Page 13 of Cavaliere

“Now you have to pay.” He delivers a hard blow to my jaw, snapping my head back. My vision goes black for a few seconds as I furiously blink, trying to get rid of the spots in my vision.

I need to fight.

He’s on me again before I get the chance.

“You’re not my usual type, but I guess you’ll do for now.” He laughs as I hear the fly of his pants unzip.

Oh, please, god no.

He’s already kneeling on the ground between my legs before I have a chance to come up with a concrete plan. My head is too goddamn fuzzy to think clearly. I can feel the vomit inching up the back of my throat as he props himself up on his elbows over me. The smell of stale alcohol has me swallowing the vomit back down.

Fuck this.

I refuse to let this be how I go out.

Without hesitating, I bring my left leg up and shove it as hard as I can in his balls.

“You fucking bitch!” he yells, one hand on reflex grabbing the area.

Shoving his shoulder as hard as I can, he loses his balance and tilts off of me. Scrambling up off the floor, I dash to the kitchen. Through the spots in my vision, I set my sight on the knife block in the corner next to the stove. The edge of the counter digs into my stomach as I slam into it, not wanting to risk slowing down and him grabbing me again before I reach it. My hand grips the cool, wooden handle of the chef's knife as I yank it out of the block.

“You’re going to wish I fucking killed you when I first found you, cunt,” he growls out as I hear him approach me from behind. This time I’m ready. He wraps his fist in my hair again, yanking back. I don’t fight it as he pulls. I lean into it slightly before throwing my arm back and stabbing the chef's knife as hard as I can right into his stomach. I keep going until my hand comes in contact with the fabric of his shirt, as deep as it will go.

He releases my hair as he collapses to his knees.

I don’t stop to look back as I hear him gasp for breath. All I can think about is grabbing my phone, which I stupidly left on my nightstand, and getting the fuck out of here.

In record time, I’m flying back down the hall with my phone in hand. I pass the kitchen without a glance and out the front door, which isn’t there anymore. Bounding down the steps two at a time, I don’t take my first real breath until I’m physically outside.

Clocking that Mark isn’t in his usual space, I take off running down the street.

After a few blocks, I stop and duck into the shadows of the entrance of a building. My emotions are catching up to me as I bend over, resting my hands on my knees, and let out a whimper. It isn’t long before that whimper turns into full-blown sobbing.

All I can taste in my mouth is blood mixed with my salty tears. A taste I will never forget.

“God, what the fuck!” I scream. The tears are not stopping anytime soon. In fact, they’re only coming in harder.

I do the one thing I thought I would never do.

I call Matteo.

Chapter

Twelve

MATTEO

Pop, pop, pop

The sound of Gio finishing someone off is like music to my ears. Every so often, there will be some guy who comes along wanting our protection. Which is all fine until said guy thinks his balls are the size of fucking Texas and starts running his mouth to someone he shouldn’t be running his mouth to.

Lesson number one: I don’t like people I don’t fucking know in my business.

So naturally, the next step is to make an example out of this piece of shit.

I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket as I start heading back to my car. “Take care of that,” I call to Gio and Enzo over my shoulder as I take my phone out.

Wren calling