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I know that for what it is—an invitation. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if that’s really how I want tonight to go. A blowjob or a quick fuck in a bathroom stall, no matter how luxurious, doesn’t hold much appeal for me anymore. On the other hand—I wouldn’t mind finding out what her full lips feel like around my cock.
Taking another sip of my drink, I decide to wait for her to come back. I like to take my time, and that’s best done in my king-sized bed—or maybe on the leather sofa. Better yet, up against the window overlooking the city.Besides, I think wryly to myself, finishing the drink,it’s best if she knows who’s going to be calling the shots tonight.
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, and I reach for it, groaning inwardly. I don’t know who would be calling me at this time of night—anyone I might want to talk to is already here. Which means it’s probably not going to be someone I want to hear from.
Sure enough, it’s Don Rossi.
Fuck.
I stand up, glancing towards the back of the bar to see if the redhead has emerged before mouthingI have to take thisto Franco, and then stepping outside. All I wanted to do after the last few mind-numbing hours was knock back a few drinks, find the hottest girl in the bar, and take her home so that I could lose myself in the sweet oblivion of a perfect figure and good pussy. The last thing I want to do tonight is put out a fire for my boss.
“Luca, I need you at the warehouse in Chelsea, now. As soon as you can get there. Whatever you’re doing or whoever you’re with, drop her and get down here.”
I stifle a groan.Can’t someone else handle this for one goddamn night?I’m just about to say exactly that, when Rossi continues, and the words that come out of his mouth send a chill down my spine.
“They have Sofia.”
Luca
The docks smell like fish and garbage. I stride down the dock towards the warehouse, feeling myself tense as I approach it. I can feel the shift in myself, the person that I become when this part of the job requires doing. I don’t enjoy torture, but the Bratva has taken too much from me for there to be any true hesitation on my part. I saw my father’s body before the funeral. It had to be a closed casket for everyone else. That’s how terrible the things that they did to him were.
Tonight it’s not even a little bit difficult. All it took were those three words:they have Sofia.
I don’t care so much about the girl herself. I haven’t seen her since she was twelve. But my father died avenging hers. He made a vow, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let these fucking Russians make my father’s—and Sofia’s father’s—deaths for nothing.
Marrying Sofia Ferretti is the last thing I want to do. But I’ve never broken a promise yet, and I’m not about to start now.
Inside the warehouse there’s a man sitting on a chair, his arms tied behind him. His mouth is already bloody, his eyes swollen and blackening, and I see Rossi standing there with several of his men surrounding the chair. The man has a resigned look on his face, as if he already knows what the end of this is. He knows he’s not walking out of here alive. What he says or doesn’t say depends on how much pain lies between now and that end.
“Luca.” Rossi’s voice is dry and cool. “Good to see you.”
“I got here as quickly as I could. Who is this?”
One of Rossi’s men spits on the floor. “His name is Leo. He’s one of the Bratva dogs. But we already knew that.”
“We haven’t gotten anything else out of him,” Rossi says darkly. “Despite the work that my men did on his face. Since this is so personal to you, Luca, I thought perhaps it could use your skill.”
I frown, striding towards the chair. The man has distinctly Russian features, his greying blond hair stiffening from dried sweat and blood at his hairline. He lifts his head as I walk towards him, disgust plain on his face.
“So, Leo, is that true?” I squat down in front of him. “Are you Bratva? Do you answer to Viktor Andreyev?”
“Fuck you,” he says in his thickly accented voice, spitting on the ground. “And fuck your children, too.”
The punch comes before he can see it, my fist connecting with his cheek with a sickening thud and the sound of cracking teeth. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth—he bit his tongue.
“I don’t have any children,” I say coolly. “But I can make sure you never do, if you don’t talk.”
“You’re going to kill me. So hurry up and do it. I’m not saying shit.” He spits out another mouthful of blood.
“Maybe not,” I say conversationally. “Maybe I cut off your balls, and take a few of your fingers, and then let you wander back to your master like a castrated dog. Maybe I let you live that life, instead of mercifully killing you. You don’t deserve a kind death, Leo. But you can earn it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rossi’s grim, satisfied smile. He called me here for a reason—I’m the best at this game. Better even than him, and he knows it, because he gets too much enjoyment from torture. He doesn’t know when to stop, but I will. I’ll do just enough to force them to talk, and once they realize that they spill everything they know from the boss’s secrets to their grandmother’s cookie recipe.
This guy is going to do the same thing. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Thirty minutes later, the man is sobbing. His lip is split, two of his teeth are on the concrete, and one of his fingernails is sitting next to it. And I’m still standing in front of him, cool and collected even with his blood and spit on my shirt and jacket, a pair of pliers in my hands.
“Are we going to keep going?” I ask him, smirking. “Or would you like to lose another fingernail? Maybe the tip of a toe. I haven’t forgotten about the threat to your balls, either.”
