“What the fuck is going on?” he snarls, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the bag over his head. Valentine’s hand clamps on his shoulder and holds him down as Matteo ties Junior's feet into place. Then both Matty and Val work to secure his wrists in the leather cuffs attached to the slab of marble we use as a bench.
I set up everything we need while Junior fights the restraints. The lack of explanation is undoubtedly fucking with his head, which is the goal.
Valentine walks over to Layne and absolutely destroys her with a hard kiss before he takes the seat in front of our prisoner, straightens his tie, and adjusts his wedding band before he, Matty, and I look at our wife.
She looks fucking edible, in a pair of dark jeans and one of my white button-down shirts, knotted at the front to showcase her sumptuous body, open to highlight our bites on her throat. There’s no doubt about how fucking attractive she is; I’m pretty sure she could wear a garbage bag, and I’d think the same. Layne doesn’t rush, and only when she’s ready does she wave a hand, signaling for Junior’s bag to be ripped off his head.
Valentine
“Do you know who I am?” I ask as the bag drops from Dante’s hands in front of our prisoner.
He’s still testing the restraints, looking around, assessing the situation.
My brave wife moves in her seat. Not in nerves. She makes an intentional statement, drawing his focus from me to her. He goes to open his mouth, and I flick my head at Dante, and my brother uses Layne’s blade to cut Junior's finger off.
He screams, the noise bouncing around the cell.
“I asked you a question.”
The whites of Junior’s eyes are showing. “Whatever she offered you, I’ll quadruple. More. Whatever you want.”
I laugh. It’s mirthless and hollow, and I twist my wedding ring again before answering him.
“Perhaps we can negotiate something. Do you know her?”
“My sister,” he spits. Literally and figuratively.
Rage explodes. Not just mine. It echoes through our bond as Matteo and Dante are equally offended on behalf of our wife. Matteo is quickest, his gun in his hand, pressing the nozzle against Junior’s knee before Junior can even twist in his seat to see who is behind him. Matteo’s eyes are vacant as he shoots out Junior’s kneecap.
The man cries out in agony and starts fighting to escape the restraints, his panic and rising fear helping us all quell the rage he unleashed.
“Now we’ve established you do know her, I’ll ask again—do you know who I am?”
“No!” he gasps.
“I don’t believe you.” I sit back, picking dust off my suit pants. “I find it hard to believe that a man who has spent his entire life prosecuting some of the biggest cases against organized crime in our country, and in our generation, could have no idea who I am. So, I’ll ask you one more time—do you know who I am? And please don’t lie.”
Instead of rushing to answer, he takes his time. “Yes.”
“Thank you for being honest. Do you know why you’re here? And don’t look at her when you answer. Stay focused on me, or this will take way too long, and you’ll end up with way too many injuries.” I flick my hand toward his knee and the table; the proof of how I will react is in front of him.
He shakes his head, but the wheels are turning in his mind, and they’re moving faster and faster the longer he sits here.
“I won’t waste time, nor will I make promises I can’t deliver, so I have a deal for you. You like making deals, don’t you?”
He nods in an instant, licking his lips nervously. But there’s an edge of confidence in his mannerisms, too, like he believes he’ll be able to walk out of here if he does and says what I want.
“The woman sitting there is my wife.” I smile because I can feel her penetrating focus as easily as I can see the moment Junior realizes how fucking screwed he is.
“I’m glad you understand you’re not walking out of here alive. If you answer my questions, I’ll make your death relatively pain free. If you don’t, I’ll torture you until the end of time. It really is up to you. Nod if you understand.”
It takes him a minute, but eventually, he does what I told him to.
“Before I ask you the question, I also know how deeply you were involved in the”—I use my fingers to emphasize my words—“‘family business.’ So, don’t come at me with the excuse you didn’t know, because if your family works like mine does, you might not have been involved, but you were aware. Withoutquestion. We both know, ignorance does not excuse. Nod again if we’re still on the same page, Junior.”
I turn slightly to double-check on Layne. Her eyes are locked on mine, and Jesus, fuck, her gaze is like a physical touch. When I nod, Dante drops his hand on Junior’s head, making it impossible for him to turn around, but I need to be with my wife. I need to feel her pulse under my hand.
Squatting in front of her, I cup her throat, and the steady beat of her heart reverberates from my touch into my chest. We don’t need to speak. I know how to read my wife, and she’s okay. I press my lips to her forehead, needing her calming influence, and I get it in spades before returning to my seat. I am calmer, but seeing her, then him, I’m fucking done playing nice.
