Page 17 of Madness & Mercy (Deadly Sins #1)

JULIAN

I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear footsteps coming from down the hall, growing louder by the second.

And something in my gut tells me it’s him.

And he’s pissed.

I blink my eyes closed, feigning sleep as he swings open the door.

“Get up,” he says, all the warmth in his voice gone.

Well, that didn’t last long. Looks like he’s already back to being to his usual, shitty self.

I blink my eyes open. That crazy fucker’s covered in blood. But that’s normal for him.

I groan, dragging the blanket tighter over my chest. “Jesus, you again? In case you forgot, I was shot yesterday.”

He smiles. But it’s the kind of smile that precedes a body drop.

“I know,” he says, leaning a hand against the bed frame. “You poor thing.”

I scowl. “Shut the fuck up. You’re the one who made a big deal about it.”

That earns a low, hollow chuckle.

“You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?” he mutters.

I tense. “What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t answer, just nods toward the door. “Come on. I’ve got something to show you.”

My gut twists. “That’s not ominous at all.”

“You’ll love it. I promise.”

I sit up slowly, wincing as the wound pulls. “You’re being weird.”

He smirks. “Sure. I’m the weird one, stalker.”

My jaw locks. He’s picking a fight.

“Whatever this is, it better be good.”

He doesn’t answer, just turns and starts walking. I don’t have a choice but to follow, walking down the hallway with a sinking feeling in my gut.

As we move through the estate, he gazes over his shoulder.

“You eat this morning?”

I roll my eyes. “Your chef practically shoved eggs and toast down my throat like I was a damn hostage. That your idea of hospitality?”

He chuckles, low and dark. “Are you a guest, Cross?”

“I’m not sure what the fuck I am.”

He doesn’t answer that, just keeps walking.

We take another turn, this one sharper and darker, toward a wing I hardly recognize. The air shifts, colder still. Like the place knows to shut the fuck up when Nico Vitale walks through it.

And then I realize where we’re heading.

Down.

Of course.

The basement.

“Follow me,” he says in a low voice.

I hesitate at the top of the narrow stairwell. The concrete glistens with condensation. Metal rail. Steel door at the bottom.

“I swear to God,” I mutter, “if you try to chain me up down there—”

He doesn’t look back. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

There’s a guard at the stairs. Two, actually. One on either side, making sure I don’t run. Or maybe making sure I see what I’m about to see.

I sigh and follow him. Not like I’ve got other options.

Every step down creaks, and each one sounds louder than the last.

At the landing, Nico pauses.

“Close your eyes.”

“What?”

He finally turns, smirking faintly.

“Trust me.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

His smile sharpens. “Fine. Don’t trust me. But do it anyway.”

Goddamn son of a bitch.

I exhale hard and close them. I hear the creak of metal. Another door. Then his hand, warm and rough, wraps around my arm, guiding me forward.

“Try anything and I bite your dick off,” I mutter under my breath.

He laughs, but doesn’t respond.

It’s only a few steps, maybe a dozen, but it feels longer. Each breath down here is heavier, full of damp concrete and blood.

Then we stop.

He leans in close. His voice brushes my ear.

“Open them.”

I do.

And fuck me, there he is.

Slumped in a chair bolted to the floor. His hands are fucked. Three fingers are missing, the stumps wrapped in blood-soaked gauze like that’s supposed to help now. His face is beaten to a pulp, one eye swollen shut, lips busted open. Still breathing, barely.

I stop dead in my tracks.

“What the fuck, Nico?” I hiss, stumbling back a step. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Nico doesn’t flinch. He just turns to me, his eyes calm and steady. Like this is just another day for him.

“What?” he says, amused. “You don’t like your gift, piccolino?”

My stomach twists.

“That’s a shame. I worked so hard to get it for you.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“And you’re a fucking liar,” he snaps. “So I guess that makes two of us.”

I stare at him. My pulse is a war drum in my ears. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He steps closer, and the weight of his gaze hits me like a gut punch.

“The name Paulo Braga ring any bells?”

I go still.

Everything inside me turns to ice.

My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Nico’s smirk doesn’t reach his eyes. “I thought it might.”

I blink down at the man in the chair, still wheezing through blood and shattered teeth. I don’t recognize him. Not his face. Not his voice. But his boss?

Yeah, I know him.

Another job. Another life. Another fucked-up chapter I tried to bury like everything else I’ve done.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Nico says, walking behind me. “This fucker mentioned you by name. Said his boss knew your identity. Now tell me, what would a man like that want with a guy like you?”

I force myself to breathe. “Yeah, I worked for him. I was his P.I for a few months, that’s it. It was a long time ago. I haven’t seen Braga in years.”

Nico’s jaw tightens. “Then why the hell did his guy shoot you instead of me?”

That shuts me up.

Because I don’t have an answer.

I don’t know.

The man who pulled the trigger doesn’t even look familiar. But Braga? Braga doesn’t send men out without a reason. If his guy had a bullet with Nico’s name on it, why did I catch it instead?

Nico steps in close, crowding my space.

“So tell me, Julian. Who the fuck are you really working for?”

I look at the shooter.

I look back at Nico.

And then I realize, I don’t know which I should be more afraid of.

One wrong word, one twitch of my hand, and I’m the one chained to that chair, fingers snapped like twigs.

Fuck.

Think, Julian.

You’ve lied to men twice as cruel and ten times as paranoid. Talk your way out of it. Use that charm. Make it stick.

I square my shoulders, clearing my throat like I haven’t just walked into my own funeral.

“Braga means nothing to me.”

The shooter coughs, blood bubbling past broken lips. “Bullshit.”

I don’t even look at him.

“Can I kill him yet?”

Nico smirks without humor. “No. Not until I hear something useful.”

Then, without missing a beat, he turns to the man and pulls his gun with all the patience of a man about to snap.

“And you, shut the fuck up before I paint the walls with your goddamn brain.”

The guy gets the message. He shuts up, barely breathing.

Nico turns back to me. The weight of his gaze is a trigger against my skull.

“Go on,” he says.

I take a breath. Hold his stare.

Alright, Julian. Sell it.

“I’m working for you,” I say, the words like glass on my tongue. “Only you.”

I nod at the blood-soaked wreck across from me. “I don’t know why he’d have this guy shoot me. Maybe…”

I let the silence hang, like it’s hard to say.

Nico’s eyes narrow. “Spit it out.”

I drop my voice to a whisper, laced with just enough pain in it to feel real.

“Maybe he did it because he was angry. Braga was a controlling bastard. He always liked his assets… obedient.”

Nico goes still.

“Controlling how?” His voice is a blade now, slicing between syllables.

Got you.

“He likes his people desperate.” I glance down at my arm, absently brushing near the healing wound. “He didn’t like that I left. Didn’t like that I stopped answering his calls.”

Nico steps in, his fingers wrapping around my forearm, not rough, but steady.

“Did he touch you?” he murmurs.

I look away, just for effect. Then quietly, I murmur, “it doesn’t matter.”

His grip shifts to my chin now, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“The hell it doesn’t,” he growls. “Did that fucker put his hands on you?”

I let my face answer for me. Keep it subtle; tight jaw, slow blink, one breath too sharp.

He sees what he wants to see.

And I don’t feel bad about it.

Because the thing is? It’s not all a lie.

I did work for Braga. Not as a private investigator, obviously. As a hitman. And he made my life a living hell.

He broke bones like it was sport. Left bruises that never quite healed. Half the scars on my back are his doing.

So when Nico’s lip curls and he lifts the gun again, aiming straight between the guy’s busted eyes, I almost let him pull the trigger.

Almost.

But then I grab his wrist.

“Don’t.”

His head snaps toward me.

“You really want to stop me, piccolino? After this bastard shot at you?”

“I want you to be smart,” I say, my voice low but firm. “Don’t do something reckless and get yourself killed. This guy?” I nod toward the chair. “He’s not the real problem. He’s just another one of Braga’s disposable fucking tools.”

Nico takes a sharp breath in. His trigger finger twitches, then stops.

“Give me one good reason not to blow his fucking brains out right now.”

I hold his stare.

“Because Braga’s using him the same way he used me. You kill him now, and Braga just sends another. And the next one won’t miss.”

The silence between us goes sharp and violent.

Eventually, he lowers the gun, just a little.

“This isn’t over,” he mutters.

“No,” I agree. “It’s just the beginning.”

We head up the stairs, leaving Braga’s guy bleeding in the basement. I don’t look back. Not at him. Not at the blood on the floor. Not at the mess I almost made worse.

Enzo and Luca are waiting outside like they’ve been there the whole time. Great. Hopefully they didn’t hear any of that pathetic shit downstairs. The begging. The fake confession. The part where I let Nico touch my fucking face like I wanted him to.

“Take him upstairs,” Nico says to Enzo, already walking off. “Make sure he rests. And don’t let him leave my room.”

Awesome. I’m back on house arrest. Maybe he’ll let me pick out curtains next.

I glance toward him, trying to catch his eye. “That’s not necessary,” I say. “I’m fine. Let me help you find Braga. I’ve got intel.”

Nico barely slows. His eyes cut to mine, cold and sharp. “Out of the question.”

“I’m not dying,” I argue. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You were shot yesterday,” he snaps, turning enough for me to see the flicker of fire behind his eyes. “You’re pale. You’re slow. You look like shit.”

“Gee thanks, asshole.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. “You’re not going back out there until I say so. Go upstairs. Now.”

I grunt, fists clenched. “This is bullshit. You don’t get to lock me up whenever you’re feeling twitchy.”

He doesn’t even flinch, just tosses the next words over his shoulder like he’s done with the conversation.

“Take him upstairs.”

Luca falls into step behind him, and just like that, he’s gone. Not a single look back.

“Hey, asshole,” I snap. “Don’t ignore me.”

The door slams shut in response.

Enzo motions toward the stairs. “Come on. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

I clench my teeth so hard I feel it in my skull. “You always follow orders this blindly, or just when your boss is pissed?”

No reaction. Guy doesn’t even blink.

“You just do whatever he says, huh?” I sneer. “What’s wrong? Can’t think for yourself?”

Still nothing. Jesus Christ, is he dead inside?

“You don’t even like him, do you? What is it? You in it for the money, or something?”

Enzo doesn’t flinch. “I don’t need to like him. I just need to keep you from bleeding out on his fucking floor. Let’s go.”

I shake my head and flash him the fakest grin I can manage. “If you touch me, he’ll lose his shit. You know that, right?”

His voice is flat and icy. “I’m not here to hurt you, Cross. That’s above my pay grade. But whatever game you think you’re playing, it’s already over. You’re in his house. In his bed. Wearing his clothes. Bleeding because of his enemies. And you still think you’re the one in control?”

I exhale through my nose, biting back a curse.

Shit. This guy’s good.

Alright, new plan. Wait until his back’s turned and—nope. That won’t work either. He’s not a guard. He’s one of Nico’s men. One of the loyal ones. He’s untouchable.

I sigh and look away. “Whatever,” I mutter. “Let’s just go.”

But I swear to God, the second I get out of that room?

I’m burning this whole fucking estate to the ground.