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Niko
Eight Days Later
“Finish me.”
Dante’s words come out as a broken wheeze. I don’t know how the bastard can even find the air to speak. He doesn’t even resemble a body at this point. He’s a pulverized piece of bloody meat, hanging on a hook. Antonio must have washed the area off before I got here last night—but there is still a hell of a lot of blood scattered around the area where he’s dangling.
I don’t want to hear his voice right now. I’ve got too much on my mind. I look at the Louisville Slugger I’m more or less using as a cane at the moment and frown. There are metal spikes driven into the body of the bat, stopping only where the handle starts. The harder I hit an object, the more damage it inflicts. Yet, in eight days, I haven’t been able to feel satisfied with the amount of pain I’ve inflicted on Dante.
“Shut the fuck up,” I roar, bringing the bat back and swinging it into the area that used to contain Dante’s balls. The bastard doesn’t even give me the satisfaction of his cries anymore. He promptly passes out. I lean back against the wall, letting my weapon once again take my weight.
Fuck, I’m tired.
“He has a point, you know. Why exactly is he still breathing?”
I turn to look at Antonio, frowning. I was so wrapped up in my pain that I didn’t even hear him enter. I sigh because I don’t know how to respond to his question. I don’t really have a good answer.
“What are you doing here? I’m the one finishing this motherfucker off. It’s my right,” I snap instead.
“Careful, Niko.”
I scrub my hand over my face. It’s a struggle having Antonio here. He’s become more than the head of the family—more than my boss—through this. He’s become a friend. Still, I don’t want him here. I’m not ready to be around others. I’m barely holding myself together when I’m with Emilia.
There’s so much rage inside me that I can’t contain it. I’ve beat Dante over and over. I’ve sliced pieces of him and left them to rot on the floor. I’ve cut off every finger on his hand one by one and sealed the wound shut with an almost molten hot knife. Fuck, I’ve gone so far as to cut open his sack and shuck his balls out like a damn oyster. I thought that would kill the motherfucker, but he’s a damn cockroach—he still survived.
I know I should end him. I just can’t make myself. Truthfully, everything I do to the asshole just feeds my rage. It does nothing to assuage the pain of losing Maxwell, or of seeing my beautiful Emilia cry. I don’t know how to get rid of this emptiness inside of me and that’s the soul reason Dante is still alive.
“He hasn’t paid enough yet,” I growl and Christ, my voice doesn’t even sound human at this point.
“He never will. His purpose now—other than to feed the rats—is to show others that we are not men who can be fucked with. You cannot betray the DeLuca family. That, Niko, is the purpose of this serpente.”
“Snake is too nice a word for him. Doesn’t the Italian language have something better?”
“Much to my father’s disappointment, I never fully learned to speak it,” Antonio laughs. “I just use words here and there because it seems to make women lose their clothes.”
“God, I feel so fucking exhausted,” I rumble, talking more to myself than Antonio.
“You need to finish this sad fuck and get home to your wife. Don’t let him rob you of more than he already has.”
I look up at Antonio and notice he’s carrying a hand carved, wooden box.
“What’s that?”
“I thought, since you seem to be having trouble finding a fitting end here, I would bring you one.”
I frown as he opens the box. I look at it, shaking my head.
“I know,” he says, already seeing my reluctance. “The devil always brings his weapon of choice to the execution. I don’t mean to step on your toes. You must admit, however, that it is a sort of divine retribution to finish him and let him be planted in the ground with cold steel from Maxwell’s gun inside of him.”
“He should suffer more,” I respond quietly, wanting to scream.
“He will never be able to suffer enough. Maxwell would want you to concentrate on his daughter, not his death, my friend.” He places the gun on the small table beside me and claps his hand against my shoulder and slowly walks away.
I lean down and take the gun in my hand. It feels heavier than it should—proof that I’m slowing down my recovery by dealing with this shit. Antonio is right. I need to get back to my wife.
I look at a still unconscious Dante, trying to choke down the bitterness I feel because I can’t make him suffer more…
CHAPTER47
