“Go to hell,” the prisoner grinds out.
“Someday I will,” Armani says, unperturbed. “But for now, I need you to oblige. You think I want to be down here wasting my time torturing my sister-in-law’s ex-boyfriend? I’ve got better things to do, believe me. So why don’t you make this easier on all of us and start talking?”
Holy shit. This tattooed guy is…the same tattooed guy that Livvie is still pining over? Her ex-bodyguard? The one who served her up to the Brunos on a silver platter and got her kidnapped? That adds a serious layer of scum on top of this guy. He’s not just some random, unlucky henchman after all. He’s a major player in this Bruno-Bellanti war.
Armani rips off his jacket and tosses it onto the concrete. His cuff links clink on the floor as he begins rolling up his sleeves. The tension in the room ratchets even higher and cold sweat rolls down my back. Meanwhile, Clayton stands there with his arms casually crossed, as if he does this every damn day. Maybe he does.
My heart pounds as I watch the tattooed man lift his chin in defiance.
“You think you’re hot shit?” he scoffs. “Think you’re good at playing this game?”
Armani shrugs. “You’re the one in the chair; you tell me.”
“I’m the one with theanswers.”
“Answers you’re not willing to share, because you’re oh-so loyal to Sergio Bruno. Who let you get abducted from Vegas. Who hasn’t lifted a finger to find you since.”
“You’re no better than he is. I’ve worked for plenty of mafia families, and guess what? You’re all the same. Life is cheap to you people. No one knows that better than I do.”
His words are spoken through pain, but with a hefty dose of fuck you. Armani nods to Clayton again, and the tattooed man’s chair gets another kick toward the trapdoor. The noose tightens even more, leaving the tattooed man red in the face and choking.
Armani crouches down, gazing at the prisoner across the trapdoor gaping between them. “You don’t want to die down here. Let’s work something out, you and me.”
“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough,” the prisoner rasps. “Go. Fuck. Yourself.”
My stomach twists at the proof of violence that’s evident on the tattooed man’s battered face. His missing tooth, the blood pooling in his collarbone. But Armani isn’t the only one losing patience with the prisoner. He’s mocking Armani, taunting him. Pushing all his buttons. Why?
“Last chance,” Armani says. “I’m not gonna drag this out.”
In response, the prisoner just spits a wad of blood and foam at Armani.
“Okay. We’re done here,” Armani says to Clayton.
Clayton gives another kick and the metal chair lurches forward, one of the front legs slipping over the edge of the hole in the floor. The prisoner gasps sharply, his arms jerking behind his back, but he’s cuffed tight to the chair and he can’t move. The chair hangs precariously over the trapdoor, the tattooed man choking, just one kick away from being hanged.
“You can make this stop,” Armani tells the man reasonably. “Hell, I’ll even bring you a hot meal and a cigar, and when you’re done, my guys’ll drop you off over the Mexican border so you can disappear. You have options. Let’s be civilized about this.”
The tattooed man says one word. “Strawberries.”
“Can you elaborate?” Armani asks, clearly low on patience.
“Her cunt tasted like strawberries. Never had such an easy time getting a teenage girl to drop her pants, and you know what the best part is? Your family paid me to do that job.”
He smiles at Armani as the filthy words leave his mouth. He’s talking about Livvie, about taking advantage of Livvie and manipulating her young, inexperienced heart when he was her bodyguard. A wave of sick rage washes over me.
“We’re done here,” Armani says, his lip curling in disgust.
“If I disappear,” the prisoner tells him, “Livvie will find out someday. She’ll never get over what you did. And she’ll never forgive you, either.”
“I’ll be doing her a favor, getting rid of you,” Armani hisses. “Clayton, go ahead.”
But before Clayton can deliver the final kick, the prisoner growls, “Wait. You kill me now, you’ll never know the truth about what happened to your mother and your sister.”
My mouth falls open as Armani’s whole body goes tense. What truth? Armani said they drowned in an accident…did something more sinister befall them? There’s no way—but why am I still being so naïve? This is war, between mob families. Of course the Brunos are capable of civilian damages, the same way the Bellantis are.
And what if Jules has been lying to me all this time? God, I’ve been such an idiot. Taking the Brunos at their word. Working for them because I believed I was doing the right thing in getting back at the Bellantis. The Brunos have always painted the Bellantis as evil mobsters who deserve to be brought down. But what if the Brunos are just as bad—or worse?
“Don’t you fucking talk about them,” Armani growls at the prisoner.
