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Instead, I pound on the door with my fist until it swings open. A half-naked Tommaso stands in the doorway, rubbing his sleepy eyes and yawning.
He’s too relaxed for my liking.
So, I punch him in the jaw.
It’s all about balance.
He stumbles back, allowing me room to walk through the doorway and into the townhome. My pulse speeds up. His younger sister was nearly kidnapped—which was most likely his fault—and here he is, showing no signs of stress. In fact, it looks like he even had himself a good night’s rest.
“What the fuck, Marchetti?” Tommaso shouts, curving his hand over his nose to stop blood from running. “It’s too early to deal with your anger issues.”
He hasn’t seen anger issues.
My reply to his question is another punch to the face.
He’s a good pick to take my anger out on.
This time, he stumbles backward into a wall. A picture of a half-naked woman falls, shattering on the tiled floor.
“I want every detail of why my wedding was shot up,” I demand, slamming the door shut. “Start speaking.”
He topples forward before gaining his balance, and I follow him into the living room. He grabs a black shirt draped over a cushion and holds it to his face before collapsing onto the couch. The coffee table is littered with cocaine, weed, and liquor bottles. Two open condom wrappers are on the floor.
My anger surges.
Just as I’m about to scream at him, I notice a woman wearing only a bra and panties peeking around the corner.
I snatch one of the alcohol bottles and throw it across the room. It hits the wall, and liquor splatters against it.
“Do you know what would’ve happened had they succeeded in kidnapping her?” I scream, stepping in front of Tommaso and widening my stance. “They would’ve tortured her, raped her, and then killed her.”
This dumb motherfucker needs a reality check, stat.
Tommaso hunches his shoulders forward, and his gaze cuts to the woman.
I do the same and snap my fingers toward her. “Blondie, is your car here?”
She shakes her head, dragging her long nails through her curls.
“I brought her here,” Tommaso says, refusing to look at the woman, no doubt embarrassed by what’s happening.
“I’ll have one of my men drive her home.” I jerk my head toward the hall and tug my phone from my blazer pocket. “Go get dressed.”
She shoots Tommaso a questioning look, and he waves his hand in agreement. Neither of us wants her to overhear the conversation we’re about to have. She timidly nods, her eyes watery, and retreats down the hall. I call Romeo since he lives around the corner and tell him to get his ass here. He says to give him five minutes, and I end the call. Tommaso takes care of his bloody nose while I wait for the woman to leave.
“Wait outside,” I instruct when she returns, wearing a tight pink dress and holding her heels. “A guy will pick you up in a black SUV. Make sure his name is Romeo, and he’ll take you home.”
She purses her lips. “How do I know he isn’t, like, a serial killer?”
I glare at Tommaso while answering her, “You were just fucking him. I think you’re okay.”
She nervously nods and waves to Tommaso, and he tells her he’ll call her before she disappears from the townhome. The girl would be dumb to take that call. Tommaso didn’t offer to drive her home or call one of his men to do it. He couldn’t have cared less whether she made it home safe.
What a joke.
My men can be trusted. I know she’s in good hands, but it shows what kind of man Tommaso is. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.
As soon as I hear the door click shut, I crack my knuckles and approach Tommaso. He drags the shirt away from his face and has blood smeared across his cheek, but there isn’t much bleeding.
