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47
SCAR
Ihung my head, pinching the bridge of my nose between two fingers. My unease was under my skin, remembering what had happened the last time I’d left Irina with Ivory to keep her safe. Only the knowledge that Christian was under strict instructions to not let her out of his sight had convinced me to leave.
I’d cut his throat myself if he failed.
“Is this a joke to you?” Ryker asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The guy across from us stared at the bag of cash on the floor, swallowing noticeably.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, fidgeting and shuffling his feet. I didn’t know how men could tolerate their own bullshit long enough not to realize how transparent nerves were.
Especially when they were facing down predators who saw right through the lies. Through the games.
“Where’s the rest of it?” Ryker asked, raising an eyebrow. I didn’t know the details of this collection or why I’d needed to come along for the ride. All I knew was that if Ryker thought the guy was short?
He was fucking short.
“It’s all there,” the guy said, raising his hands defensively.
“Really?” Ryker asked, bending forward to grasp the handle of the black duffle bag. He lifted it into the air, testing the weight while his face shifted in consideration. “I’d say you’re about five pounds light. You think I don’t know what one hundred grand feels like?”
“That’s not it. I’m sorry Mr. Bellandi,” the guy said, shaking his head from side to side as the panic of being caught transformed his face.
There were different kinds of strength and different ways to be strong. Irina might not have been able to take the guy in a fist fight, but she had a stronger character than he could ever hope to achieve.
“Mr. Fiore,” Ryker corrected, even though I knew he would have far rather carried the Bellandi name than his father’s. At least the Bellandis had men like Matteo and Lino.
“Bellandi’s Executioner,” I said, providing the title that most of the men far beneath our ranks would understand. The man’s eyes widened, fear pulsing off him in tangible waves from the title of the legend himself alone.
“That’s Scar,” Ryker said, nodding toward me. While his name wasn’t known very well aside from the title, mine was recognizable because of the fights in The Underground.
“I haven’t been in a fight in a while. I don’t imagine you’d struggle much, but your face might make a decent punching bag,” I said, tilting my head to the side.
“That’s true. You really are due for a fight in The Underground. Thunder misses you,” Ryker said thoughtfully. As much as I desperately needed the release that came from a well-matched fight in the pits, it was impossible with Irina in my life.
She’d had a moment of terror, my injuries triggering her when I first returned to her after Enzo kicked my ass. She hid it quickly, but I’d seen it for what it was.
I couldn’t do that to her, no matter how much I needed the release and the energy of the crowd cheering to refill my tank and remind me that, no matter how fucked up my world got, there was one thing I was good at.
That I was one of the best at.
“Murphy took it. Said he was skimming off the top of all Bellandi profits now as part of your deal with him to keep power over the city,” the guy said, flinching back from my threat to beat his face in.
“And you just happened to believe that bullshit?” Ryker asked, his hand twitching at his side. The absence of the money that came from the coke sales had been enough to notice.
Murphy had known exactly what he was doing, making a statement that the city was turning on us. Nobody knew who was in power anymore.
“It’s really a shame you had to be the messenger,” I said, pulling the gun out of my holster.
“Not really,” Ryker said. “He’s got no family—a leftover from Franco’s regime.” The sting of Franco’s name pulsed through me, knowing that I, too, was a remainder of the darkest time for the Bellandi family.
Most of Franco’s men had been killed off in the coup Matteo’d staged with the help of Aleksandr Vasiliev. The ones who’d survived had sworn allegiance to Matteo to save their skins, but that didn’t mean they were good men.
They were a means to an end. The worst kind of men humanity had to offer.
I raised the gun, firing a single shot between his eyes. The bang resonated through the house, the thump of his body hitting the floor shaking the ramshackle structure around us.
“What do we do with him?” Ryker asked, staring down at the body thoughtfully.
“Well he’s already dead,” I said, a chuckle bubbling up my throat.
He turned to level a look that clearly communicated his lack of humor in the present moment. “We need to send a message to the others in his crew.”
“He’s got lots of appendages. Send them each one with a card,” I said, shrugging as I returned my gun to my holster. “Go get your hatchet.”
“Is that what you’re planning for Darragh? Bring her a finger when he’s dead?” Ryker asked, the subject immediately cooling my blood.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. That was too good for the fucker who deserved to lose everything. “I’m going to lay his head at her feet.”
