Page 11 of No Darker Temptation

“I’m no rat.”

Before he even gets the word out, I land another punch to his jaw and his head juts backward.

“The hard way then.”

“After the dress fitting, we met up with Brent and his parents for dinner. Ugh, have I ever told you how annoying his mother is? Actually, that’s kind of mean. She’s really nice she’s just originally from the south and has the most screechy, high-pitched voice you’ve ever heard in your life. Oh honey, bless your heart, if that had been me I’d have been giggling like a goose under a feather! What does that even mean?”

The corners of my mouth lift in a barely there smile. I keep the phone pressed to my ear as the seconds run out on Dahlia’s audio message.

“Anyway, other than that the dinner was kind of boring. Aside from the fact that Brent likes to get on my nerves, we had a nice time…”

I check my watch for the time but it’s too late to give her a call. Her sleeping schedule is predictable—the complete opposite of mine. In bed no earlier than ten but no later than eleven, always up between six and seven. Just like clockwork.

It’s half past midnight over there. She’s probably snuggled up in bed, dreaming beautiful things, while I stayed up all night crushing the bones in Marki’s hands one by one. I’ll give it to him, he’s one tough son of a bitch.

I pocket my phone and step back into the warehouse. The sun is rising and yellow light filters through the dingey windows, turning everything within these four walls ashy gray. Marki’s head bobs back and forth, fighting sleep and the loss of consciousness. Diego got here around an hour ago, having returned from a brief trip to Italy with Abuelo. He stands behind Marki and yanks his head back.

“Should we keep going?” I ask as Beni hands me a towel and I wipe the blood off my busted knuckles. “I caught a second wind.”

Marki runs his tongue over his busted lip. “Have fun.” His voice is hoarse. “We both know I won’t say. And you can’t kill me.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. Not unless you want the Balkan clans down your throat. I’m told the situation in Barcelona is very…precarious.” He hisses the word and blood runs down the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t want to give the other twelve families another reason to question your authority.”

Before I can pounce on him, Diego gets between us and sucks his teeth. He turns his attention to Marki. “My brother has a temper. Best you watch yourself.”

Marki’s bloodshot gaze flickers between the two of us. I watch him weigh his options. We can’t exactly kill him but he also knows we won’t let him leave without the information we need. Especially Don Rubin.

“I’m a reasonable man. Let’s make an exchange. I give you information, you set me free.”

“The only information we’re interested in is where those five hundred kilos are.”

“You sure about that?”

Diego and I exchange a glance. My brother steps away from Marki and joins the line of men across the room, among them Don Rubin who watches with renewed interest. I cross my arms in front of me. “I’ll bite, Marki. What is it?”

“You and the Sandoval girl fucked over Don Sandro this past summer.”

“Be more specific. Sandro has more than one sister.”

“The crazy one who sent the last Russian Pakhan to an insane asylum in Switzerland.”

Ah. Regina.

“Sandro would like to return the favor.”

“And how does he plan on doing that?” I ask. “Because I only have the one sister and she’ll have put a hole through his chest with her shot gun before he can so much as take a breath in her direction.”

“There are other ways to get to you, Narvaez. He doesn’t have to fuck your sister to do it, although, I hear he wouldn’t be opposed to⁠—”

The moment my fist connects with his jaw, I know I’ve broken bone.

The edges of my vision burn deep red and black and the muscles in my body ache and sting. I hear the crunch of bone, feel the tearing of skin as I hit over and over again, the sounds of the men shouting around me drowned out by the roaring in my ears. Marki’s shirt wrinkles in my grip and another blow to the side of his face sends him reeling backward and the bolts keeping the metal chair in place pop out. The chair flies back and we tumble onto the floor, Marki on the bottom and me on top.

By the time I snap out of my rage induced haze, and Diego’s hand touches my shoulder, I realize my fist isn’t hitting anything solid anymore. Instead, my injured knuckles sink inches deep into meaty flesh. Kneeling on the floor, I take a moment to catch my breath and wait for my vision to clear.

“Hmph,” Don Rubin wanders over to examine my handiwork. “Leave his body on Doda’s doorstep. Tell him we’re even.”