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“You should never have touched her,” I grunt as I bring my blade down and thrust it into his knee, shattering his kneecap in the process. “You should have realized what would happen when you did. You knew she was mine, asshole. You fucking knew she was Famiglia.”
He still hasn’t made a sound. Then again, a collapsed lung is going to take a lot out of him and cause his other lung to work overtime. He glares at me, his hatred clear. I don’t give a fuck. He’s part of the Outfit. He knows what happens when you go after a woman that doesn’t belong to you. He knew the repercussions.
“Now, the question is, fucker: should I end you now or make you suffer some more?” I snarl as I bring the knife to his left side. He’s in pain, and a fucking lot of it. His eyes are burning brightly, tears shining in their depths. Oh, he’s fucking in pain. It’s time to end this.
I thrust my knife into his side, popping his left lung, and his eyes widen. The sound of him struggling to breathe is fucking music to my ears. He’s dying. It’s slow, it’s painful, and it’s fucking amazing. This is what happens when you fuck with what’s mine. I don’t let that shit slide. Now, he’s going to live with the regret flickering in his mind as the thoughts of what he should have done differently hit him, all while the sound of him gasping for breath gets worse.
“Fuck,” Maverick says, and it’s filled with amusement. “We should come and join the fun with the Famiglia more often. You could give the Gallagher’s a run for their money. How about we get this shit done with and then you can head home to your families? I certainly would like to.”
I could like him if he weren’t so fucking animated. He’s got the fun, loving side Callie has that he mixes with the darkness of his family. He’s got the ability to be unassuming, no one will see that darkness unless he unleashes it. It’s what makes for a great killer.
“What’s he going to do?” Portia asks once I return to her side. “What’s with the saw and the barrels?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I say, not wanting to explain to her that they’re about to cut the bodies up and then put them into the barrels, which are filled with acid.
“It’s a fucking shame that Kelvin couldn’t get his hands on a woodchipper,” Stephen comments. “It would save us a fucking load of time.”
“I can get one,” Beppe says. “I know a guy who’s selling one, and it’s not far from here.”
Rocco nods. “Go get it,” he instructs.
“I’m afraid to ask what the woodchipper is for.” Portia grins. “Why do I have a feeling it’s going to be awesome?”
I chuckle. “Because it is. These men are known for making bodies disappear, and we’re about to witness it firsthand.”
She grins at me. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For coming for me. I love you.”
I press a kiss to her lips. “Ti amo, mia bella ragazza.” She beams up at me and snuggles into me as we wait for Beppe to come back with the woodchipper. It’s morning, and every single one of us is feeling the lack of sleep. The day isn’t over yet, and I have a feeling it’s going to be a long fucking day.
THIRTY-THREE
PORTIA
SIX MONTHS LATER
I sigh as I slide my hands down my dress. My bump is showing, but only if you know it’s there, and it’s only Dario and I who know I’m pregnant. The past six months have been crazy but in a good way. I’ve never been happier than I am right now.
“Baby, you look beautiful,” Dario says thickly as he enters the bedroom. “If we weren’t already late, I’d strip that dress from your body and take you again.”
Heat rises through my cheeks at his words. He’s not wrong. He had me less than an hour ago, hence why we’re running late. “Stop it,” I hiss at him. “We’re meeting with your family today,” I remind him.
We’re back in Chicago for the annual gala the Gallo’s all attend, and tonight, I finally get to meet Inessa, the wife of Niccolò. I’ve heard amazing things about the woman, and I’m excited to finally speak with her. I also get to see Teagan and Jade again. It’s been a while since I have seen them in person, although I’ve spoken to them almost every day.
“I know what we’re doing, but I don’t care. I’d rather be holed up in this bedroom with you than at a fucking fancy party,” he says. The heat in his eyes has my body shivering with delight.
I walk over to him and reach for my necklace. He takes it from my hands and clasps it behind my neck. “I meant what I said. You look breathtaking, baby.”
I lean back against him, loving the way his arms slide around my stomach and hold me tight. “I love you,” I whisper. I’m so fucking happy. Nothing could ever compare to what’s happened between us over the past six months.
Watching Stephen and Maverick dispose of the bodies by running them through a woodchipper made me realize that I may need to up my game. I’ve never seen something so bloody and messy. Yet I couldn’t take my eyes off it. The bodies were crushed into nothing, and the bones and teeth that managed to make it through were, according to Stephen, eaten by the wildlife.
We went home and slept for sixteen hours straight. I was tired, beyond tired. Then we went to the hospital, where I checked in with Mama, who was severely malnourished and had multiple broken bones. She’s still not fully healed from what Marco did to her, but she’s better. She’s living in Jefferson City, in my apartment, as I’ve moved in with Dario. I wasn’t sure if that was the right idea, but Dario offered her the option of living with us or in the apartment, and she chose to live alone. It’s given her independence, something she never truly had before, and I think she’s finally getting to a stage where she’s able to grow into herself once again. I’m proud of her, so proud of her. She survived something horrific and has come out of it swinging, ready to live again, and that’s all I could have asked from her.
I reach for the ring and pause. “I’m wearing mine,” he tells me, his breath whispering against my ear. I smile as I pick up my engagement and wedding ring. It’s something we haven’t told anyone except Mama and Beppe. They were our witnesses as we got married. It was by far the happiest day of my life. I have a feeling it could have been the night we conceived, because I’m twelve weeks pregnant and the timeline matches up to our wedding night. I slide my rings onto my finger, unable to keep the smile off my face.
“Ti amo, mia bella ragazza,” he says, and it never fails to send heat pooling between my thighs. I adore when he speaks Italian to me. I love that he shares his soft side with me and me alone.
“Ti amo, mio marito,” I reply, and watch his eyes darken with lust. “But we’ve got to go.”
