"Rhea," he choked out, the single word a stone dropped into the still water of my office. "She's hurt."
Rhea.
The carefully constructed walls of my professional persona crumbled. I was Gavriel Azzaro, the ruthless Owl’s Talon, yes, but I was also a brother, and as my father was going to find out, you didn’t fuck with my sister. “Where is she?”
“Sal’s.”
We were in the car before I could process the fact that Juarez’s men had attacked my sister. Harley’s usually nimble hands white-knuckled the wheel. The city lights blurred as we sped down the boulevard. My mind raced, the calm exterior giving way to a maelstrom of protective rage and sickening fear. “What happened?”
“We don’t know. Sal called and said she was beaten to hell and back but is refusing to speak to anyone but you.”
Sal Demarco was a low-level associate whose loyalty was as fickle as the valley’s weather. When we arrived at his little ranch home on the edge of the territory, I was out of the car before Harley had it in park. Some of our guards were at the front door, and when they saw me running up the walkway, they threw it open before I could bust into the house.
Rhea was huddled up on a sofa, her face full of pain and her silk blouse stained crimson. The sight of her brought a wave of nausea so strong, it threatened to overwhelm me. My sister. Someone had done this to her. I was supposed to protect her. Make sure that Juarez didn’t get his hands on her. This was proof that I was failing miserably at that. My carefully constructed composure cracked further, but I forced myself to appear strong for her. I had to find a way to keep her safe. Get her out of town.
“Miguel Rodriguez,” she whispered, her voice raspy, barely audible above the throbbing pulse in my ears. The name was a venomous hiss in the quiet of the room. Rodriguez was a mid-level turd in Juarez’s ranks, but he was ambitious, ruthless, and consistently stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. I'd underestimated his boldness. His arrogance.
"H-he said I didn't follow his orders . . . that I was disrespectful," Rhea continued, her gaze fixed on the worn carpet. The shame in her voice was almost more painful to hear than seeing her physical wounds. A bitter taste rose in my throat. Was this the price of her ambition to be something more than a broodmare? Had she underestimated the darkness lurking even within the gilded cage of our world? I had warned her. But Rhea, headstrong and independent, always walked her own path.
I tried to steady my hand, but it trembled as I reached out and cupped her cheek, my thumb grazing a welt on her skin. Rhea flinched, just enough to break my heart, then forced herself to relax into my touch. I felt the heat of her feverish skin against my palm. Her eyes, fever-bright and glassy, latched onto mine with desperation that unsettled me. For a moment, she was a little girl again in a world that refused to let her be anything but property.
Her hand reached over, cold and trembling, and took my free one, squeezing so tight that the knuckles popped, and I thought for an instant she might actually crack the bones in my hand. I’d let her. If pain were the only thing she had left to offer, I would accept it gladly as penance for everything I’d failed to prevent.
She shuddered, a full-bodied quake, and when she spoke, her breath smelled of blood and old regret. “You can’t let him get away with it,” she said, her voice barely more than a vibration against my fingers. She was talking about Rodriguez, but I heard the echo of every man who’d ever believed the world owed him a piece of her.
“Did he . . . ?” I began, unable to voice the unspoken question hanging heavy between us. If he’d raped her, I’d shove his dick down his throat, making sure he choked on it. I opened my mouth to try to ask again, but Harley cut me off, his growl low and dangerous.
Sal answered gently, "He left her out on the street, Gavriel. I don’t know what he thought he was doing. Juarez may kill him for this. He touched what is contractually his." His gaze flicked to Rhea. “Not that you belong to anyone. Just . . .”
Her voice cracked as she held my hand tighter. “He believes I belong to him.” Sal nodded in agreement.
“Take her home,” I ordered, my voice now dangerously calm, despite the rage coiling in each of my muscles begging to rip Rodriguez to shreds. “And call Dr. Rossi. Harley, after you’ve settled her at home, I want at least four of our guys there watching and patrolling, prepare the men. Rodriguez has stepped over a line he will never return from.”
The drive back was silent. Tonight, the line between Gavriel, the Owl’s Talon of the Azzaro family, and a brother consumed by vengeance was blurred. And Rodriguez would soon understand the full, devastating consequences of underestimating a man fueled by love and righteous fury.
Ourwarehouseontheedge of our territory smelled like years of mildew growth. Harley’s face was a mask of controlled rage as he checked his Beretta. I felt the familiar thrum of adrenaline through my veins at the vengeance I was about to dole out. Rhea still bore the marks of Rodriguez’s beating almost a week later. Her eye was still swollen, her lip just barely scabbing over, and worst of all, she jumped at every shadow.Not that our father gave a fuck about that. In fact, he had just waved it off and told me Rhea needed to learn her place in his organization. I’d had some of my own guys watching her place, not letting anyone other than Harley, Elin, and me in.
This wasn't vengeance; it was restoration of balance.
"Ready?" Harley asked, his voice a low growl.
With a nod, I walked in to Miguel Rodriguez sitting chained to a pipe in the center of the large, empty room, his bare feet sitting in water, slices along the sides looking red and irritated. I turned back toward Harley. “Nice touch on his feet.”
“Made sure it’s the sewer water too. He’s literally soaking his feet in our shit.” Harley tilted his head to the side and pointed to the pipe above Rodriguez as he twitched when a drop from overhead landed on his shoulder. “Also made sure to bind him so he couldn’t move much, and that drop of water on his shoulder must be feeling like a knife about now.”
Slow, methodical torture before we’d even arrived. A single drop of water wouldn’t be a problem, until it hit the same spot repeatedly. Soon, it started feeling like a sharp needle pulsing its way into your skin, muscles, and bones.
A light sheen of sweat covered Rodriguez’s pasty skin as a smug smirk played on his lips. He looked almost . . . amused. The arrogance was sickening. He knew what was coming, and it didn't faze him in the slightest.
"You are awfully smug for someone about to die, Rodriguez," Harley said, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Rodriguez just laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Heard you Azzaros were hotheads. Guess I’ll find out firsthand. And from the Owl’s Talon? Heard he was nothing more than a squawking finch outside a window. That a pussycat would hurt more.”
I pulled out my knife. The cold steel was a comforting weight against the simmering rage.
"You think yourself so untouchable that you lay hands on Don Azzaro’s daughter? The Owl’s Talon’s sister? Your don’s betrothed?" My voice was dangerously quiet, each word dripping with venom.
“A woman’s place is to obey—”
