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“Shhhh, we’ll be leaving as soon as we finish here,” Sebastian assures her. She flinches before a broken sob tears its way out of her.
I turn my attention to Jack. He’s the reason I’m here, after all. “Hello, Jack,” I murmur, coming to a stop in front of him. “It’s been too long. How’s the family?”
His eyes are bloodshot, making their already icy color stand out in sharp contrast as he glares at me with pure hatred. Good. Let him hate me. Let him reflect on the pain he’s endured so far.
I crouch slowly, my gaze locked with his. “There’s something I want you to remember for what’s left of your short existence: everything that’s happening to you is your own doing. You chose to turn this into a war. You hijacked my shipments and attacked my business. You partnered up with Amanda. You kidnapped Bianca and my daughter. You set all of this into motion. There is no one to blame but yourself.” I break eye contact to glance over my shoulder at the weeping girl who will soon become a Costello. “You lost your only son as a result, and you were desperate enough to hand your daughter over to a man who double-crossed you. Look at all you’ve lost. All you threw away.”
His face is beet red and the heat radiating from his eyes intensifies as I stand.
“Get him in a chair. I want him sitting up for this.”
“Dad… no…” The girl tries in vain to fight against her captors, straining and tugging against their grasps.
“Take her out to the car,” Sebastian orders his brother. “I’ll be out when it’s over. No one touches the girl or I’ll cut off their hands.”
Her cries echo through the warehouse as the men drag her out, then fade until they go silent when a car door slams in the distance.
Romero pulls up a wooden chair for Sebastian’s remaining men to haul Jack off the floor and drop him onto it. I circle him slowly, savoring the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders.
“How do you feel right now, Jack?” I ponder aloud. “I mean, you couldn’t even protect your own kids, nevertheless your business and reputation. Then again, it was always about you and how far can you get ahead, right?” His head snaps to the side when I backhand him. “Every day, I’ve imagined all the ways I would torture you, make you so anxious that you fear even the sound of my voice. Unfortunately, we’ll have to settle for a good old-fashioned beating for now.”
I backhand him again, then tighten my hand into a fist before crashing it against his cheekbone. His eyes. His nose. Blood pours from his nostrils by the time I’m finished, coating his mouth and chin before dripping onto a shirt that used to be white.
“He’s suffocating,” Romero observes, his tone so flat he might as well be commenting on the weather. “He’ll need to lose the gag unless you want to end this sooner rather than later.”
No fucking way. I’m just getting started.
I yank the gag free and Jack gasps, sucking in as much air as he can. “You… made your point… fucker.”
“Not even close.” I bend to free the knife sheathed at my ankle, then hold it up for him to see.
His chin quivers while he stares at the blade. Let him pretend he’s not out of his mind with terror.
“How does it feel knowing your life is over?” I smile. “Once that first bullet pierced his chest, Dominic knew it was the end. He died on his back, writhing on the ground and gasping for air with nobody to save him. Bianca told me all about it. Fuck, I wish I could’ve seen it for myself.”
“You made your point.” He spits out blood before curling his split lip into a grotesque snarl. “Kill me. Get it over with.”
“Oh, I plan to.” I grin.
He doesn’t scream, not at first, when the blade slices through his pants and sinks inside something soft between his legs. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up to the sensation. But once it does, a shriek unlike anything I’ve ever heard fills the warehouse, the echoes overlapping until I’m surrounded by the sweet symphony of Jack Moroni’s torment. The dark-red spot that quickly spreads across his crotch and drips down his thighs heightens my pleasure until I can’t help but sink the knife in again. When I back away, his blood begins to pool beneath his chair.
His voice is nothing more than a weak croak once his screams die off. “Just… end it…” he sobs, his head hanging while the sweat that trickles from his hair mixes with his blood.
I take a handful of that hair in my hand and yank his head back until we’re eye to eye. “Oh, no,” I whisper, beaming down at his anguished face before dragging the bloody blade along his cheek. “You’re going to suffer through each moment of agony until you finally bleed out.”
For Bianca. For Tatum. For my baby.
“I’m going to teach you the meaning of pain and regret before you die,” I promise, savoring the sound of his whimpers before issuing my next slice.
I won’t stop until he’s unrecognizable, until he’s nothing more than a lifeless lump of flesh at my feet.
BIANCA
Idon’t know what stirs me awake. There was no loud noise. There’s nothing but the beating of my heart, racing now that something startled me.
I haven’t even dreamed about shooting Dominic since the night it happened—an ugly, awful night full of all the darkest parts of my subconscious. All the what ifs. What if I hadn’t been able to get the gun… What if we had both been unconscious when Dominic found us… We’d both be dead now. What if we had crashed hard enough to kill us? What if Dominic had killed Dad while I watched? Oh, yes, I went through all the scenarios in vivid color.
But that was it. Like once it was over, it was over. No more need to dredge up the memories.
