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The chair’s wooden legs skated a foot back from the force. I glimpsed at Arthur, pleased to see that his palm was still wrapped up from the night he stained the white sheets with his own blood.
“How’s your face today, Bandini?” I smiled good-naturedly at Angelo’s father.
He sucked his teeth in, smirking at me.
“In one piece.” His eyes looked left and right, trying to assess everyone else’s reaction to my surprise visit.
They were pale as ghosts and crapping their pants. I wasn’t the police. Them—they could deal with.
I was the man who had the power to get White fired, and worse—plant Bishop and Rossi in such deep shit they’d never climb out of it.
But getting rid of me didn’t work, either. And now, it was out of the question. I had my driver and two security men parked up front.
“That’s good to hear because my wife’s face isn’t. In fact, her nose is still bleeding.” I threw a fist to his nose without warning, making all the men around us stand in unison, only to have Arthur motion for them to sit down with his hand, his lips thinning into a fine line.
Mike’s head reared back, his chair flying backward and falling to the ground, him inside it. I took two steps and swallowed the distance between us.
“Her ribs are sore, too,” I added, kicking Mike in the ribs.
Everyone around us sucked their teeth in, furious with the vulnerability of their situation. I took a handkerchief out of my breast pocket and wiped my hands, sighing theatrically.
“Last but not least, her lips are sore. I’m going to let you choose—fist or foot?” I glanced down at him, cocking my head.
Waking up in my wife’s bed was an unpleasant surprise. But feeling her ass digging into my erection with little finesse as she tried to please me was definitely something I could get used to after what seemed like a lifetime without actual sex.
I knew she was too sore, but still couldn’t resist the urge to dry-fuck her under the sheets. So I did just that; I unbuckled my dress pants and pressed my shaft against her ass cheeks.
After I came on her nightgown, I left her room, ordering Ms. Sterling to make sure that she drank, ate, and didn’t do any heavy lifting. Right before I picked up the phone and had Zion hire a bodyguard for her.
“Fist.” Mike grinned, his teeth covered in blood. A mobster, after all.
“Foot it is, then. I don’t take any orders from you.”
I smashed my Oxford-clad foot right into his face and heard a crack as his nose smashed to pieces. Stepping back, I strolled around the room.
I, too, had better things to do with my day than spend it with men who ruined my hard work for a living.
“I’m feeling charitable today. Maybe it’s the bliss of being a newlywed. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic.” I scanned Arthur’s twisted face and the soldiers around him, who sat with the kind of electric defiance that rolled off their red-blooded bodies.
Fists balled, chins high, feet tapping over the floor. They were dying to beat the hell out of me but knew I was depressingly untouchable.
I wasn’t always like this, though. And Arthur Rossi was the sole reason for my weaknesses.
“So I’m going to spare the bastards’ lives who did this to Francesca. But I thought a gentle reminder—and trust me, this is my idea of gentle—was more than necessary. I have the power and the means to shut you down completely and kill every part of your business. I could make sure all your recycling and sanitation projects are terminated. I have the power to purchase all the competing restaurants and bars to yours, throw money at them, and watch as they put yours out of business. I could make sure your families don’t have a breadcrumb to eat for dinner, and that your medical bills are unpaid. I could send the FBI to your underground gambling joints and whorehouses. I could reopen cases that have been dormant for years and hire enough investigators to populate your streets”—I took a deep breath—“and I could bleed you dry of every dime you own. But I’m not doing that. Not yet, at least, so don’t give me a reason.”
Arthur frowned. Up until now, he stayed silent. “Are you implying that I harmed my daughter, you slimy little shit?”
“Bandini’s muscle did.” I pointed at his friend, who was standing up from the floor and wiping his face of blood.
Arthur turned to Bandini sharply. Oh, brother. He didn’t even know. His empire was falling apart. His power diminishing by the minute.
It wasn’t necessarily a good thing for me. A weak king is a mad one.
“Is that true?” Arthur spat out.
“He put my son in jail the day of their wedding.” Mike spat blood into a trash can.
I walked over to Mike, balling his collar in my fist and tugging it so he looked up at me.
