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“No,” Sima replies grimly. “But not long after I called him, I got this.”
He holds up his phone, and my heart practically stops when I see it.
It’s a screenshot from a security-camera of my sister, hands bound in a tiny room. She’s still wearing the dress that she was wearing two weeks ago. Her hands and ankles are bound withsilver tape. Her eyes, normally full of clever humor, are wide with terror. They’re puffy from crying and there are knots in her thick hair. On her upper arms, I spot the tell-tale green of old bruises.
Alisa!My grip around the submachine gun tightens as rage overtakes me.
“I’m going to peel the skin off every single fucking Ferrata man I get my hands on,” I growl.
“Then you’re in luck, because I think that’s them right now.” Sima tilts his head towards the direction behind me, I turn and see several cars pulling up in the distance, and each one filled with men of the Ferrata Mafia.
A feral smile spreads on my face as I pull the pin from a grenade.
Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.
The shootout was short,violent, and quick. Exactly like how Sima and I operate. By the time it’s over, most of the Ferrata hitmen sent out to kill us are dead.
All except one unfortunate bastard.
And in the basement of a butcher shop, where the owner was more than happy to accept a fat stack of Euros in exchange for looking the other way, I have my victim hanging up on meat hooks for the past hour.
Sima and I have spent that hour taking turns breaking every bit of his body that we can.
Once upon a time, he might’ve been a proud made-man of the Ferrata Mafia who’s used to speaking with his fists. Now he’s shirtless and pathetic, head hung low, with bruises dappling from his chest to his abdomen, and blood running down his legs.
“I’ll ask you again.” Flexing my fingers, I shift the pocketknife to my opposite hand. “Who gave the order to kidnap my sister?”
To the man’s credit, he doesn’t say a word. Instead, from the single eye he still has left—I’d already removed his other one—he gives me a baleful glare of defiance.
“I suggest you answer me.” Tracing the tip of the knife under his left ear, I whisper. “You’re starting to run out of things for me to break. And when that happens, I’m going to starttakingthings.”
He swings his head to the side, looking at my knife not with fear, but indifference. I know this bastard would be tough. All of these Italians are. Unlike them, I’ve never once underestimated my enemies.
But this is starting to get absurd.
I’m tempted to pull out my gun, but I know he is waiting for the sweet embrace of death.
Not like the fool who was stupid enough to knock into Emily back at the Zebra Club.
A savage thrum rushes through me at the unexpected thought of her.
Kitty Cat.
And just like that, I feel an uncomfortable tightness in my pants.
I shake my head. Why the fuck am I thinking about her right now? But now that I am, I can’t get her out of my head. Those sapphire eyes. Her dark chestnut hair.
Her wet pussy grinding against my thigh.
Fuck!
My mood grows blacker and I approach my victim and push the knife between his legs until they’re resting against his balls. Slowly, I let the tip dig forward, and he raises his head.
“Was it Augusto?” I press the cutting edge along the seam of his balls. “Was it his son? Or was it both?”
The man goes still as stone and holds his breath, waiting for my next move.
“Last chance,mudak.”
