Tommy
The hum of the overhead lights is already bothering me when I shove my office door open and hear them laughing. Soft, quiet laughter. A woman and a man. My jaw clenches. Happiness in any form when Giovanna is missing sounds like nails on a chalkboard. But when I see the source, rage washes over me and I can barely breathe.
Una is perched on the edge of my desk, her hands fluttering like startled birds as she chats comfortably with Berto Abbiati. Antonio’s little brother. The sight of his greasy grin in my office—inmyfucking chair—twists something deep in my gut.
“Get the fuck away from my desk,” I bark, and Una jumps up with a start.
She immediately smooths over her guilty look with a small smile, but she won’t meet my eyes. “So sorry, Tommy. Mr. Abbiati was waiting for you when I got here,” she stammers. “Iwas just telling him that you likely wouldn’t be in, since you’ve been…preoccupied of late.”
I barely hear her. My lip twitches as I stare at Berto, waiting for him to move his fucking ass out of my chair. He doesn’t. Instead, he props his ankle over his knee like he owns the fucking place. Little beads of sweat form along his hairline, but otherwise, he looks comfortable, even proud of himself.
“Get. The fuck. Up.” Every fiber of my body is vibrating with rage.
He grins and holds his hands up like it’s no big deal and stands. “I’m just here because your father sent me,” he says, his voice oily, moving closer to me. “He wants you to stop wasting time chasing after that girl. Giovanna’s moved on. Family business needs your full attention.”
I let the silence stretch until he squirms, my brain flipping through the various people who might have actually sent him, his true motivations, how he hopes I’ll respond. If my father had sent that message, I would have heard it from him personally yesterday when I went to the Demonio estate and sat with him for hours going over the Mikey situation.
And it’s not a message Aurelio would send. As far as he know, I haven’t ‘wasted’ a second tracking Gi, my attention fully on family business.
I sneer at him and take a menacing step forward and grab him by the lapels of his ridiculous cheap suit. “You’re not here for my father. You’re here for your shithead brother. Where the fuck did Antonio take her? Where is she?”
His grin widens, smug. “Giovanna doesn’t want you, man. She’s with Antonio now. They’re gonna get married. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
The words hit like a strike to the ribs, but my fury swallows the pain. I don’t remember pulling back to hit him, but I hear thecrack of my fist against his jaw. He stumbles, wheezing laughter, and I hit him again. And again.
All the fury I’ve been choking down since Gi vanished pours out of me, raw and relentless. Every strike is a question I don’t have the answer to. Every grunt from him feels like a pressure valve releasing in my brain. My knuckles split, but I don’t stop.
Una screams, high and sharp, then the door slams shut behind her as she flees. The sound snaps me back, breath heaving, chest on fire.
Berto is crumpled against my desk, groaning, bleeding. I watch him for a minute, my brain working at hyperspeed. Berto is too dumb to be trusted with anything, especially not a message like this or anything that Antonio would probably want to keep secret, especially from me. Even Antonio knows that.
The only thing that makes sense is that Berto feels like Antonio is winning and he wants to ride his coattails, some warped version of vengeance for when I beat his ass at Luminous & Co. Twice.
I shove him toward the door. “Get the fuck out. You’re useless.”
He stumbles away, wiping blood from his nose, looking like an angry little kid. I shake my head. He’s going to get himself killed one day. He doesn’t seem to realize that the game is bigger than he is. The door clicks shut behind him.
It’s in the silence that follows him out the door that my phone buzzes.
I pull it out, thumb swiping over the notification.
My stomach drops.
It’s a video from a blocked number. I tap the screen, and it kickstarts into motion. Dominating the screen is Giovanna’s pussy, her orchid scar bright white on her inner thigh—and a cock pushing in and out of her.
I almost black out between the fury and sickness that instantly engulfs every part of me, but I grip the phone tighter, my hand shaking. I stay with it, stay with her, as the camera pans up to show her laid out on a dirty mattress. She’s still wearing the white corset, but it’s been ripped open, her breasts moving every time this rapist fuck shoves into her. Her head lolls to the side, her eyes closed. She’s not fighting, and I know my Gi. If she were able, she’d be doing her best to get this fucker off her, screaming at him, bucking against him, even though her arms are outstretched like they’re tied.
The guy is kneeling between her thighs, and her hips are lifted on a pile of something I can’t see so that her upper body is at an angle sloping away from the camera. I peer closely when I see a dark brick colored mark on her, then realize that it’s the crotch of her underwear. But the rest of her underwear isn’t red. I’m more than familiar with that particular shade of red—that’s blood. Did that fucker tear her and make her bleed?
I start to rock slightly, holding the phone, trying hard not to lose my shit as the video continues for what feels like forever. I won’t let myself close it, fast forward it, skip any part of it. If my sweet girl had to endure it, I’ll endure it with her.
The guy shoves his cock into her hard, covering her orchid as he pauses. Then again. And again. Fuck, he’s coming inside her. I want to vomit. My knife is scalding hot in my pocket, burning to cut this fucker’s dick off.
When he pulls out, I can see the tops of his thighs but nothing more and then his cum dripping out of Giovanna. I scrub my hand over my face like I can erase the image, erase it ever happening to her.
The screen goes black, and I read the text that came in with it:
I didn’t come on her
