A man who can’t take a hint. Exactly who I expected.
“Casper, was it?” I ask, hand on his shoulder.
His eyes widen. “Yeah…what’s up? Valentina’s guy, right?”
As if he forgot.
“Yeah. That’s me. And I need a favor.”
Smoke billows from the cracked driver’s side window of Valentina’s car. That bastard Balterra’s been idling for thirty goddamn minutes. Two phone calls so far, bragging about his new ride, cackling, and heating my blood with every crude joke about beating thequeen of Furia.
My patience is razor-thin. Especially when all I want is to be buried inside my girl right now.
“You should’ve seen her, pissed as all hell.” He sucks his teeth. “That bitch got me good, too. Who knew she had a sweet swing? I’d let her hit me again…and then bend that ass over the hood of her own car. Teach her some respect.”
My plan was simple, keep this confined to his apartment, take him out clean, minimize the mess. But his mouth forces my hand.
I wrap a towel from Casper’s glove compartment around my knuckle and step out. My eyes never leave his side mirror, watching his stupid grin as I close in.
“I’d love to show that pretty mouth where?—”
He spots me in the reflection just as I slide up the door. His eyes go wide, but it’s too late. I drive my fist through the glass, shattering it, then haul him out by the collar. His body scrapes across jagged shards before he crashes to the pavement.
“Shit—I’m bleeding—what the fuck!”
“Not enough,” I mutter, slamming my fist into his nose. His cartilage cracks.
He wails, blood pouring down his chin. “I’ve got ten grand in the glove compartment. More inside…please.” His spit and blood hit my shoe.
“I’m here for the car.” My grip tightens on his shirt.
“Valentina…she sent you? That little?—”
I drag him across the concrete and let his face bounce off the curb. “You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
“Come on, man. I won fair and fucking square.” He coughs up blood. “You can’t do this. They’ll come for her—for that fucking car. It’s not worth it.”
A laugh tears out of me. “Every pathetic plea out of your mouth makes this more worth it.”
I fist the back of his hair and press his bloodied face against the curb. He gurgles, trying to spit another insult. But it’s a little hard to talk with a mouthful of concrete.
“You tried to run my girl off the road. You stole her car. You humiliated her. You made her cry. And somehow you think I’ll just let it go?” I dip low, rasping near his ear. “Maybe it’s time someone taught you how to use your mouth properly.”
I straighten and stomp the back of his skull. The crunch is wet, his head caving against the pavement. For a moment, I'm back in Russia, the echo of old sins ringing in my ears. But it's not that memory that has my blood thrumming.
It’s her.
Breaking him isn’t simply vengeance. It’s devotion and purpose.
Valentina doesn’t just own my heart—she owns the violence that beats inside it.
Thirty-Eight
VALENTINA
“He’s not answering his phone, Remi. Why did we leave him there? God, I’m so stupid.”
I clutch my cell as I pace the living room, Apollo and Hermes following me like I’m a fucking tennis match. But I can’t stop. My thoughts are racing, filled with every worst-case scenario. Maksim had that look in his eyes. He was out for blood, and I let him go. But it’s not Balterra I’m worried about. I just need to know Maksim is safe and not bleeding or sitting in some cell.
