I smashed his face into the marble again. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough. Edoardo laughed weakly from the floor, clutching his ruined knee.
“Look at you,” he wheezed. “The mighty Serpent brought to his knees by some blonde little slut.”
I turned slowly. The old man smiled through pain and blood.
“You’re weak now,” he hissed. “Everyone sees it.”
My gaze flicked toward the massive butcher’s blade mounted decoratively behind the bar. Then back to him. And I remembered Chiara looking at me like a monster. Maybe she was right.
I grabbed the blade. Edoardo’s expression changed. Fear. Real fear. Not political fear. Not business fear. Animalistic fear.
“Leo,” he said carefully. I walked toward him slowly, blood dripping from my side onto the marble with every step.
“You wanted to know what she turned me into?” I asked softly.
Edoardo tried crawling backward. Too late. I brought the blade down. The scream that ripped from him was inhuman. Blood exploded across the marble in a thick arterial spray as his severed arm hit the floor with a wet, heavy thud beside the shattered whiskey glass.
Men physically recoiled around the room. Even Sergio went still. Edoardo writhed on the floor shrieking while blood pumped violently between his fingers from the ruined stump. I crouched beside him calmly.
“You touched what was mine,” I murmured. “Be grateful I left you breathing.”
Then I stood and dragged Angelo out of the suite.
Angelostartedpanickingwhenhe realized where we were going. Good.
Rain hammered against the warehouse roof near the docks hard enough to sound like machine gun fire overhead. Rusted metal groaned in the wind while dirty water streamed down concrete walls stained dark with age and old blood.
My men dragged Angelo behind me through the warehouse while he stumbled harder with every step. Blood soaked through his ruined shirt. His breathing came ragged now, fast enough to betray real fear.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded hoarsely. I said nothing. Because he already knew.
The pit sat beneath reinforced steel grating in the center of the warehouse floor. Most people thought it was a myth. A Moretti horror story parents whispered to their children. It wasn’t.
Dim industrial lights illuminated the movement below in shifting flashes of gold, black, and bronze scales sliding over one another in thick living knots. Dozens of snakes. Venomous. Deadly. Beautiful.
Angelo went pale. “No.”
I crouched slowly beside the pit while the snakes hissed beneath us.
“You know,” I said conversationally, “Chiara was bitten by a snake the night I met her.”
Angelo swallowed hard.
“She cried when it hurt,” I continued softly. “Did you know that?”
“Leo…” he gasped.
“And then she looked at me like I was salvation,” I carried on. His breathing quickened violently.
“That was your first mistake,” I said. “Making me watch her suffer.”
Rainwater dripped steadily somewhere behind us.
“This is insane,” Angelo whispered.
“No,” I corrected calmly. “This is personal.”
I grabbed him by the front of his ruined shirt.
