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I say a silent prayer that the man keeps fighting. I’m sure God disapproves, but he reluctantly answers. Instead of falling silent in the face of physical violence, Marco rages like a cornered animal, his muscles tensing and his eyes blazing with defiance.
I take slow, methodical breaths and count to five in my head before following through with my promise. “Batter up, Marco.” I pull back, aiming at the hinge of his jaw like a baseball. As the metal makes contact with Marco’s face, I am slightly off-target. The sharp edge connects with his chin instead, and he crumples with pain.
“Sorry about that,” I wince apologetically. “I was never really good at baseball. I hit the catcher in the head once in middle school. The coach was really upset.”
Blood dribbles down Marco’s chest, the light in his eyes extinguished from the blow. Maybe that’ll teach him to be on the wrong side of history.
I turn my attention back to Giovanni, who is attempting to scoot across the floor in the chair, but his mangled knee refuses to cooperate. The muscles in his face are contorted with determination as he desperately tries to find a way to escape the fate that’s coming to him. Sweat beads on his forehead, highlighting his fear of what’s to come.
“Gio, where ya going, buddy?” It takes me half a dozen strides to reach his chair. I place my hand on the back of it and stop him in his tracks. He’s only made it a couple of feet from where he began, but he won’t make it any further. “We have more to discuss.”
He grits his teeth and stifles a cry, unwilling to let us see his weakness. “Let me go, Terlizzi. You’ll regret this if you don’t. My father will come for you.”
I walk around to the front of the chair, using the tip of the bat to shove him back. “That’s what I’m banking on. You think I’m afraid of Leonardo Lucatello? You think I’m afraid of a frail old man?”
“You were when you married Cat,” he taunts.
“I have a healthyrespectfor Leonardo. I don’t have any respect for you. Especially not after the stunt you pulled with Rocco. Tell me. Did he enjoy beating my wife?” I pull back the bat again, aiming it straight at his chest. The weight of the bat in my hands is both comforting and intimidating, a tool of protection and destruction. “Did he like watching her writhe in pain?”
Giovanni meets my gaze with raw, unadulterated panic in his eyes. And yet, despite his trepidation about what he’s about to face, he spits on the floor and puffs out his chest confidently. “He fuckinglovedit. I wish I’d have taken a video.”
As I bring the bat down, it cracks his ribs with a sickening blow. Giovanni coughs, and blood sprays from his mouth, painting the concrete in a Rorschach inkblot. “I think I see a butterfly,” I announce with a smile. “I wonder what other animals you can create.”
My brothers watch from the perimeter as I treat Giovanni like a human piñata. Every swing of the bat brings a new explosion of blood. My wedding suit is ruined. The expensive cuff links will be stained with contrasting memories from this night: marrying the love of my life and nearly ending the life of her uncle.
Giovanni loses consciousness at some point. His face is unrecognizable, a mosaic of black and blue bruises from the bat. Blood pools and spatters in the ten-foot radius around him. His body slumps over, limp and lifeless, as if death is already beginning to creep in.
I drop the weapon, and the metal echoes through the room as I crouch down to get on Gio’s level. I grab him by the chin and force him to meet my gaze, his lids fluttering open despite the swelling. I can barely make out the white of his eyes from the broken blood vessels. “You think you’re so tough, don’t you? But the only reason you get to live today is because ofDante’sgoodwill. If it were up to me, you’d be dead.”
He doesn’t say anything but instead wheezes, struggling to catch his breath with broken ribs threatening to puncture his lungs. The stench of sweat and urine fills the space between us. He’sbloodied and broken, and I should feel a sense of satisfaction, but instead, I feel hollow and numb inside.
“But since I can’t kill you, I want you to watch me beat your brother into a bloody pulp. If you fall asleep, Giovanni, trust me when I say you won’t like what you see when you wake up.”
I walk over to the hanging sack of skin and bones that once resembled Marco Lucatello and unleash the rest of my anger with my fists. Every time I make contact with his body, he releases a crescendo of pain and suffering in the form of grunts and groans. With each hit, I can feel myself letting go of some of the rage that has been building up inside me for so long. But it’s not enough. It will never be enough. Not until Christine is safe.
“Dante,” I nod at my brother, breathless from exertion.
My older brother knows me so well that I don’t even need to speak my desires aloud. He takes a step forward, confidently replacing me and unleashing a flurry of blows into Marco’s already bruised and bloodied body. My eyes wander lazily, the fight going out of me with each passing second.
Adrenaline forced my hand. Revenge made me do this. And now that I’ve sought the blood price for what these mongrels did to Christine, I’m too exhausted to go on.
“Nic!” Someone yells.
It’s the last thing I hear before I pass out.
Chapter 53
Niccolo
My consciousness returns a few moments later, and I wake to find Dante on the ground beside me, slapping my face. “Wake the fuck up, Nic. God damn it. Luc, help him!”
I turn my head in the direction Dante is pointing and see Salvatore trying to lift Marco off the floor. “Someone cut him down,” I frown.
My older brother breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. You’re awake. Help me get Giovanni into the van.”
My head feels dull and sluggish as I struggle to push myself off the ground. Dante extends a hand towards me to help but quickly abandons the gesture in favor of helping Salvatore.
I notice that the heavy metal bat I was using earlier has disappeared. The chair Giovanni was tied to is spattered with his blood but left in the center of the abandoned building. “Should we take this?” I frown.
