Before I can answer, the line goes dead, and I stare at my phone for a long moment.
Isn't this what you wanted?
Truthfully speaking? I don't know anymore.
I want justice. I want to look into Slava Romanov's eyes and watch him pay for what he took from me. But I have a sneaking suspicion that justice isn’t going to look anything like the story I've been telling myself.
And it might come at a price I'm not willing to pay.
5
SLAVA
Ordinarily,torturing a D’Ambrosio Made Man to death—especially one who almost killed me-would’ve brought me immense pleasure.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I’m distracted by more than just the throbbing bullet wound in my shoulder. Because my fucking mind is too busy focused on the woman who wrapped my own tie around it.
Bella.
I run her name across my lips and taste it like it’s something to be savored, and an unwanted rush of heat rushes straight for my dick.
Bella is the kind of girl who can make a modest blouse and knee-length pencil skirt look downright inappropriate. When she’d come into my office for her first interview all those months ago, it was like a wet dream walked through my door.
Her long black hair had been tied up in a ponytail that day. But a few loose strands fell down by her ear, framing her heart-shaped face.
In that moment, the only thing I could think about was how good it might feel to wrap her hair around my fist while her soft pink lips wrap around my cock.
And her eyes.
Fuck…
Big and innocent, they’re a soft brown with flecks of gold hidden behind a layer of cool professional frost. But every once in a while, I’d catch her in a moment where the frost fades to reveal a hunger churning underneath.
Like she can't decide whether she wants to fuck me or kill me.
But I don’t shit where I eat, and I know better than to hire a PR manager just to create a scandal with her that I’ll need herto solve.
Which is why it’s all the more infuriating just how good she is at her fucking job.
Thanks to her, I don't have to think about optics anymore, because she thinks about them for me. She’s managed to front-run every scandal, deflect every piece of bad press, and feed me up from the drudgery of playing the part of billionaire philanthropist so that I can do what I set out to do for the last six years:
Put every motherfucker of the D’Ambrosio Family in the ground.
Including the one currently tied up in a chair in front of me.
"He's not giving us a damn thing." MyAvtoritetAlik wipes his knuckles on a bloody rag. “Don Leo trained his dogs well.”
A wet gurgle comes from our victim’s throat in response. When we got started hours ago, he had a defiant laugh, and the straightest set of bleached-white teeth I’d ever seen. Now, those teeth are scattered all over the concrete floor, his lips are split in three different places, and each breath sounds like it might be his last.
“Wake him up,” I grunt.
“Suka blyad, Slavochka.” Alik shakes his head. “If he hadn’t talked all night, he’s not about to start now.”
“Just do it, Alik.” I open my fist and close it around the empty air, wishing that I was grabbing something else instead. “Thismudaktried to kill me. I want him to suffer.”
Alik curses under his breath, but he does as he is told and grabs an EpiPen from a nearby table. Giving me one final look back as if I’ll change my mind, he then plunges it right into the man’s chest.
