Page 29 of Madness & Mercy (Deadly Sins #1)

JULIAN

Fuck…

Braga. That piece of shit. I should’ve known better than to trust him, even for a second. He ratted me out to Nico, or at least, he tried to. Got real brave for someone with a knife in his leg and a gun in his face.

Tied me straight to Silvio. Practically gift-wrapped the truth and handed it over like a last little “fuck you” on his way out. If I hadn’t pulled the trigger when I did… Nico would know everything.

Maybe he already does.

I was sure I’d be dead by now. Floating facedown in the bay. Bullet in the back of my skull. But Nico just… walked away. Didn’t say a word. No rage, no accusations, no final blow. Just turned his back on the blood and the body, and on me.

That silence scares the hell out of me more than if he’d shot me.

I never should’ve met Silvio Romano. Or Paulo Braga. Or Nico fucking Vitale. Everything’s a mess. I’m a mess. The only thing I can do now is run. Get out. Get back to Silvio and pray to something that he doesn’t kill me for screwing up the job.

This is it. My only out.

I bolt, full sprint, away from the dock, away from the shadows and blood and cold silence. No plan. Just instinct. My boots slam the pavement. My lungs burn. My ribs scream. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

A sharp sting hits the back of my neck.

A warmth spreads through my body. My legs start to give.

And then… complete darkness.

Buzzing is the first thing I hear.

Low and steady, like a wasp trapped in my skull. My body’s cold and sore. My mouth tastes like blood and dirt.

I blink.

Concrete is the first thing I see.

Fucking Vitale.

I groan and try to move. When I look down, my wrists are tied, head pounding, neck on fire.

I’m wearing nothing but a shirt and boxers.

Everything hurts. Panic floods my bloodstream.

I’m trapped in this psycho’s basement, right where that fucker was sitting.

I look around, but there’s no sight of him, which can only mean two things:

He’s gone, and I’m next.

“Nico!” I bark, yanking at the chains. “Let me the fuck out, you psychopath!”

Silence.

“I know you’re listening, you bastard! Come out and face me!”

The door creaks open slow as death. Nico steps into the frame, all shadow and menace, like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Hello, cagnolino,” he says, his voice soft and sharp all at once.

“Fuck you,” I snap. “Let me out.”

He just clicks his tongue and shakes his head, like I’m some dumb animal that pissed on the carpet.

“Now, why would I do that?” he murmurs. “So you can run back to Silvio like a good little rat?”

My stomach caves in.

“Nico, I—”

“No,” he snarls, cutting me off. “No more bullshit. No more lies. I want the truth, Julian. Right here, right now. You’re the hitman, aren’t you?”

His voice is low and lethal. There’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen before—not just fury. Betrayal. Hurt. Something colder.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

“I…”

My voice cracks, splinters in my throat. That one word hangs between us like a noose.

Nico steps closer, his shoes echoing against the concrete, each step dragging more fear into my chest. I can feel the temperature drop. Or maybe it’s just my blood going cold.

He crouches in front of me, head tilted, eyes locked on mine like I’m already a corpse he’s cataloguing. His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Say it,” he murmurs. “Tell me what I already fucking know.”

My jaw clenches. I look away.

Wrong move.

His hand shoots out and yanks my head back by the hair, hard. I gasp, biting back a grunt as pain flashes down my spine. He leans in close, lips ghosting against the shell of my ear, breath hot and laced with venom.

“You’ve been lying to me since day one, cagniolo. Playing me like some stupid fuck while reporting back to Silvio, yeah?”

I flinch, but I don’t answer. I can’t.

Nico chuckles low and dark. There’s no humor in it—just fury.

“God, you’re good. I’ll give you that,” he whispers, tightening his grip. “The way you looked at me. The way you moaned for me. You almost had me convinced you gave a damn.”

“Nico, it wasn’t like that—”

“Then what the fuck was it?” he barks, suddenly erupting. “A game? A job? Did he send you to seduce me too, is that it?”

I shake my head, my throat dry. “No. It changed. I swear it changed—”

He releases my hair. My head snaps to the side.

“Changed,” he spits. “You’re a fucking liar.”

My vision blurs. I cough, my voice hoarse. “You think I wanted this?”

“I think you were made for it.” His voice drops again, quiet and cruel. “You liked it. Didn’t you? Killing for him. Lying to me.”

“Nico—”

“Don’t,” he warns, pressing a hand to my chest, flat and firm, but there’s a tremble in his fingers I almost miss. Almost.

He leans in again, lips grazing my cheek like a threat. “You know what the worst part is?” he whispers. “I would’ve killed for you. Burned down everything for you. And you were just another fucking knife pointed at my back.”

I can’t breathe. My ribs feel like they’re collapsing.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say, voice shaking. “I didn’t—”

“But you did,” he growls. “You did, Julian. And now you get to live with that. If I let you.”

He stands slowly, looking down at me like I’m something pathetic.

“Last chance,” he says. “Tell me everything. Or I swear to God, I’ll make Braga look like a mercy kill.”

The room goes silent. And all I can think is: I deserve this.

I clear my throat, but the sound barely makes it past the knot tightening in my chest. My breath stutters. I still can’t look at him.

“I knew you before,” I say quietly. “You just didn’t know me.”

Nico stills. A shadow crosses his face.

“Go on,” he says, voice low.

“I was a cop back then. Detective, actually.” I force the words out, dry and brittle. “I was proud of it. Thought I was doing something good. Thought I was making a difference… if you can believe that.”

A bitter laugh catches in my throat. I swallow it down.

He doesn’t interrupt.

“My unit was tasked with cracking down on organized crime. Undercover ops, surveillance, intel. That’s when your family came on our radar. Your father.”

His jaw flexes.

“My assignment was to infiltrate from the inside. That’s how it all started.”

I pause, bracing myself, because this is the part that still tastes like blood in my mouth.

“Your father… he’s the reason I lost everything.”

Nico doesn’t move, but I see it. The quiet storm building behind his eyes.

“I tried to take the operation down from the inside, but he caught wind of it. Pulled strings, flipped it on me. Sent people after me. Said if I didn’t start running drugs for him, my family would wind up dead.

And I was stupid enough to think I could handle it.

Thought I could play along, finish the job, then bring the whole empire down. ”

My voice falters.

“I got hooked on the product I was smuggling. Didn’t take long. The department found out, and next thing I knew, I was locked up.”

Nico’s jaw tightens. His nostrils flare. There’s a thick vein rising in his forehead.

“You knew my father?” he asks. His voice is tight, barely above a growl.

I nod slowly, the shame thick in my throat. “Not for long. He didn’t tell me much... but he threatened me. Threatened my entire family. That was enough.”

He looks away for a moment, like he’s trying to keep himself from exploding.

“Do you know how he died?” he finally asks.

I shake my head. “No… I wish I did. I figured someone like him had a long list of enemies.”

He turns his head back toward me, his eyes darker now.

“I killed him.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“He was my first kill. Two in the chest, one in the head. I had to make sure.” His voice is emotionless, like he’s telling me about the weather.

I stare at him. “Why?”

His fists curl at his sides. There’s something trembling beneath his calm, like rage barely caged.

“He was a monster. Beat the hell out of me and my mother for years. I used to take the hits so she wouldn’t. I lived my whole childhood praying for him to die. So when I got strong enough…” He shrugs. “I stopped praying. I made it happen.”

A wave of silence crashes between us. I feel sick. Sick for him. For what I thought I knew. For the things I assumed.

It all makes sense now… why he snapped when I mentioned Braga’s abuse. Why his voice cracked when he said, “I’ve seen what that does to people.”

He wasn’t just talking about Braga.

He was talking about himself.

I try to blink back the tears, but they come anyway, hot and fast. He doesn’t look away.

Then, softly, he asks, “How’d you get involved with Braga?”

I suck in a breath, trying to pull myself together.

“Five years in prison, that’s how. I met some of Braga’s guys inside.

They saw what I could do. Saw what I had become.

Just a washed-up detective turned junkie with no job, no badge, no future.

They offered food, protection, a place to sleep, a purpose.

All I had to do was kill the men they told me to. ”

He nods, slowly. Coldly.

“And Silvio Romano?”

I hesitate, then look him in the eye.

“He was my out. Said he’d pay me double what Braga paid if I took out a certain target.”

Nico doesn’t blink.

“And that target was me,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah. When I heard your name, it felt like fate. Like I was getting a second chance to balance the scale. I blamed you… for all of it. Losing my job, winding up in prison, becoming a fucking junkie. Your father was dead, and I didn’t have anyone left to aim my rage at. So I pointed it at you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, shoulders shaking. “I watched you for years. Planned everything. How I’d get close, earn your trust. How I’d kill you.”

He stares at me, unflinching.

“But then I met you,” I whisper. “And everything changed.”

The quiet between us is suffocating. I actually did it. I told him everything. It feels like a weight is lifted, but I have no idea if I just signed my own death warrant… or finally told him what he needed to hear.

After a long, aching silence, I lift my head and force the words out.

“You believe me… right?”

Nico doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at me with darkness in his eyes, and it’s terrifying.

“You’ve been lying to me since day one,” he finally says, his voice low and cold. “So no. I don’t.”

My throat tightens. He takes a slow step forward, then another. Each one echoes on the concrete like a ticking time bomb.

“What should I do with you?” he murmurs, almost to himself.

I flinch but don’t respond.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, his hand snapping up to my throat. Not squeezing, not yet, but firm enough to make my pulse stutter. There’s no pain, just pressure. A silent warning. A promise. He’s showing me exactly how easy it would be to break me.

And all I can do is stare into those dark, endless, furious eyes.

Eyes that say I could destroy you.

Eyes that say you’d let me.

“I asked you a question, Cross,” he continues.

Jesus Christ. The way he’s looking at me, like he’s two seconds from slitting my throat and getting off to the sound, it’s making my brain short-circuit. Heat pools low in my gut, molten and shameful. I’m tied up. Helpless. And fuck me, I’m hard.

“Do whatever you want,” I rasp, barely able to breathe.

That wicked smile spreads across his face, slow and cruel.

“Whatever I want?” he echoes, reaching into his back pocket.

He pulls out a knife, my knife. The same one I tried to use on him.

Still gripping my throat, he presses the blade to my jaw, light enough not to cut, but firm enough to feel the threat behind it.

He drags the blade down, tracing a path down my collarbone to my chest. I’m shaking, but not just from fear.

The tip pauses at the top of my shirt. Then—

Riiiip.

The fabric tears open under the blade, exposing my chest, my stomach, the bulge beneath my pants.

He stops there, smirking, finally letting go of my throat.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” he says, clearly amused. “Lurido puttanello. Così duro per me.”

I have no fucking clue what that means, but it sounds filthy. Everything he says in his language instantly turns me on. Always has.

My pulse pounds. My wrists are still bound, useless. There’s no hiding the way I’m straining in my pants, no excuse for the way my body’s reacting to him, to this, to all of it.

“You’re trembling,” he observes, running the flat of the blade along my inner thigh, then pressing just hard enough to make me gasp.

I feel the sting, the warmth, then something wet trickling down.

Blood.

His tongue follows a second later, dragging up my thigh in a slow, maddening line, stopping just shy of where I need him.

I grit my teeth, fighting the sound that tries to claw its way out of my throat.

“Answer the question, cagniolo.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m scared.”

He lets out a low laugh, like he’s been waiting to hear me say that all along. He leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. His voice is a sin I want to drown in.

“Well, well. Look who’s finally being honest.”

Then, finally, he kicks the knife aside with a sharp flick of his boot, sending it skidding across the floor. His eyes lock on mine, dark and cold.

“I’m going to strip every lie from your fucking mouth,” he says darkly. “Unravel every secret. Every scream. Every fucking plea. I’ll drag the truth out of you, even if it kills you.” A beat. “And I don’t care how long it takes.”

He turns away and walks toward the door, leaving me wrecked. Raw. Still trembling.

“Nico, wait—”

He stops with hand on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my throat tight.

He doesn’t look back.

“Good,” he says. “You should be.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me in the dark, already craving the next time he comes back to tear me apart.