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Gio unlocked it, and the second it swung open, the smell hit me. The metallic tang of blood mixed with what smelled like shit and charred bacon. I gagged and slapped a hand over my mouth.
Gio stepped inside and turned to me. He stood in the doorway in his immaculate suit, surrounded by blood and gore like the devil himself. As though the violence couldn’t touch the one who commanded it.
I could tell they’d tried to clean up some of it, but crimson swirls smeared over the floor, spattered the walls. A chain creaked, though I couldn’t make out the source of it past Gio’s broad frame.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, as though he expected me to run away from the horror show he and his men had created.
Maybe I should have, but I never backed down. I refused to now.
I took several breaths in through my mouth and stepped past him. Nothing, and I meant nothing, could have prepared me for what I saw. Bile crept up my throat as I took in the sight of Matteo. Two hooks were rammed through both his shoulders, attached to chains anchored in the ceiling.
But the worse part was that he was literally just a bloody stump. His arms and legs were missing, severed below the shoulder, and at mid-thigh. The skin around the wounds was blackened, and if I had to guess, that was where the smell of burned bacon was coming from. They’d cut off his limbs and cauterized the wounds to keep him alive. It was a brand of cruelty I couldn’t even comprehend, but I felt no pity for him. He hung limply, unconscious, and I felt nothing really. If it were anyone else, I would be horrified, disgusted… but not for him.
Gio leaned against the wall, and I felt the intensity of his gaze as I circled Matteo’s limp form.
When I got to his back, I saw that his boxers had been ripped open, and a metal pole was protruding from his ass. Blood dripped down it before collecting in a puddle beneath him.
“Jackson did this?” I asked.
He pointed at the pole. “That was Renzo.”
Because Matteo had raped Chiara, my brother had done the same to him. Still, I couldn’t quite believe that my brother—my sweet, kind, laughing brother—was capable of this. “I didn’t think…”
“He’s a mafia enforcer, piccola. Same as Jackson.”
I didn’t like to think about that, but I nodded, feeling oddly numb, disassociated from everything.
“Did you want to speak to him? He’ll be delirious with the pain and blood loss, but I can give him an adrenaline shot.”
“You do that?”
The smile that pulled at his lips was ruthless. “Oh yeah, wakes them right up.”
God, he was twisted, and why, right now, with my sister’s mutilated abuser hanging in a bloodstained room, did I find that so disturbingly attractive?
I focused on Matteo again. Did I want him awake? No. There was nothing I had to say to this man. No wrath my words could inflict that Jackson and Renzo hadn’t already done in what looked like a hundred different ways. All I needed from him was his death.
I approached Gio, and he remained still, the picture of casual calm. I placed a hand on his chest, and he reached for me, cupping my face.
“I don’t think he suffered enough for doing this to your face.”
“Gio. I head-butted him and shot him in the dick.” He smirked at that. “The man has no limbs. Pretty sure we’re even.”
He kissed my forehead. “Not even slightly.” God, he was insane sometimes.
I unbuttoned his jacket, and he lifted a brow. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” I said as I slipped my hand inside and pulled his gun free from the holster.
“Ah, but now you’re holding a gun, piccola. My mind is firmly in the gutter.” He adjusted himself, and I smiled, embracing the moment of lightness before I steeled myself for what came next.
“Wake him up.”
His thumb swept my cheek, that blue gaze searching mine. Whatever he found there had him moving to a metal cart in the corner of the room. It was covered in various lethal-looking instruments and weapons. And a syringe. He picked it up before approaching Matteo and jabbing it into the side of his neck. It was only a couple of seconds before he lurched like a fish on a line, eyes flashing open.
The movement sent a fresh wave of blood pouring from his shoulders and a keening cry ripping from his lips. His awareness made the scene a thousand times more horrific. For the briefest moment, I actually felt a flicker of pity for him. I hated it but reminded myself that it was because I wasn’t a monster like him.
Gio moved beside me. “You don’t have to do this, Emilia.”
