I watched the woman I love being violated in every way possible, even when she was no longer conscious. The man is a fucking monster. I’m not letting him get away with any of it, though. And when I torture and kill him, I’ll be visiting Cidney wearing his blood.
Pulling my bike up to the house, I almost laugh at how goddamn gaudy it is. Of course, this would be Goffredo’s fucking home, the place he was raised, a spoiled little piece of shit raised in this garish mansion of privilege. I would venture to guess that Goffredo hasn’t had a hard day’s work a single day in his entire goddamn life.
Kicking the stand down on my bike, I throw my leg over the side before I straighten myself. Moving toward the front door, I think about Cidney and the hell she’s suffered. I keep that shit alive in my head because I know that it fuels my fire. My anger. My pain and my revenge.
I ball my fingers into a fist before I thump it against the front door. One. Two. Three times before the knock is answered. The door opens, and there is a man on the other side wearing a suit. What a fucking joke.
“May I help you?” he asks, his accent thick, but I can’t place it, and I don’t care to try.
“I need to speak with Lorenzo. Now.”
He arches a brow. I’m sure he’s surprised I haven’t used Lorenzo’s last name, but again, I don’t fucking care. This guy is lucky that I’m even asking for Lorenzo instead of moving through his house and shooting everyone in sight.
“Please come into the sitting room. Who may I ask is calling?”
Fucking hell, this shit is tedious. “Goose from the Vicious Reapers.”
He dips his chin, then turns around and walks into the house. I follow him for a moment, but stop in the sitting room. I don’t have the patience to deal with this shit right now, or the fight to storm the castle. What I want to do is focus my angry energy on that motherfucker who hurt my woman.
Thankfully, Lorenzo doesn’t make me wait too long. I hear his fancy Italian leather shoes click on the marble floors as he moves through the house. I don’t look to watch him walk. I don’t need to. I can already guess that he has a small entourage behind him.
When he appears in the sitting room, out of respect for him, I extend my hand, offering a shake. He does the same, dippinghis chin slightly, but I can see the confused expression written clearly on his face.
“I’m going to get right to the point. You’re a busy man, and I have other shit to do today,” I say.
Lorenzo arches a brow, though I’m unsure if it’s in confusion or offense. He’s not a man used to being spoken to bluntly. Just from our first meeting, I know he likes to be in control of any conversation, and he likes to talk around things.
I’m not doing that today.
“May we sit?” he asks bristly.
I think it’s funny that he’s asking me anything, as are the men who are standing behind him, an entourage of three. I’m sure there are at least half a dozen more spread out throughout this gaudy minimansion, including the person I came here for.
“Sure, though I don’t plan on being here long.”
Lorenzo walks over to an armchair that is upholstered in deep-burgundy velvet, definitely over the fucking top. He slowly sinks down, his three men standing near him. One behind and two flanking him, their focus on me and only me.
I’m not going to kill Lorenzo. In fact, when I look at him, I have nothing but respect for him. He probably gave his kid everything in the whole goddamn world, spoiled him, and is now regretting his decision.
“The last transport went very well, so I am wondering why you are here. What’s your name again?”
Instead of giving him my road name, I decide he can have my legal name. Not that it matters, but I feel like it would go a bit further in this conversation. Clearing my throat, I lift my chin slightly.
“I’m Trent Fairfax, and we have an issue with Goffredo.”
“Goffredo?” he asks.
I hum. “Seems he hasn’t just stepped a toe out of line, he jumped over it.”
Lorenzo’s brows snap together. When I reach into my inner cut pocket, the three men pull out their guns and point them at me, but I ignore them. If I wanted to kill Lorenzo, it wouldn’t be here, and it wouldn’t be like this.
I take out my phone, holding it up so they can see what it is. I watch as they put their guns away, except for the one behind Lorenzo, who just drops his hand to his side, holding his gun there, alert and ready for whatever is coming next.
He’s wasting his energy, though.
I pull up the video and pushPlay, refusing to watch it again, and I hand Lorenzo the device. I watch as his furrowed brows rise to the ceiling, then snap together again. Watching him take in everything that his son did to Cidney is an interesting moment.
Every emotion that I felt watching it for the first time plays out over his face, including shock and anger. And as much as I want to sit in silence while he soaks all of this in, I need to speak.
