Page 5 of Madness & Mercy (Deadly Sins #1)

“And if they’re worse than the people you’re exposing? What happens then?”

He meets my gaze head-on. “Then I finish the job and deal with it later.”

I smirk.

“That’s a coward’s answer.”

He laughs just once, dark and low. “You’d know all about cowardice, wouldn’t you?”

The air sharpens.

For a second, I don’t move. I just study him.

The twitch in his brow. The heat behind his eyes. He’s testing me. Prodding at something he doesn’t even understand.

I lean in slowly, my voice dropping an octave. “I watched you for a long time before I brought you here.”

His smirk falters.

“I have eyes everywhere. I knew your gait before I knew your name. You were good at staying in the shadows, Cross. Until you wanted me to see you.”

I reach for my glass, swirling the wine but not drinking it.

“You followed me through half the city, but you made a mistake.”

He cocks a brow, defensive despite himself. “Oh?”

“You looked at me like you wanted something.”

The silence bleeds out between us. He shifts in his chair. His defenses flare up again, visible now.

“You think I want something from you?”

“I know you do. Nobody follows a man like me without wanting something, whether it’s money, power, protection, revenge…I know you’re not here just to play detective.”

He stays quiet.

I set the glass down, loud enough to punctuate the moment.

“I’m still trying to decide if you’re really that stupid… or just desperate.”

Another pause.

Then Julian leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes burning into mine.

“Maybe I’m both,” he says. “But if I am, so are you. Because you haven’t killed me yet.”

I smile.

There it is.

The edge.

The thing in him that bites back.

“You’re right,” I say softly. “I haven’t. Yet.”

Then I stand. The chair scrapes back across the stone. Julian’s head tilts slightly, as if expecting this to be the part where I pull a gun or have him dragged away.

Instead, I straighten my jacket.

“Come,” I say. “There’s something I want to show you.”

He hesitates.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed out of your sight.”

I smirk. “You’re not.”

Then I walk off, knowing damn well he’ll follow. Not because he trusts me, but because curiosity is the hook that’s already caught in his throat.

He follows me back inside and down the steps to the basement. The steel door groans as I push it open, cold air curling out like a warning.

He steps inside, his boots echoing against concrete.

His eyes scan the room with a kind of calculated detachment that both irritates and intrigues me.

I watch him take it in: the bloodstained drain in the floor, the leather restraints bolted to the wall, the surgical tools laid out like a pianist’s keys.

There’s no attempt at subtlety down here. This room doesn’t pretend.

It only promises.

I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, voice low.

“This is where you’ll end up if you fuck me over.”

“Nice setup,” he says, strolling farther in, eyes flicking from the meat hooks to the voltage cables. “You give house tours often?”

I step in behind him, letting the door shut with a definitive click. It locks automatically. He hears it, even if he doesn’t show it.

“Ever wonder how many men I’ve killed in these walls?” I ask.

Julian turns, his gaze steady. “You want me to guess?”

“No. I want you to imagine it.”

I pause. “The screaming. The begging. The way some men piss themselves before I even touch them. Weak men.”

He smirks faintly. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

I close the distance in two steps, reach into my jacket, and pull out a blade. It’s simple and sleek, with an obsidian handle. The kind that doesn’t get fingerprints, only blood.

Julian watches it. There’s still no fear in his eyes, but his body tenses.

I press the flat of the blade against his throat. It glides over his skin with just enough pressure to make him swallow.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

I can feel effort it takes him.

“You ever skin a man alive, Cross?” I murmur, trailing the blade down his torso.

“You start at the stomach, thin skin. Work your way up. If you go slow enough, the nerves keep firing. He stays awake the whole time.”

I drag the blade lightly across the side of his neck, not deep enough to cut. Just enough to leave a whisper of heat.

Julian’s jaw clenches, but his eyes never leave mine.

“Maybe I cut off his fingers first,” I go on, brushing the blade against his knuckles. “Make him count them while he still can. Some men scream. Some beg. But the worst ones?”

I lean in, close enough for my breath to hit his ear.

“They don’t make a sound. They die quiet. Like cowards.”

I pull back slightly, studying the taut line of his shoulders, the breath he holds so tight behind his ribs.

It’s cute how hard he tries to pretend this doesn’t phase him. My blade finds his neck again, holding pressure there.

“What?” I whisper. “You trying to impress me? Want me to believe you’ve seen worse?”

He tilts his chin upwards, his voice a rasp. “I don’t need to impress you, Vitale.”

I press the blade down a little harder. One heartbeat more, and I’d draw blood. But I don’t.

Instead, I laugh, low and dark.

“Shame,” I murmur, pulling the knife back and slipping it away. “I like it when they flinch.”

Julian finally exhales, slow and controlled. His posture eases.

He turns toward the wall of restraints again, running his fingers over the cold iron cuff like it’s a relic instead of a weapon.

“You get off on this?” he asks.

I smile. “Only when they deserve it.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he looks at me over his shoulder, his gaze sharp.

“And what happens when it’s me tied up down here?”

I cock a brow.

“Depends,” I say. “You gonna give me a reason?”

“No,” he says, his tone steady and firm. “I already told you, I’m not your guy.”

My gut tightens. He’s lying. I can feel it in the slight hitch of his voice, the way he doesn’t blink when he says it. He’s too calm. Too clean.

But my cock, the traitorous bastard he is, believes every word.

Pressed hard against my thigh. Straining at the seam.

Pathetic.

I grit my teeth.

Christ, I need to get laid.

“Let’s go,” I mutter, turning before he can see what effect he’s having.

He follows without a word, footsteps shadowing mine as we climb the concrete stairs, one floor at a time, up from the darkness and back into the light.

I don’t look back once.

But I can feel his eyes on me the entire way to the corner suite.

This time, I push the door open.

His gaze sweeps the room: Egyptian cotton sheets, walk-in closet, en suite bathroom with black tile and gold fixtures. It’s understated luxury, designed to impress without trying.

He tries to hide the shift in his expression, but I catch it.

“What?” I ask, my voice low and amused. “Not to your liking?”

He scoffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s biting back a retort.

“I didn’t realize the mafia gave a shit about aesthetics.”

“Only the ones who plan to survive.”

I cross the room and open the armoire. Inside are pressed shirts, tailored slacks, polished designer shoes arranged with precision. They’re all mine, but they’ve never been worn. And judging by his physique, they should fit him.

“You’ll find what you need here. Shower. Change. You look like shit.”

He raises a brow but doesn’t argue.

“You won’t be leaving this room unless I say so,” I continue, “but if you press the call button, the chefs will prepare whatever you want.”

I pause, narrowing my eyes.

“Don’t insult them by asking for instant noodles.”

That earns me a smirk. “You’re awfully accommodating for someone who was about to slit my throat five minutes ago.”

“I’m still considering it,” I say flatly.

He nods slowly, still playing it cool, but I see the shift in his stance, the way his shoulders square.

“You won’t find your phone in your briefcase,” I add. “Laptop’s on the desk. Wi-Fi’s restricted. My contact is pre-programmed. No one else. If I catch you even thinking about poking into anything off-limits…”

I glance toward the door.

“Luca takes out your kneecaps. I take what’s left.”

He crosses his arms. “Message received.”

I start to close the door, then pause, looking back at him.

“I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of,” I murmur.

And by unfinished business, I mean going to get laid before my cock explodes.

“Sleep well, cagnolino.”

He blinks. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

I smirk as the lock clicks into place behind me.

“Google it.”