Page 41 of Lust and Honor

As I climb toward the second floor, I grip the gun tighter, holding it close to my face, ready to drop any target instantly. Reaching the half-open door, I catch the sound of loud laughter and women’s whimpers over the music and traffic. I nudge the door wider and slip inside. A narrow hallway leads me to the living room.

On the couch, Nicola’s sprawled beside a barely dressed girl whose wrists are loosely tied with a silk scarf. Her mascara’s smeared, fear shining plainly in her eyes while she curls tighter into the corner of the couch every time he touches her. Either she’s a working girl, or she’s here against her will. The fear in her eyes makes the second one more likely. Another guy I don’t recognize lounges naked on a chair, a liquor bottle in hand, leering at the scene with a filthy smirk.

I follow his gaze to my target: Leonardo Scavia. That bastard’s slouched in an armchair, pants around his ankles, one hand tangled in the hair of a girl kneeling before him, while he says something that makes the other men laugh.

I do a quick headcount, pull a second pistol with my free hand, and aim at the lone guy on the chair. One shot, dead center in his forehead, and he’s gone to hell. The liquor bottle slips from his hand, shattering, and the noise snaps the other two scumbags’ attention.

Before they can reach for their guns, I close the distance in two long strides, training both weapons on them. They freeze in place.

“Turn off that fucking music,” I bark at Nicola.

With a furious glare, he slumps down on the couch, reaches for the remote, and kills the sound. When the music cuts off, all that’s left is the muffled crying of the two girls and the hum of cars passing over the bridge.

After fifteen years, I finally hear that disgusting voice again. “Maxim? Is that you?”

The rage I’ve carried for fifteen years explodes inside me. I want to put a bullet in his rotten skull right now, but I’m not done with him yet.

Nicola tries to chime in from the side, “You don’t know who you’re messing with. If you walk out now—”

His threat’s cut short by a bullet I fire straight into his crotch. His blood-curdling screams fill the room.

Leonardo twitches, ready to move, but I swing both guns his way and snarl, “I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”

I glance at his exposed junk, defenseless in my line of fire.

He swallows hard and tries to play it cool. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

We’ll get to that, but first, I need to shut this other prick up.

The girl on the couch is tied up, so I turn to the one still on the floor. “Go grab that duct tape and bring it here.”

She stares at me, eyes wide with terror. Disgust crashes over me. She’s maybe sixteen, tops.

When she doesn’t move, I snap, “You deaf? Get the damn tape!”

She jumps up, hands trembling, and grabs the duct tape.

I nod toward Nicola. “Tape his mouth shut.”

She does what I said, hands shaking, fear in every move. Nicola doesn’t make it easy, keeps writhing and moaning in pain, but she manages.

“Now go untie her. Sit behind the couch and don’t make a sound, or I’ll put a bullet in your heads,” I say once his groans are silenced.

Leonardo’s been glaring at me the whole time. I grab Nicola’s pistol, eject the clip, and toss it to the floor. Same goes for the dead guy’s gun.

Then, right in front of Leonardo’s stunned eyes, I unload both my own pistols and drop them to the ground.

The message is clear: Come at me, you motherfucker.

And he does. He yanks up his pants in one motion, not bothering to button them, and charges, ramming his head into my gut. I’ll give him this, for his age, he’s got some serious strength. No wonder they called him the Gorilla.

But gorilla or not, he’s got no chance against a guy like me, who’s walked away from at least ten death matches. I land a punch to his neck, dazing him, and he stumbles back. He dodges my next swing aimed at his jaw and counters with a hook to my temple that sends me crashing onto the couch.

He lunges for the clips and guns, but I tackle him, slamming him to the floor. He holds out for maybe two minutes, but in the end, it’s me pummeling his face into a bloody mess.

When his face is dripping red, I snap out of it and pull back. I want to kill him right here, but that’d ruin my plans. It takes everything to peel myself off him. I shake my head to clear the urge to finish him, then haul his limp body up and plant him in the chair.

His pants are still down, his junk hanging out. I bind his wrists and ankles to the chair with duct tape and splash a glass of water in his face.