The doctor screams, “Please, no!”
I grab the torch from Matteo and walk over to the doctor. “Let me ask you this …” I lift his bound hands and extend his pointer finger. “When you forced my wife to have an abortion and she begged you not to do it, did you listen to her?”
He whimpers.
“Exactly.”
I lift his finger to the fire, letting it slowly burn the flesh. He screams in agony, and I hope he feels an ounce of the pain and devastation and lack of control that Brielle felt when he sold his soul to Andrey over a threat and money.
The scent of burning flesh wafts through the air, and eventually, when the flesh is gone, the bone starts to burn.
At some point, the doctor pisses himself, and I have to force myself not to gag at the mix of piss and flesh.
I keep going, and he whimpers and then briefly passes out.
Good.
But the torch is too hot, making it hard to hold on to his hand, so I turn it off and walk over to the toolbox, grabbing a Sawzall.
“Bring him over here.”
Matteo cuts his zip ties off and drags him over to the workbench, forcing his hand onto the block of wood.
“I’ll do anything,” the doctor cries.
“Too late,” I tell him. “My wife is more compassionate than I am, and I promised I’d keep you alive, but you will never practice medicine again.” I switch the Sawzall on and start to cut off his fingers,one by one. “And if I find out that you told a single person about what happened today, I will end your life. Understand?”
Before he can answer, he passes out from the pain being too much.
“I think he understood,” I say to Matteo. “But just to be sure, I should probably cut off a couple more fingers.”
40
Brielle
“You scaredthe hell out of me.”
I blink several times and then glance at my husband, who’s changed out of his suit and into a pair of gray linen pants and a white button-downed shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showcasing his toned forearms. His brown hair is still damp from the shower, and his whiskey eyes are shining bright today.
“You turned off your tracker on your phone when you left for Russia, so I have no way of knowing where you are. I called several times, and when you didn’t answer, I assumed the worst. Giani assured me you were safe at home, but we already know he works for you and not me.”
“What time is it?”
“Quarter after six.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I got home from Peyton’s, laid down, thinking I’d take a little cat nap, and passed out.”
“You obviously needed it.”
Kane gives Molly, who’s sleeping against my side, a quick pet, and then he leans in, giving me a chaste kiss. “The doctor has been taken care of.”
My eyes widen.
“And he’s still alive, aspromised.”
“Thank you,” I rasp, sitting up and grabbing my phone that was on the nightstand.
Next to it sits the black box housing the engagement ring. I consider putting it on, but I second-guess myself. I’ve only been home for a week. Shouldn’t I take longer to make sure this is what I want?
