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“Good. I want them now, or someone is going to pay. Someone always pays when they fuck with me, Giulio.”
“Yes. Sure thing, sir. I will give them to you as soon as I can. Until then, I have the one waiting here. The main perpetrator.”
“Good. My gun. Get it from my desk.” I have a preferred weapon when I dole out punishment. It’s the most efficient kind. And rest assured, I enjoy the hunger being fed by the punishments. Their flesh taking abuse, retribution for whatever wrong made against me, my outfit, or anyone in the familia.
Most shudder in the face of violence, but I lean into it, relishing it. And tonight, I will unleash my wrath, make them pay for their wrongdoing, and—the cherry on top—release the anger I’m holding against my brat of a wife.
They will be sorry.
CHAPTER FOUR
EMELIA
Forget a woman scorned.Hell hath no fury like a mafia wife. Nico made the color red seem too dull for what I saw. He made me so angry my vision filled with an inferno of flames. I’m failing my parents terribly, and in brief moments, I remember that. But it's shot straight to shit when what’s supposed to be my teammate in the ring does something so wrong I want to gouge out his eyes with the tips of my well-manicured nails.
When his two henchmen showed up, I felt a pit grow inside me, which quickly filled with bitterness toward Nico.
That bitterness morphed from a thunderstorm to a full-blown tornado spiraling all around me. I grabbed every damn plate, cup, or any glass thing I could find, and I brought it down like a hurricane. My storm circled, collected anything in its path, and Nico’s things were the casualties in the calamity. Up until he got home and reminded me that others had to clean up my mess and not him, I felt a sense of retribution. For years, I was punished and told I needed to stay silent. Breaking free from those confines gave me a sense of false courage, but yet again, I was reminded that I am in a cage. It’s just a different man holding the key.
When he left tonight, I knew where he was going. He thinks only he knows things about me. Joke’s on him. I know who he is, what he does for business. I overheard my father talking about that club he runs. Or more accurate, the women he runs. What a typical sick, sadistic man, exploiting women for money. Doesn’t he have enough from his reign as a mafia boss? From the drugs and guns and other things he sells?
No. He’s so greedy he has to also sell women to old, disgusting, desperate men.
There was still a pain in my stomach though, and I won’t lie about that. I don’t love him, but knowing he is with other women… hurts. I know his life and all the vile, criminal things he does, but I thought if he could do one good thing and one good thing only, it would be the act of being a faithful husband.
I’m standing at the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, when the elevator suddenly opens behind me, and I see in the reflection the two men who had me riled up in the first place. I roll my eyes and turn.
“Did your daddy send you here, boys?”
They don’t say anything, ignoring my snide remark as they step out and take their places on the left and right sides of the elevator. They both stand so stoic, almost rehearsed, and it’s even more annoying. I decide then I will call it a night. I’m tired. I hate to admit it, but fuck me, I am just so freaking tired. I’ve spent the past few days fighting a battle that I will undoubtedly lose, and I just can’t anymore. Even I need to rest. Regain the strength to refocus my priorities.
“Goodnight, daddy’s boys.” I flip them off as I walk past, and I feel the eyes of one of them on me. Suddenly, it makes my skin crawl. I’m aware I’m wearing nothing but lingerie, but I know one thing—henchmen don’t look at their bosses’ wives unless they have no will to live.
Rushing now, I hurry to the bedroom and slam the door. I help myself to one of Nico’s large shirts and lock the door before crawling into bed. My phone rings, and I see it’s my father. Rolling my eyes, I know I need to answer this time. Ignoring him for a third time today will only rouse his obnoxious, overbearing personality more.
“Yes?”
“You think you’re just going to ignore me, Emelia?” The demands start already. The berating and harassment. Even on opposite ends of the country, he still tries to control me.
“I’ve been here for twenty-four hours, Dad. You expect me to have a rundown of his entire operation already? You're comical.”
My father can’t hit me, and I cling to that and talk freely.
“You little bitch. You watch your goddamn mouth.”
I roll my eyes, knowing he can’t see it and punish me for it.
“I’m not his keeper. For a boss, you seem—“ I pause. “—misguided.”
“You better remember who you’re speaking to, Emelia.”
I knew that would elicit that response. I want to get under his skin and make him angry. Knowing he can’t touch me from his place all those miles away adds so much fire under me that I run with it. It's years of anger, of torture—of malice and regret for never sticking up for myself—rearing her beautiful head.
“And you remember this. I am now the one in charge of what happens. You reap what you sow.” I end the call, feeling empowered. I don’t know what was in the air on the flight here, or the switching of times zones, or hell, even in the water, but there’s a side of me that stayed so deeply buried now peeking through that I can’t help but push her out, pulling her from inside me, and unleash her to the cruel world that used to drown her with its misery.
I do all but toss my phone across the room. Feeling this overwhelming surge of retribution, I smile, dragging my tongue across my teeth.
My phone chimes, interrupting me from my moment of glory, and I see his name.
