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My hand gives a sharp swerve, twisting the blade before yanking it out, the blood spilling onto the floor. His cries are pitiful, but they do nothing to quell my rage.
I move to the desk again and grab a pair of pliers. The weight of them in my hand is reassuring. I kneel before him, gripping his jaw with my free hand.
“Sai cosa faccio ai traditori(You know what I do to traitors)?” I whisper, my voice a deadly calm.
He shakes his head, terror visible in his half-open eyes.
“Imparo a memoria i loro volti(I memorize their faces),” I say, my grip tightening. “E poi li distruggo(And then I destroy them).”
My hands move and the pliers clamp onto one of his fingernails. He opens his mouth to let out a loud wail before I even begin.
“Io... Io sono stato stupido(I... I was stupid)!” he sobs. “It was a mistake! Please… please forgive me!”
“A mistake?” I say, yanking the nail free in one swift motion. His scream is deafening, but I don’t flinch. Hopefully, Aria doesn’t wake up from his pussy-ass scream.
“Capo,” Cortez’s voice cuts through the noise. He’s calm, detached. “Vuoi che lo finisca(Do you want me to finish him)? You have a call from our man at the NYPD.”
I glance at him, my breathing heavy, my hands slick with blood. For a moment, I consider it. But no. This is personal.
“No,” I say, standing. I look down at the man, a broken shell of himself. “Deve soffrire di più(He must suffer more).”
I turn to Cortez. “Take him away. Keep him alive long enough to remember my name every time he feels pain.”
Cortez nods and drags the sobbing man out of the room. My hands are trembling, not from fear but from the insatiable adrenaline still coursing through me.
My pants rustle as I wipe the blood from my knife on them. I reach out to grab a sip of the whiskey sitting on my desk. It burns my throat all the way to my chest as it goes down, but it doesn’t quiet the storm inside me.
I think of Aria, now asleep upstairs, her world untouched by the darkness I carry.
“I would do whatever it takes for you, Aria,” I whisper to the empty room. “Whatever it takes not to taint your world.”
***
I stand by the sink in the bathroom adjoining my study, washing the blood off my hands. The crimson stains seem to cling to my skin like they belong there.
It’s not guilt. I’ve long since made peace with what I am, what I do. But the mess…the chaos, it has begun to bother me now that I have −or at leastthinkI have− Aria. I prefer to be in control. No vulnerability. Nothing to lose.
I feel the adrenaline from earlier starting to wear off, leaving me with a pounding headache instead and a gnawing irritation that refuses to let up. I need a shower, maybe even some sleep.
The corridor is silent as I step into the hallway and head toward my room. The world outside is dark and quiet, but my mind is anything but calm.
I spoke with Evergreen’s manager just a moment ago, and she said they’d collaborate with Winston if he meets their financial requirements. Marcus Winston is the second-best hotelier in New York, meeting the financial requirements would be a walkover for him.
This means he’s trying to take over my top spot in the hotels and entertainment industry in New York. I wish him good luck with that because no one could ever compete with a Donatelli...and win.
Just as I reach the staircase, my phone buzzes in my pocket again. I sigh, pulling it out. It’s my guy at the police station again.
“What is it?” There’s a pause, long enough for my irritation to flare. “Spit it out, already. I don’t have all night.”
“It’s about Donald Henshaw,” the gruff voice at the other end finally says, his tone cautious.
I stop in my tracks, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. “What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
For a second, I don’t register the words. “Dead?”
“Yeah,” he says, almost apologetically. “Heart attack. They found him this morning.”