Page 97 of Brutal Devil

His nostrils flare, and for a long few seconds, he says nothing.

With his silence, he says everything.

“You motherfucker,” I say quietly. “Not a single thing has changed, has it? Someone still wants me dead, and that’s why I’ll have to have guards twenty-four seven. But it’s convenient for you to let me out of this dungeon for now because my cousinsand the Revello capos have you between a rock and a hard place. If you don’t show them I’m alive, they might retract the alliance.”

He reaches for me, his expression hardening. “I’ve warned you to watch that mouth.”

I slip from his grasp, not wanting him to touch me. “You know what’s sick? For a second there, I actually allowed myself to start believing you might be different. That you weren’t just like my father and every other made man I’ve ever known, driven only by greed and the need for more power. But you’re exactly the same. All you care about is your precious empire, regardless of what it does to the people around you.”

He jerks like I’ve slapped him, but that’s the only hint of a reaction I get. His face remains a cold, impassive mask. “You were born into this world,amore mio. You know the way it works. Gather your things so that everything is ready to go first thing in the morning.”

Priest turns and stalks from the living room, leaving me alone.

Fuck him.

I’m so angry, I could throw something. If he thinks I’m going to casually follow his edicts like a good Mafia wife, he’s wrong. I grab my pens and a journal, curl up on the couch, and start writing another poem.

Persephone kept by Hades?—

for a heartbeat, I forgot

you’re foxglove and poison hemlock,

the land before a flood.

I’ll keep from you my grain,

sow your blood into pavement.

You think to lock me in my cage,

but I bide my time and wait.

My hand trembles as I look down at the words I’ve written. A stupid, fat teardrop falls on the wordpoison. I reread the poem three times before I tear the page from my journal, crumple it into a ball, and toss it in the trash.

When this nightmare is finally over, I don’t want any reminders of this place.

Or of him.

But even as I think it, I know it’s a lie. No matter how much time passes or how far I run when I can finally escape, nothing will banish Priest from my memory.

Priest

In the gym, I take out my frustrations on the punching bag until my fists are bleeding and raw.

That’s when Saint ambles in.

He takes one look at the blood dripping from me and whistles. “You should have taped them up before going at it.”

“I didn’t want to.”

I don’t have to explain why; my brother will know because we’re alike in this way. Sometimes, we need to experience pain just to remember that we’re alive.

I had to release some of the fury boiling inside me because Luna’s accusations affected me a hell of a lot more than I was willing to acknowledge or let her see. I hate that I have to use herlike this, and that I may be putting her in danger, all for the sake of the unified families.

“Your little talk with Luna went well, then, I take it?” Saint asks wryly.

He’s got a glass of whiskey in hand, so I guess he’s not feeling any better about our meeting with Amedeo the Animal and Squeaky than I am.