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"Fuck you, De Rossi," I spit as anger blinds me. Embarrassment floods my cheeks, heat burns them, and I'm certain they're bright red. My hands land on his chest and I push him away, needing air, needing not to inhale his masculine scent. Everything about him is darkness, and even his cologne which reminds me of a hot summer night surrounds me, even when he puts much needed space between us.
"One day, little dancer," he informs me as he sheaths his blade and turns for the door. "If you behave, perhaps we can go out tomorrow." He stops at the door, his watchful glare pinning me to the window without him touching me. He exudes dominance. He wears it like his thousand-dollar suits.
But my brain doesn't seem to be linked to my mouth when I blurt, "Like, outside?" The moment the words escape me, I want to pull them back. I sound like an imbecile, just because he's made me feel things I don't want to admit to.
"Yes, Luna," he says. "Outside." And then he's gone, and I'm left to ponder what just happened. Once again, his violence turned me on. It forced me to admit, even if only to myself just what I want and need from him.
Those things he said, were true.
I do enjoy it. I do want it. And I do crave it.
But there's one thing my future husband doesn't know about me, and I'll keep it a secret right up until I can't anymore.
And the moment he finds out, I doubt I'll be useless to him anymore.
Chapter 13
Enzo
Noise.
I don't like it.
I've always been averse to listening to a man beg for his life. Yes, I enjoy it for what it's worth, a bastard getting his comeuppance, but right now, my mind isn't in the job. I have a meeting in an hour, the first one I'll run as Boss of the Familia. The asshole before me is nothing more than a bug under my shoe.
Leaning in, I pierce his lip with the tip of my blade, while clamping his mouth shut with a pair of pliers. Blood spurts from the wound. "You've made a mess on my shoes," I inform him, my tone ice cold, venomous. "I don't like a mess."
He can't answer me with words, so all I get are mumbles and whimpers. My anger comes from last night's interaction with Luna, rather than the criminal sitting in the chair before me, but I don't let anyone in on what's racing through my mind. I shove my hand forward, which slices through his lips, causing them to split like a snake's tongue.
"I don't like people who lie to me. If you can't give me the truth, then be sure that the next part of your body this slides through will be your tongue. You'll walk out of here half a man when I'm done with you." My threat is delivered and has the desired effect because he starts talking.
Rankin.
A man who has been undercover in the Cavallone clan for years. And now he is my prisoner. He starts confessing quickly, "I wanted to climb the ranks quickly," he tells me. "I needed to get the information before they pulled me from the job."
"And you decided that working as a fixer would be your safest bet?" I challenge as I tug on his shirt, pulling him closer to me.
He tries to shake his head, but can't because I have him in my hold. "I d-don't... I mean, t-t-there was one o-o-option to climb up to a Capo status," he admits, his voice quivering with every word.
"So, you fucked over my Familia so you could turn Capo?" I challenge, pressing harder on the pliers which I know will soon rip his lip from his face. The image the thought conjures makes me smile, which seems to confuse the man before me. "Answer me." The order is clear. "What did they make you do?" I already know the answer, but I want him to say it. I want to hear it from the horse's mouth.
"I-I-I w-w-was meant t-to k-kill y-your p-parents." The words are muffled, strained, but I heard him. This was the man that Cavallone bastard hired to murder my parents. To break my family apart. What they didn't bank on was my father having plans in place if ever something happened to him. And as much as Luna frustrates me, she is mine now. “B-but I-I d-d-didn’t w-wield the w-weapon.” His stutter confirms what I had suspected. He may have been there, but there was someone else holding the blade, and I’m certain that man is Tommaso Cavallone.
“I want a name,” I bite out, my teeth gritting with frustration as I lean in closer, my face in his. “Tell me his name.”
“T-T-Tommaso.” The confession of a man with nothing left to lose. He knows he will never receive my mercy. He has no reason to lie.
