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“Good. You need to turn that bastard over to Russo before the sun sets.”
Fuck that. “He went after Lexie, not Francesca. I’ll turn him over once we’ve extracted every bit of information from him.”
“Russo’s daughter is dead. He gets the lead. I don’t like it any better than you. If I had my way, I’d feed him his balls myself. But that’s not the way we do things.”
Every nerve in my body is on edge, jonesing to go on a murderous rampage—because he’s right. It’s how it’s done. How it’s always been done, and I’m too damn high on the food chain to buck long-standing tradition for self-serving purposes.
“I understand you want to avenge my daughter—maybe because you care about her, or perhaps because it will ease your conscience—but don’t indulge boyish whims. You’re better than that, Rafa. You have honor. She was Russo’s daughter—he takes charge until we determine that he’s running a clown show. But I don’t think that’s going to happen. Neither do you. Turn over the prisoner.”
I want to say, I don’t take orders from you. It’s on the tip of my tongue. But I don’t, because regardless of the vengeance I crave, I do have honor. He’s right about that too.
“I’ll send him to Russo when we’re finished questioning him. We don’t need much longer.” I’ll also need to send the information Lexie has put together—once Tamar has confirmed everything—but I don’t share this with Will. When she’s ready, his daughter can fill him in. I won’t betray her confidence.
“Rafael,” Will says with some measure of authority. “She isn’t going to be any safer if you kill the bastard than if Russo puts a bullet in him when he’s done. Even if Russo fucks it up and the prisoner escapes, she’s not going to be in any danger.”
I’m not sure if he’s trying to make me feel better or if he’s trying to convince himself that turning the asshole over is the right thing.
“What will put her in grave danger,” he continues, “is if you decide that feeding your ego is more important than making clearheaded decisions. If that happens, you’ll have more to worry about than an errand boy.”
Some men would just say, Take care of my daughter, but Will would never ask me, or anyone, to do a job he believes is his. Instead, he prefers to threaten me like I’m some contractor he’s hired. I don’t give a shit. I don’t need stroking from him, nor do I need to be threatened to protect his daughter with my life. I’d gladly lay it down for her.
“I’ve got things to do. Keep me apprised and I’ll do the same.” I end the call before I say something I’ll regret.
“Get the branding iron we use to mark the barrels,” I instruct Zé.
I’ll turn that fucker over to Russo, but not before his skin has been defiled. Not with my knife. Not today. I don’t trust the blade not to slip and sever his carotid artery.
“Torch or electric?” Zé asks, eyeing me.
“Not the electric one.” A sense of calm takes over, soothing some of the edginess. “Build a fire.”
I want to watch the burning embers crackle and fly when I dip the iron in the flames. His final breath won’t be mine, but I’m going to give that piece of shit a taste of hell before he leaves here.
19
LEXIE
I’m in such a sound sleep, it takes me a moment to realize the buzzing is my phone, and even longer for me to remember that I’m in Rafael’s guestroom at Huntsman Lodge.
The shades are drawn, and I fumble for the phone in the dark. A UK number I don’t recognize. “Hello,” I croak.
“Lexie?”
“Mum!” I bolt upright, and the grogginess fades. “Are you okay?”
“Much better now that I’ve heard your voice.”
“How about Dad?” I hold my breath, and turn on the bedside lamp.
“I just spoke with him, and he’s a bit ornery, but otherwise, he’s well. What about you, darling?”
“I’m good. Totally good.” In truth, I’m a bit shaken up, not so much because of what happened to me, but because of what could have happened to my father if Worthington’s plan hadn’t been exposed. The traitor would have killed him.
Mum pauses as though she’s weighing my response, or perhaps hers. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Are you sure you don’t need anything? A doctor? Maybe someone to help you process what happened?”
“I don’t need anything. But if I change my mind, you’ll be the first person I call.” My mother’s bullshit meter is almost as finely-tuned as my dad’s, and reassuring her is always a challenge.
“I was lucky. Between Dad and Rafael—they sorted everything in time.”
