Page 24 of Hunted to the Altar (Caputo Crime Family #3)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

S amuel

The low thud of the front door echoed behind us as we stumbled inside, still high off the night’s dark rhythm. My hands stayed greedy, roaming over Nina’s hips as I pressed her against the wall, my mouth claiming hers again and again.

We didn’t make it to the bedroom. We barely made it past the foyer.

Clothes peeled off in a frantic trail to the living room, where I took her again, harder, rougher, needing to mark every inch of her skin as mine.

And she gave it to me — all of it. Her body, her cries, her surrender.

Later, tangled up on the floor with her body boneless against mine, sleep crept in slow and heavy. I fought it at first, wanting to stay awake and watch her chest rise and fall. But exhaustion won.

I woke to an unsettling quiet .

No birdsong, no distant hum of cars outside. Just the house — too still, too silent.

Something was wrong.

I could feel it in my bones.

My every step echoed faintly through the marble halls of the house, the sound a stark reminder of the stillness. The strange wrongness hanging in the air, like a predator sensing its prey’s unease.

And now, I knew why.

The signs were all there: The quietness, the shadows cast at odd angles from doors left slightly ajar. They weren’t mistakes — they were breadcrumbs.

The little clues led me to the garage, and with every step, my anger burned hotter, more consuming. The betrayal cut deeper than I wanted to admit, but the fury was a familiar salve. It masked the pain, sharpening my focus to a razor’s edge.

When I reached the garage, the sight in front of me was all the confirmation I needed.

Nina stood there, clutching a small bag to her chest, her dark curls a chaotic halo around her head. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her knuckles white from her grip on the bag.

Beside her, Marcello shifted nervously, his gaze darting toward the exit as if he could outrun what was about to happen.

They didn’t notice me at first.

But when I stepped into the light, my shadow loomed over them, and Nina froze.

Her wide eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw guilt flicker across her face before she shoved it down deep inside.

“Going somewhere?” My voice was crisp, a blade slicing through the air.

Nina’s shoulders stiffened. “Samuel,” she began, her voice trembling slightly but firm. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

I let out a humorless laugh, my lips curling into a predator’s smile. “Really? Because it looks like my wife and my priest were about to betray me.”

Marcello took a step back, his jaw tight. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t need to speak. His guilt was written in the hard lines of his face.

"Inside," I ordered Nina, my voice like steel.

She hesitated, her gaze darting to Marcello as if hoping he'd intervene. He met her eyes — something unspoken passing between them — but he didn’t move. He knew as well as she did that there was no escaping me.

"Now," I barked.

She flinched but didn’t argue. With one last glance at Marcello, she turned and walked back toward the house, her steps stiff with tension. I watched her until the door closed behind her, then turned my full attention to Marcello.

"You," I said, my voice dripping venom, "come with me."

Marcello didn’t cower. His hesitation was brief — more defiance than fear — but it was enough to stoke the flames of my anger. He fell into step beside me, matching my pace down the hall as we descended into the basement. His shoulders were squared, but I could see the strain in the set of his jaw.

The air grew colder with every step, the walls closing in like the tomb this place often became.

My men were already waiting, their expressions grim. They knew better than to question me. When I entered, they parted silently. A table was set revealing the tools they laid out for me in advanced.

Blades of various sizes, a set of pliers, a hammer. Each one gleamed under the dim light, a promise of pain.

Marcello’s breath caught when he saw them — not from fear for himself, but from the certainty of what was coming.

"Samuel," he began, his voice steady despite the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Please. Listen to me?—"

"Listen?" I interrupted, my tone mocking. I picked up a blade, letting it catch the light. "That’s rich, coming from someone who clearly forgot his fucking vows."

He stiffened but didn’t back down.

"She was scared," he said hoarsely. "Trapped. I was only trying to help her."

"She’s my wife," I snapped, my voice rising, echoing off the walls. "You had no right. You were supposed to protect her for me, not from me. You were supposed to protect us. Instead, you tried to take her away."

His silence was answer enough.

I stepped closer, holding the blade between us like a guillotine’s promise.

"You betrayed your vow. The Famiglia . Me." I slammed my fist against my chest. I grabbed my knife from its holster.

Marcello didn’t tremble.

He looked at me with something that almost resembled regret — but not remorse.

I motioned to my cousin Daniele to hand me the Bible Marcello always carried.

He hesitated, then handed it over.

The Bible was heavy, adorned with an enormous gold cross. I carved it out and passed it to Daniele.

"For your betrayal, you’ll be branded," I growled. "A symbol. So you’ll never forget who you owe your loyalty to."

I leaned in and whispered to Daniele, "Mark his forehead."

"But he’s famiglia ," Daniele protested weakly.

"You’ll learn," I said coldly. "In this famiglia , there’s a price for betrayal."

Daniele nodded grimly and barked orders. My men moved efficiently, setting the cross over the flame until it glowed molten red.

Marcello stoically looked on, like seeing the brand wasn’t tearing him up inside with fear. I wanted him to scream in front of the men. I wanted him to beg and plead, ask for mercy .

My hands curled into fists at my sides in anger.

Normally, I wouldn’t bother getting my hands dirty, but he thought he could take my wife from me — and I needed everyone to see that would never be tolerated.

I was handed a pair of gloves. I tossed one aside and donned the other as I stepped closer.

"You thought you could save her," I said, voice low. "You thought wrong."

Marcello’s head dipped, dark hair falling over his forehead.

"I did it for her," he muttered. "Not against you. I would never go against you."

A bitter laugh rumbled in my chest.

When the smell of his burning flesh permeated the air, I pulled the gold cross away from his skin and allowed it to drop to the ground. Daniele wretched from the scent and fled the room. I shook my head at his weak display.

"I hope it was worth it, cugino ," I snarled before leaning forward and whispering in his ear. “Never forget this lesson. My wife is mine , and I do not take lightly to anyone coveting what belongs to me.”

He shook and coughed. “I swear it wasn’t like that Samuel. I just got confused.”

I patted his cheek and let go of his hair. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Blood dripped steadily down the side of his head, staining the collar of his shirt. I watched him for a moment, taking in the broken man before me.

Nina’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Samuel, stop!” Her scream panicked, her hands gripping the doorframe so tightly her knuckles turned white. “What have you done?”

I turned slowly. My gaze locked on hers. She had put herself in danger. He had endangered her. That was unforgivable.

“What had to be done, Nina,” I said, my voice low but sharp. “ You don’t understand what happens when someone crosses me.”

“You’re hurting him over me?” she cried, stepping forward despite the fear in her eyes. “Please, Samuel. Please stop this. He was only trying to help.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused by her bravery even as it infuriated me. “Help you?” I repeated, my voice dripping with mockery. “And what exactly was his plan, Nina? To take you away from me? To let my enemies think I couldn’t protect what’s mine?”

She flinched at my words but didn’t back down.

Her bold display of disrespect only fueled my anger.

I turned back to Marcello who was slumped in the chair, barely conscious.

His breathing was labored, each inhale a struggle.

I pulled out my blade, not ready to be done with him.

I grabbed his chin roughly, forcing him to look at me.

“See no evil,” I murmured, pressing the blade against his cheekbone. “Hear no evil. Speak no evil.”

Nina lunged at me stopping my hand before I could do more damage, her hands clawing at my arm. “Stop it!” she screamed. “You’re a monster!”

Her words stung, more than I cared to admit. But I couldn’t afford to let her see that. I pushed her back, careful not to hurt her but firm enough to make my point. She stumbled, falling to the floor, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and fury.

“Don’t test me, Nina,” I warned, my voice cold. “This is what happens to those who betray me.”

Her tears were silent now, streaming down her face as she stared at me in horror. The sight of her broken expression sent a pang through my chest, but I shoved it down. I couldn’t afford to feel guilt. Not now.

I looked at him and saw the defeated man in front of me. Maybe Nina was right. It was enough. I lifted my hand with my knife as if I was going to strike him again when I saw her movement in the corner of my eye.

Nina turned away, her hands covering her ears as if that could block out the next sounds. Her horror at the scene finally permeated my rage filled brain. I let the knife clatter to the table, the metallic ring cutting through the heavy silence.

“Take him away,” I ordered my men, my voice steady despite the surrounding chaos. “Let him live, but make sure he remembers this.” I didn’t need to be there to see them kick his ass. I had a wife to take care of.

They nodded, dragging Marcello’s limp body out of the room. The bloodstains on the floor were a stark reminder of what had just transpired, a brutal testament to my wrath.

I turned to Nina, who was still on the floor, her body trembling. I crouched down in front of her, cupping her face in my bloodied hand. She flinched but didn’t pull away.

“You’re mine, Nina,” I hissed, my voice carrying a dangerous edge. “And I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it means becoming the monster you think I am.”

Her silence was deafening, her tears louder than any words she could have spoken. I stood, the weight of her gaze heavy on my back as I walked away. But the image of her broken expression stayed with me, a reminder of the price of my actions—and the man I had become.

As I ascended the steps from the basement, my mind returned to Marcello’s betrayal.

There was no remorse in me. How could there be?

He had overstepped, blatantly disregarded my orders, and endangered Nina.

In my world, such disobedience was unforgivable.

It wasn’t about pride; it was about control — about sending a message to anyone who thought they could cross me and walk away unscathed.

Marcello had known the rules. He had sworn loyalty, not only to the famiglia , but to me.

But Marcello had always believed in a higher loyalty — one to his own sense of right and wrong. It had been his greatest strength, once. His willingness to question orders, to protect the vulnerable.

This time, it became his weakness.

By helping Nina, he hadn’t just disobeyed; he had defied the foundation of everything we stood for.

He had made it appear as though I couldn’t handle my own wife, as though my hold on her was weak.

And that was something I could never allow. Weakness in this life was a death sentence, and I refused to give my enemies even the smallest advantage.

Marcello had chosen her over me, believing he was saving her.

But in this world, belief meant nothing. Only loyalty mattered.

As I reached the main floor, I saw the staff scurrying away, their heads bowed, avoiding my gaze.

They knew better than to speak to me when I was like this.

The tension in the house was palpable, the air thick with the aftermath of what had transpired below.

And yet, I felt nothing but cold satisfaction.

I stepped into my study and poured myself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light.

As I sipped it, the warmth spread through me, but it did little to quell the storm inside.

My mind replayed the scene in the basement, not with regret but with a detached sense of accomplishment.

Marcello’s punishment had been brutal, yes, but it had been effective.

There would be no question of my authority now.

No one would dare cross me, not after seeing what I was capable of.

Even Nina, as spunky as she was, would think twice before testing me again. She had seen the lengths I would go to, the depths I would sink to, to protect what was mine. And she was, whether or not she liked it. She would learn to accept it, just as she would learn to accept me.

I finished the whiskey and set the glass down with a sharp clink.

My hands were still stained with blood, and I stared at them for a moment, the dark red stark against my skin.

It was a reminder of who I was, of what I had become.

A man who took what he wanted, who protected what was his, no matter the cost.

I would not apologize for it. I would not regret it. This was the world I lived in, the world I ruled. And in this world, there was no room for weakness, no room for hesitation. Marcello had learned that lesson the hard way. And if anyone else dared to challenge me, they would meet the same fate.

No one disrespected Samuel Caputo. Not without consequences.