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“I’m hanging up. It soils my soul just talking to a sinner.”
Before he can say another word, I end the call. My phone trembles in my hands when I read the message that comes through.
That was a mistake,cara.
Fuck him, he can’t intimidate me. I am not one of his subjects. If I have to remind him of that fact until I can escape him, then so be it.
Chapter 8
Death cloaks me in its darkness. I wear black shirts, so the color annihilates the traces of the crimson blood I spill. Blackness rules my heart with an unshakable grip.
The things I could do to Chiara taunt me and keep me awake. She’s brave—no wonder her father wants so badly to break her spirit. This life has to beat your soul to a bloody pulp in order to either ignore the darkness or let it embrace you.
With my sleeves rolled up to my elbows, I stare at my hands painted in red, tonight’s events playing before my eyes. Men lined up and tied to metal hooks, heads hanging to the side, empty eyes, chests carved open, spilled insides, and blood dripping all over the floor. The muted sounds of death echo in the warehouse full of bodies as my victims turn to ghosts. After tonight, the DeCavallaros’ power will be all but snubbed out.
The room reeks of carnage. I take a picture. The reminder will be sent to all other families—a preemptive method, a reminder for them not to cross me.
“Are we done?” Dario asks, looking around the room with a pensive expression.
“Afraid you’ll ruin your soul?”
“I don’t have a soul anymore.”
He slumps into a chair, his hands still shaking.
“Did you count them? Because I did.”
“I will meet every one of them in hell, brother. Until then . . . we’re not done.”
My cousin is on the other side of the room, embracing the darkness as if it’s the love of his life. He bows his head at me in respect. My men know they will never fight alone. I will never hide behind a desk, in my clubs, or any of my other businesses, nor will I pretend I am not a ruthless killer and the head of a crime family.
“Sergio called me to tell me he won’t be a problem. He was against the DeCavallaros’ plan,” Marco says.
“No.”
“Cato,” my brother insists. Sergio is a threat as the youngest DeCavallaro heir. Letting him live would be a mistake.
I snap my eyes at him. “Do you think what we did, any of them will ever forget? The resentment and the hatred will only increase. Wake the fuck up. You were fifteen when I told you in detail how your life would be. Is reality too much, little brother? The DeCavallaro line will be eradicated.”
He shoots to his feet and slams his fist on the table. “I will never back off.” He storms away.
One of my central intelligence contacts comes inside. I stare at him in his black suit, head shaking at the bloodshed.
How I hate these fucking pricks. But they’re a necessary evil. Having them on our side is one less worry.
“Cato, how are we supposed to clean up this mess?”
“It was a war between rival gangs. I gave you all you needed.”
“Yes, to replace families we had under control with someone who controls us.”
“You can be at my side, or . . .”
“Just get it over with already.”
He sighs, leaving. Alone, I slump in a chair, my ears ringing with the muffled screams and agonizing grunts of my victims while I carved them open. I won’t sleep. I never do, not since my first kill. My nights are always restless. The price you pay for power is with pieces of your soul.
My phone rings and I take it out of my pocket, accepting Kieran’s call.
