“After today, you will understand why the Mancinis are not to be touched, and what happens when you betray me.” Vanessasnaps her fingers, and three soldiers, who must have been pre-instructed, grab the arms of a fourth.
That fourth looks to the door and back, seeing it blocked by Dimitri, and resigns himself to his fate as the men drag him forward. He fights a little, flailing arms and kicking legs, but one jams his foot into the back of his legs, crippling him to his knees, while the other two pin him down by his shoulders.
There couldn’t have been someone more ideal to be found as the rat.
Andrei, the same fucker who once spoke to Serafina the morning before her classes. When he made her smile—I fucking hated it, hated the emotions he dredged up in me. Inappropriate ones that ultimately led to my sore jaw.
He stares resignedly at Vanessa, aware there’s nothing more he can do. He had to have known he’d eventually be discovered.
“Why?” she asks simply. “What did Vitale promise you?”
“Power,” he spits. “Marriage to his cousin.”
Vanessa throws a look at me, both of us envisioning Amara. Amara, who’s been missing in action, including not being at the wedding. It’s been weighing on Serafina, though she hasn’t spoken about it.
“You honestly believed a Capo would allow a soldier from another organization into his inner circle? At least my line won’t be missing much. You may have betrayed the vows once given to me, but it’s not me who longs to see you bleed.” She straightens, turning to the crowd. “You’re up, Lev.”
He’s had this coming since he smiled atmoya printessa.
Anastasia, knowing me well, slides a weapon into my hand. It’s heavy and cold—metal brass knuckles I slide over my fingers. Andrei shrinks back in fear at my approach.
“Keep him still,” I demand to the others before crouching in front of him.
All I see is the pretty boy smile and then wonder what he truly wanted with Serafina that day. To get close, take her out, and hand deliver her to Vitale? He couldn’t have been stupid enough to believe I’d let her out of my sight.
“I don’t enjoy torturing people,” I start conversationally. “Their blood is messy, their screams irritate the fuck out of me. I believe in simple and straightforward, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be gentle. You know what you did, Andrei. You put an innocent woman in the crossfire.”
I stand, adjust the knuckles, and barely look twice before my fist lands in his face whileshefills my mind. Another for when she’s smiled at him. His teeth shatter, and he cries out, blood dripping. For once, it’s less of a bother because ofwhohe’s bleeding for.
Another when thinking about how Alessio knew her location. His jaw cracks. Now, he struggles against his human binds.
Another while recalling every single second she had to endure Vitale’s presence. His eye socket spurts blood onto my shirt.
Another, another, another until his face is a mangled mess, his body slumped in the others’ holds, who I gesture to step away. Men all around move for better views, some appreciative, others casting frightened glances around.
All of them understand what harming Serafina will get them: a one-way trip toAd.
I flick my hand, casting the brass knuckles away. Blood splatters across the blue mats.
“Hope it was worth it.” I spit on his lap, walk around to his other side, and clench an arm around his neck. He struggles for a moment, gasping when comprehending his immediate future, but my grip locks him into position until his struggles cease and his body slumps dead.
I drop him, walking to Vanessa’s side while ignoring the whispering crowd. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She grins. “Because it was so much more satisfying this way.”
60
SERAFINA
Lev strides by my open door without even a peek inside, which is unlike him. Abandoning my phone, I slip out of bed, rush across the room, and reach the doorway just as his own bedroom door slams shut behind him.
Anastasia rounds the corner then, her frown trained on her brother’s door as she comes to stop beside me. “When he kills, it reminds him of his past.”
Oh.Lev mentioned having to go to the gym, but nothing about it being work-related. Nothing about the possibility of memories from his time in prison.
“Who did he kill?”
“Does it matter?” A challenge runs through her tone, matched by the arched brow.
