Page 91 of Revenge on the Mafia

“Thought you said you didn’t want to know?”

“Which. One. Is. It?”

Stefano laughed. “I’ll do better.” The sound of the door slamming reached me. “I’ll drive you to it.”

Five minutes later, he was at my door.

Music thrummed on the floor above. The basement ceiling pulsed to the beat. Cement floors, walls, and ceiling. Yet I was colder than the entire building. I’d showered. Changed my clothes. Just the thought alone that he might smell her rockrose fragrance through me was enough to make my chest crawl with agitation.

At least she couldn’t say I hadn’t tried. I’d even let him live a day after stepping into my house, touching my woman. I would have let him go. I might have even. But I couldn’t wipe the images from my mind no matter how hard I tried. His hand on her ass all those years ago. His hand on her the day before. When he’d taken hold of my fucking wife’s hand, he’d asked to be killed. I was only granting his wish.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. One confident, the other reluctant. His pompous voice irritated my eardrums before he even made an appearance. “You Martello brothers have no idea who I am.”

“Was that the line you used on your whore?” The metal door swung open, and the prick flew through the door, falling coincidentally at my feet. “He’s going to be extra pissed because I pulled him off mid-thrust,” Stefano warned me.

The fucker looked up, lips lining into distaste, and proceeded to spit on my new Mario Bruni.

“Oh, someone’s got his balls in a twist,” he sneered, too comfortable at my lack of reaction. “What’s the matter? Don’t like that she opened her legs for my dick?”

I smiled.

He frowned.

Stefano read it perfectly. “Oh. Oh.”

I ducked down, fisted my hand in his gel-slicked hair, and shoved my shoe in his mouth. I hit the back of his throat. Thrusted deeper. He gurgled around it. Thick saliva dripping down fine leather. “You’re right.” I yanked his head off my shoe. “I’ll give you double points for it.” I shoved my shoe in his mouth again.

Behind him, Stefano shook his head.

What did Anna see in him, anyway? Gelled hair and trained muscles from a gym. He’d gone from coming after her one day to shooting his load inside a whore the next. The thought of her being with him pissed me off. The fact that she already had been made my vision split. It threw me off guard. Much more than I’d thought, because the next time I pulled him off my shoe, the fucker lunged for me. Catching me off guard and sticking a knife to my side.

Where the hell did that come from? With one kick, I had him flat on the floor. The next instant, I had my foot on his throat. “You didn’t think to frisk him?”

Stefano whistled from the doorway. “What’s the point of that? Besides, this is better than soccer. One zero for Spain.”

I stared at my brother. “Shouldn’t sticking my shoe in his throat count for something?”

He shrugged. “Nah. You’re on home turf. We’re dropping that to be fair.”

“I’d better up my game then.” I eased up on him. When he pushed to sit up, I pressed my heel on one palm, put my weight on it, and grabbed the other in my hand. “You touched her with this. I’d need that erased from my memory.”

“You’d never get away with it, you fucker.”

I gave it some thought. “You’re right. If you walk out of here alive, I won’t.”

He lost that part of the conversation. Too busy staring at the blood pooling down my side and sneering. “You want more blood?” I pulled out the knife. He grinned. Fool. I gave an irritated shake of my head. I’d gotten ahead of myself and forgotten one crucial detail.

“Stefano, hit the music, will you?”

Two presses on the remote and Asturias Leyendas by Isaac Albéniz blared into the room.

Perfect. To the tune of the piece I’d fucked my wife, I sliced off the prick’s thumb. He howled, body writhing under the pressure of my shoes.

The music washed over me. Blood pooled on the floor. His screams intensified it. Images of Anna mixing with memories. Him lifting her up in the air, touching her ass, playing with those freaking pom-poms, kissing her while I watched. For every sin he committed, I sliced off a digit. But his sins outweighed his fingers, so I moved on to the rest of his body. Then, finally, because he’d abandoned her when she’d needed comfort the most, I stabbed him in his heart.

When the piece came to its dramatic end, so did the heartbeat of Joel Laguna. The room reeked of his pain and Anna’s favorite piece. I’d corrupted the very thing she loved. I stood up. Stared at the dead man’s eyes. He was gone. But I couldn’t rid myself of the suffocation in my chest.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE