It’s an unfortunate reality of the transition of power in mafia families. There are some people that are so loyal to the boss that even when they willingly hand over the reins, they can’t let it go.
But I’ll be fucking grateful when I no longer have to see his calculating eyes at the table.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck this stuck-up cunt,” he says, more for Neil’s benefit than mine. “Once I’ve torn her up, I’ll start the main course.”
He throws a look across to Chloe, and my blood heats to the point of pain. If he touches her, I will cut his hands off and shove them down his throat, even if Dad punishes me for it.
I want to be able to look my brother in the eye when all this is over, even if I’m part of the reason for his broken heart.
“If you don’t put that away, I will cut it off,” I force through gritted teeth.
“Come on, Damon. Don’t get soft on me now.”
“There’s only one soft thing in this cellar, and it’s your sorry excuse for a dick. Put it the fuck away.”
For a second, I think he’s going to argue with me, but he mutters something under his breath and storms out of the room.
Sucking in a calming breath, I turn my attention back to Neil.
Time to get some answers so we can end this once and for all.
The sooner the Weavers are dead, the sooner I can finally take control of this family.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHLOE
NOW
Footsteps against hard concrete drag me from my restless dreams, my eyes blinking open with ease.
If nothing else, at least the drugs are out of my system.
Not that that will make the torture hurt any less.
For a second I can’t decide whether to pretend to be asleep for a little longer or if I should just accept my fate.
In the end, I opt for the latter.
The sooner this is over, the better.
No one is coming for me, so there’s no sense trying to prolong my life, even if it is just for a few hours.
The door slides open with a deep groan. They may have done some upgrades to their cells, but it seems they didn’t bother with the steel doors.
I hold my breath, expecting to find Salvatore stepping into the doorway, but instead it’s Ronan with a tray in his hands.
“You’re up,” he says evenly, as if kidnapping his childhood sweetheart means nothing to him. But then he’s not the boy I once knew anymore. He’s harder. More ruthless. Years of beingwith his father and brother with nothing good around him have made him just like them.
I don’t bother responding as I push myself into a sitting position.
“I brought you some food and a change of clothes.” He places the tray down beside me on the mattress before slipping a bag I hadn’t noticed off his shoulder and setting it beside the tray.
I blink down at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off, my chest aching at the familiarity of the food.
A reminder of what we once shared.
The first time we admitted we liked each other as more than friends, it was over a sandwich. He found me in the garden reading, nerves rolling off him as he handed me half his sandwich and told me he didn’t just see me as a best friend anymore.
