The bitch is lucky I let her live.
“Did you?” She presses further.
I don’t answer.
Her throat works as she swallows. “You didn’t have to,” she whispers. “You just ruined a career she spent years building…in what, one night?”
It would’ve been easier if she hated me for it. Easier to dismiss. But my little reckless wife looks grateful. Even as she tries to hide it behind moral outrage, the same look had softened her eyes the night I’d killed those men. She’s furious and oddly relieved at the same time. It’s messy and complicated.
I don’t do complicated. The truth is simple. I’d do it again. No one touches what’s mine, literally or figuratively, and goes scot-free. She should know that by now.
“You know what? Forget it.” She shakes her head. “Just…can I go to the promenade? I-I really need that right now.”
A part of me wants to tell her no, simply because I can. But the desperation in her voice holds me back.
“Stay close to the men,” I say. “Don’t wander.”
Relief flashes across her eyes. She nods, tucks her phone away, and turns on bare feet like a child who just got permission to stay past their curfew.
***
I don’t like wrestling men who are already halfway gone. It makes the work sentimental, and that’s one thing I have no patience for. Still, Benny’s silence has been a rot in my plans. If he won’t tell me, I will trace the people who warmed his bed, drank with him, passed time over cards, or had any interactions with him. I will map every comfortable habit he had and tear it apart until the truth comes out.
“Wake up, Benito.” Crouching down in front of him, I light up a cigar and blow smoke into his face.
He snorts, a wet, useless sound that pisses me off as he speaks hoarsely. “I already told you everything I know.”
“You told me lies.”
Benny’s head turns toward the light. His mouth moves around words that don’t come out. “Just kill me already,” he rasps. “Save yourself the trouble.”
“Killing you is a mercy you don’t deserve.”
A wheezing laugh leaves his lips. “Mercy comes in different forms, Dominic.”
“Then I’ll be creative,” I smirk. He blinks, and I watch how his bloodied lips lift very faintly in a smirk before he speaks again, barely a whisper this time.
“Even the devil has a weakness.” A violent cough wracks through his chest, blood hitting the ground as his body convulses. Eventually, a ragged exhale escapes from him before his head drops to the side.
Matteo moves in, checks for a pulse, and curses under his breath. “He’s gone.”
I stub the cigar under my feet, already thinking of the next action. “Have you gotten a hold of his contacts yet?”
Matteo’s phone vibrates against the table before he can answer. He glances down, and whatever shows on the screen drains the color from his face.
“What?”
“Capo… there’s been—” He swallows, hard enough that the motion in his throat is clearly visible. “It’s your wife. She’s been attacked.”
For a second, the room spins. I’m not a man who loses balance, but I grip the edge of the table to steady myself. Instinctively, I pull out my phone and check the tracker app I’d planted in her phone. The beacon shows a flat line. “She’s not in motion,” I snap, already bolting for the door. “If she’s not moving, she’s pinned.”
My hands grip the steering wheel all the way there, to the location the tracker is showing. When we reach the street, the stench of burnt rubber and blood hits me first. The car is half on the curb, one tire shredded flat, and the hood dented from where it was hit. Two of my men lie where they fell, faces pale, and covered in their own blood. There’s no other body. Whoever did this left clean. So, this is no ordinary accident.
“Che cazzo è successo qui(What the fuck happened here)?” I snarl, shoving the ruined door open.
“She’s not here,” Matteo says, voice tight, gun already out.
I need to find her. I’ll burn this fucking city to the ground if she’s gone—
