that my adrenaline and blood lust had ebbed away. I was battling unconsciousness. Dammit. The sound of police sirens made me tense.
“Fuck it,” Fabiano muttered as he stepped inside, pushing a chopped-off calf out of the way with the bottom of the door.
I lifted my head to meet his gaze, even if it felt too heavy.
Fabiano stood in the center of the bar, still in his wedding suit, and he looked royally pissed.
I grinned crookedly as Fabiano turned around himself to take in the full scope of the mess. “I thought you’d bring Luca along. Doesn’t honor dictate it?”
Fabiano slanted a look over his shoulder, grimacing. “Luca is the groom’s father. He shouldn’t have to deal withthistonight.”
“You came without a watchdog from the Famiglia?” I asked.
“He came with me,” Matteo said as he stepped up to Fabiano, with his manic shark-grin.
Fabiano stalked over to me, trying not to get blood on his beige leather shoes. No chance.
“You should have worn other shoes,” I said, pointing at my black dress shoes. They were probably ruined too, considering how squishy the inside felt, but you couldn’t see it at first glance.
