It’s the first time being around them where I’ve ever wondered if they actually fight. Like, not argue but fight physically. Since they’re all about winding each other up, and are both stubborn enough to keep going, I’m confident in the assumption they have and probably still do.
“Come sit here, Dante,” I say, patting the middle seat on the three-person leather Chesterfield facing the fire.
On the other side, there’s a two-seater and a matching single. A coffee table in the middle finishes off the space and makes Valentine’s office resemble a gentleman’s club. I guess, this morning, I never really got the chance to see it for what it was, even missing the built-in library shelves running along an entire wall.
“Holy shit, I am never leaving here,” I say, and clearly, it’s the wrong thing because Dante growls again.
But it also kicks his butt into gear, and he flips Valentine the bird before parking his butt exactly where I suggested with the small change of me sitting on him, opposed to me having my own seat. He tucks me under his arm and takes a big, shaky exhale before sneaking a peek at me, and I roll my eyes at his dramatics.
Matteo joins us and immediately looks at me. “I’m instantly hard.”
I blush at the attention, but not because I’m embarrassed by what I did.
“Okay,” Dante says, balancing his laptop on my lap, and I watch as he fiddles with the settings until he streams it to the television. Of course, they have one of those slim TVs on the wall that looks like a painting when it’s not in use. Those are super expensive but such a good idea.
“Hey,” Dante says, calling my focus to him and only him. “You don’t need to see the images. I can explain the scene Legos and I found.”
I shake my head. “No. Honestly, I’m good.”
Dante looks to Valentine and Matteo to triple-check that they think it’s a good idea. It’s not like he would deny my request; more like he doesn’t want the burden to just be his if I change my mind. But I won’t.
And I don’t.
When the first photo displays on the television, the injuries on Rocco—and there’s no mistaking it is him—are graphic, but I stopped thinking of Rocco as a person a while ago. Now he’s nothing but a bad memory, and that makes it easy for me to disassociate when I look at what someone did.
“Legos got a tip and called me right away.” Dante slips into review mode, his emotions disappearing as he starts listing facts. “The location where he was found was not where he was tortured.”
“Those are electrocution burns, right?” I ask, because the markings are that or close-contact burns.
“Yeah,” Matteo says as he shuffles to sit on the edge of his seat, leaning in to study the picture.
Valentine is doing the same, but he clicks his finger impatiently at Dante for the next image to be shown. It’s from a different angle, and from this perspective, even though Rocco is still mostly dressed, you get to see his pants have been rippedat the front, and the marks that were on his chest are painfully evident around his groin.
“That’s a bit gross,” I say, but it’s not so stomach churning that I have to look away. Honestly, the photos I have seen as evidence in some cases are horrible. Rocco’s torture isn’t pretty, but it looks like whoever did it was going for maximum pain in a hurry.
“That is not a burn from fire or chemical,” Valentine says, studying the images.
When Dante changes the image again, it paints a different picture, and I amend my earlier guess on the length of time he was tortured. I’m pretty certain I already know what I’m looking at.
“That’s Bratva.” I climb off Dante’s lap and sit on my own spot, so I can see everyone better.
“Which is exactly what we thought. Just for interest's sake, why do you say that?” Matteo asks. The way he looks at me like I’m an important player is the first time in a long time that someone has seen me in such a light. God, it unlocks the thrill I used to get when talking cases with my classmates. It's a sensation that strums through my body, and it feels like a part of me wakes up after a long, long sleep.
“Is there another image, or is that it?” I ask Dante.
“A couple more but not showing anything different. What gives, Nancy Drew?”
I don’t get the impression that his question is a test. It’s more like he wants to keep the flow of our conversation moving.
“Bratva use electrocution as a form of torture. And, yeah, you can tell a lot by the form of torture as to which syndicate it is.”
“What do we like?”
“Depends on how much time you have, generally, but certainly guns and strangulation, along with brutal bone snapping, sets you apart from say, the Cartel, who like powertools, electrocution, and using chilies—of all things—in people’s eyes, mouths, cuts. The Irish like pain, so they tend to use chemicals and knives, and the Yakuza are more traditional in their methods, removing body parts before assault with bars, rods, bamboo.”
I shake my head when they all look at me, impressed. “I told you I had a stomach for this.”
“Holy shit,” Dante says. But he’s also got nothing but blazing lust in his eyes when he catches me by the back of the neck and pulls me closer before ruining me with one of his hard and dirty kisses. “Marry me again.”
