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“Looks like you’ve seen better days, Nunzio,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I approach him.
His mouth curves into a defiant smile, but it lacks conviction as pain washes over him. “It’s a minor setback.”
“Didn’t think you’d end up like this, did you?” I sneer, staring into his eyes filled with fear and pain.
“Fuck you, Del Rossa,” he spits back, defiance still present in his tone despite his weakened state.
I scoff. “Arrogant till the end.”
“Who says this is the end?”
“You think you have a chance of walking out of here alive?”
“No,” he responds, then takes a heavy breath. “But I know my ghost will haunt you and your pretty wife long after you’ve buried me.”
“You think we’re going to bury you? No.” I go to stand in front of him, placing my hands in my pants pockets. “We’re going to cut you up in nice bite-sized chunks and feed you to the pigs.”
Nunzio remains silent, his head hanging down, spit and snot dripping from his nose and mouth. He looks pathetic and weak, and I have to say that humiliation suits him perfectly.
My eyes narrow as I focus on the blood pooling beneath him, originating from the gunshot wound in his leg. I lean down and yank the rope Maximo had so carefully tied around his upper thigh until it cut into his skin, stopping the blood flow and preventing him from slipping away too soon. There is no way we are going to let him die this easily.
When I straighten, I glimpse a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That’s the thing about revenge,” he starts. “It doesn’t last. You can try to prolong my death and make me suffer, but eventually, I will die. You’ll feed me to the pigs, and this will all be over.” He manages to lift his head to look me in the eye. “Revenge doesn’t last, but memories do. And I’ve given your pretty wife enough memories to last her a lifetime.”
I barely think before I fly into action, my fist a blur of motion as it crashes into his gut with all the force I can muster. A deep groan escapes his lips, and saliva explodes out from between them while I’m filled to bursting with an uncontrollable rage that begs for release. My hands ball into iron-hard fists, trembling with anger and the urge to do more. But I remind myself that I won’t be the one to make him pay for what he’s done—not entirely. That honor belongs to Mira. But goddamn, do I want to break him.
I glance at her sitting on the chair, watching us. Her toned leg is showcased through the daring slit of her red dress, tantalizing me with each graceful crossing and uncrossing of her legs. Her expression is that of beautiful calm, rich with control, but I recognize the wicked glint in her irises.
“Is that all you got?” he taunts, coughing some more.
“No. But as much as I want to gut you, carve out your spine, and hack out your lungs, your blood isn’t mine to spill.” My voice is low and menacing. “And the thought of my wife extracting her revenge from your veins fills me with so much satisfaction, it’s giving me a fucking hardon.”
“Your precious wife,” Nunzio spits, venom in his words. “You really think she has it in her to hurt me?”
“Hurt you? No, motherfucker. She’s going to fucking kill you.”
“Can’t wait to see how she humiliates herself trying,” Nunzio taunts, his sneer making his paled face look even sicklier.
I take hold of his cheeks with my fingers like iron vise grips, determined to bruise and break his fucking face. My voice is low and menacing as I speak. “You are nothing but a wasted piece of shit. You think raping and beating women makes you powerful? It makes you nothing more than a goddamn psychopath who has a special fucking corner in hell.”
I let go of him with a jerk, the chains complaining above him. And as I look at him hanging there, his breaths ragged and shallow, I know that Mira will be the one to break him. The thought of her hands on him, punishing him for his sins, both terrifies and excites me. It’s a delicate, dark dance I can’t wait to witness.
“Enjoy your final moments, Nunzio,” I whisper, stepping away from him, my eyes never leaving his. “You don’t have many left.”
And as I watch him struggle against his bounds, I feel a sense of morbid satisfaction, knowing that soon, he’ll be at the mercy of the woman he tried to destroy. And she won’t show him any.
* * *
MIRA
This moment is almost surreal.
I’ve dreamt of it so many times, lain awake at night wondering how it would feel to see him weak, vulnerable, defenseless—just like I was. Just like all the other women he’s ever hurt, and I bet there’s a lot. Psychopaths and monsters like him thrive on fear and pain. It’s what makes them feel strong. It gives them the illusion of power when, in fact, they’re nothing but a flawed version of God’s creation.
I sit on a wooden chair, my gaze unwavering as I watch Nunzio’s sickening form dangle from the ceiling, his pants soaked in blood. There’s no sign of the shirt he had on earlier, and a grotesque bruise spreads across his ribs. I’m sure he has my brother to thank for that. Even though they were told not to touch him, I know the Del Rossa brothers and Maximo gave him a good fucking beating. He deserves their wrath. He deserves mine more.
A coldness settles deep within me, hardening my heart and fueling my thirst for revenge. My body trembles with a violent rage as I clench my fists and feel the icy chill of hatred plunge into my core. This man came close to taking everything from me. Revenge may not right all wrongs, but it’ll make me feel better knowing that this bastard has suffered something, too.
“He’s all yours, baby.” Nicoli’s voice is low and dangerous and sends a thrill across my skin. He hands me a wickedly sharp knife, its handle cool and heavy in my grasp.
