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Punk smirks. “OurTony now, bitch.”
Bianchi’s eyes snap to me, dark and irate. “You left her with that fuck up?!”
“A man who nearly died for my woman is more than qualified to protect her,” I seethe.
“He should have fucking died! He failed his job. Because of him, her obsessive exragazzogot a hold of her and messed with her head. Now she can’t sleep, she’s having nightmares, she’s barely eating and holding it together,” he rages. “How could you be this stupid?”
I’m about to step forward and give him a piece of my mind but stop myself. Bianchi is emotional at the moment. If I’ve learned anything from my Pixie, it’s that people tend to say things they don’t want to be revealed when they’re emotional. I can take his insults if it gets him to slip up and reveal more than he should about Josephine’s mental health.
“Deficiente! Moreno is out there waiting for the perfect opportunity to snatch Pina, and you’re thecretinoserving her up on a silver platter.”
“The only thing you care about is preventing Esteban from moving in on your territory. Stop pretending you give a shit about Jo,” Chase argues, stroking Bianchi’s anger. He knows egging the douchebag on will possibly entrap him.
Bianchi turns his anger on Chase. “Don’t tell me I don’t care about her. I care more about her than Atlas or any of you.” He whirls back around on me. “Fanculo! She hasn’t fared well with one abduction. Do you believe she would fair okay after another?”
The dick is close to fucking up—I can feel it in my marrow.
“And now she’s developing odd ticks, compulsively checking locks everywhere she goes,” Bianchi rambles, heatedly.
And there’s the smoking gun.
No more needs to be heard. The fucknut finally showed his cards, and we got the bastard. We know, without a doubt, the hacker works for Bianchi, and this isn’t Esteban trying to fuck with me. That last tidbit was fake news and only the upload to her file this morning.
“What she sees in you, I’ll never understand. But I refuse—fucking refuse—to sit back and watch you put her in danger,” Bianchi argues.
Gauge pokes the bear some more. “Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?”
“Make her see reason. Show what a shit-show your way of life is. Educate her on all the ways I can love her, protect her, and mold her into the woman she’s meant to be. I will make her mine!”
The fuck?! Oh, it’s fucking on! Nobody lays claim to my woman.
Swinging my arms downward, I shred the jacket, seams busting open from my muscles flexing and pulsing—the hell with the bill. I stalk forward and I’m stopped short when Reaper and Brass get a hold of me. I’m inches away from ripping the mob boss’s head from his shoulders.
“Calm down, Prez,” Reaper whispers. “Don’t give him a reason to press charges.”
“Come near her and I’ll end you,” I grit through my teeth, struggling against my brothers.
Bianchi gives a mocking smile. “Oh, I’lltakeyour woman. Take her, lay claim on her, mark her, and own every fucking inch of her ‘till she won’t remember your name.”
“The hell you will!” I get an arm loose and swing a fist at Bianchi’s face, barely missing him. “Come here, you coward.”
Bianchi’s pretty-boy face lights up with delight, seeing me hot and bothered by his weak claim to my woman. “Pina likes it hard and dirty. I’ll make sure to give it to her real good, all the oral and anal play she wants,” Bianchi taunts.
Punk shoves the Don. “The fuck you say about my sis?” Ziggy and Jared bookend Punk’s sides, ready to dish out their own punishment.
Bianchi looks shocked that someone had the nerve to touch him. He eyes Punk warily. “Sis?”
“Yeah, my sister, as in Jo.” Punk jabs a long finger in the prick’s chest. “And she’s off-limits.”
Thank God Gauge has enough sense to question Bianchi. “Why would you think Jo likes oral or anal? That seems awfully specific. You creeping on our first lady, you sick fuck?”
“Boss?” Pretty Paolo warns. Not entirely sure if he’s warning him about revealing too much information or because they’re overwhelmingly outnumbered, but it puts a cork in our fight.
Bianchi bares his teeth, frustration marring his otherwise near perfect face. He straightens his suit and looks around at all my men before settling his gaze on me. “It appears I have another appointment.” He spins on his Italian loafers—fuck me, another loafer-dick—and walks out with his henchmen following in his footsteps.
With Bianchi out of the building, Brass and Reaper release me. I crack my neck and roll my shoulders—they had a good hold on me. “I hate that asshole,” I mutter.
Chase gives me a wicked smile. “Yeah, but now we know he’s the asshole responsible for our hacking fiasco. We got the fish on the hook—we’re going to reel him in.”
