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Hawk ran to keep up, pushing through the door behind me before it swung closed. “You got any kind of plan I need to be aware of before we have this meeting?” he asked as we trudged down the staircase to another large steel door, where I punched in another code.
I grabbed the handle, pausing to look back at Hawk. “My plan is that he doesn’t leave this room alive. And while I’d like to be the one to make that happen, I’m open to negotiation on those details.”
“Got it,” he said with a nod, and I tugged on the heavy door, throwing it open and walking through with Hawk on my heels.
The light down here was much dimmer, the energy completely different.
What Callan had done with this place was nothing short of brilliant, even if it was still a while off being completed. Tiered seating lined two walls, leaving space for a large ring in the center. Since it had yet to be installed, I instead found Vince Martelli sitting on the cold concrete floor shooting daggers at Cain, Rafe, Scoop, and Drew, who stood around the room, watching him like a hawk.
“He’s a little bloodier than I remember,” I mused, slowly circling Vince and taking inventory of his injuries. He cradled his right arm against his body, and his jacket and disheveled button-up shirt covered in blood spots and smears he’d been wearing were nowhere to be seen,. His face and hands were similarly decorated.
“He accidentally ran into the door when Rafe brought him in,” Cain explained with a smirk, looking across the room to the prospect, who didn’t even flinch, continuing to glare at the man on the floor in front of him.
Rafe had been there. He’d seen the state Shay had been in. I wasn’t surprised he was furious. I was fucking furious.
Murderous, you could say.
“Your men are cowards,” Vince sneered, his lip curled. “They’ll pay for this. You all will.”
He spoke with confidence, which I had to admit was impressive given the circumstances, but I knew it was only because he was expecting to be rescued, which was why his eyes lit up a few seconds later when the door opened behind me.
“Marco!” he called, and my eyes lifted as Marco Martelli walked through the steel door with Chase and two Martelli bodyguards. “Marco, you’ve gotta—”
“Shut up, Vince!” Marco scolded, shooting a death stare that quickly silenced his brother. Marco walked around him, not even offering Vince a hand off the floor as he moved across the room to where I was standing. “Bishop.”
He stuck out his hand, and I shook it. “Marco. Appreciate you coming straight here from your flight.”
“No problem,” he answered, glancing back at a confused Vince. “I’d like to get this sorted as quickly and discreetly as possible. Not only do I have two funerals to plan and lawyers and businesses to consult with, it seems I also have a member of a Mexican cartel looking for answers regarding a deal he apparently made with my family to do with buying girls.”
And there it was.
That’s where Alice, Sarah, or Shay would have been headed, probably used as drug mules, then, when they got them to Mexico, prostituted out until they needed them to move more drugs.
“Marco, I’ll sort it out when we get home, I swear!” Vince pleaded, and Marco turned on his heel, taking two steps toward his brother and swinging his arm, palm open, collecting Vince’s cheek and laying him out on the concrete. “Marco…” he groaned. “Marco, come on.”
“You disgraced this family, Vince,” Marco spat, standing over him. “You murdered our parents! You stole them from us because you were so obsessed with your own selfish needs. And now I am left to clean up your mess in hopes you have not made us any permanent enemies, all before I can even stop and grieve.”
Vince slowly peeled himself from the floor.
We all watched.
Nobody moved as he clawed unsteadily to his feet.
“You were always the perfect son,” Vince hissed, wobbling slightly as he stood just a couple of feet from his brother. The two men were very different. Marco was calm and collected, much like his father had been, while Vince was so easily riled, making him unpredictable and dangerous. “I was always trying to prove my worth, while you could just breathe, and Dad would be in awe.”
Marco let out a heavy sigh. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“It doesn’t?” Vince questioned, his defensive tone quickly morphing into surprise. He glanced around, his eyes flickering between my men before returning to Marco. “You made a deal.”
There was some optimism in his voice, an eagerness to get the hell out of there in hopes that once he got home, his siblings would forgive him for what he’d done.
That was how insane he actually was.
He really thought that Marco—now the head of the Martelli family—would excuse the man who murdered his mother and father. He couldn’t. Not without instantly looking weak.
But when that murderer was also his own flesh and blood, it made the decision a lot harder.
Almost impossible.
