Page 44 of My Solemn Vow (The Mafia Arrangement #1)

“And let me guess. One had a really messed up nose. It had been broken a few times.” Valor seemingly knows these men.

I finally work up the courage to turn back around. Marc’s face is swollen on his left side. It’s bright red and his eye is starting to swell. Valor’s body is blocking one of his hands from my view, which I’m guessing is the one he removed a finger from.

“I guess.” Marc looks at Valor and his hand. It’s hanging at his side, and he’s holding a scissors-like item, spring loaded with nasty, large blades coated in blood.

“You guess?” Valor doesn’t let Marc off the hook.

“Yeah, it was bent, kinda to the left?” Marc questions what he knows.

“Yakuza. Fuckin’ exporters. At least they already buy our weapons. Won’t be hard to clean up,” Valor mutters, turning back to the table.

Every rise and fall of his shoulders comes with great effort, the breath slowly leaving his lungs.

He looks up at me. “I’m seeing if Royal can find every video with you in it, and I’ll personally kill anyone in possession of one.”

“You can’t just kill people for seeing a video over ten years ago.” I shake my head.

Why is that the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard? What is wrong with me? I wet my lips and run a hand down my face.

Valor scoffs out a laugh but doesn’t comment.

“Marc, how long have you been a lying sack of shit and been in Chicago?” I glare at him.

He’s pale and looks like he’s going to be sick. “A while,” he whines .

“Like two or more years?” I snap at him, fist clenching.

“Maybe four? I don’t know.” Marc tilts his head and squints.

“Valor,” I say quietly, drawing his attention away from glaring at Marc.

I don’t know if I want to tell him this, but if the truce is real, then it’s a show of trust, and there can’t be any harm in it.

“I remember Berto saying at Christmas two years ago that the Yakuza were moving in on our territory. He suggested to Gregorio that we attempt a hostile takeover of their business, but Gregorio said it was too big, even for us. The network is so large that it’s impossible.”

Valor turns away from Marc and cocks his head to one side and then the other. He studies me closely.

“It was two years ago. I don’t know what’s happened since then, but if Marc’s information is real, then maybe they’re taking a bigger foothold here.” I shrug, trying to offer help.

“Maybe. An enemy of my new friends makes for a very good team-bonding exercise.” Valor’s lips almost threaten a smile as he quotes me from upstairs.

I look at my smartwatch. We’ve been down here for forty-five minutes, but it’s passed like ten.

“Don’t worry. We have plenty of time.”

I nod, looking over at Marc. “I’m not sure he does.”

Valor turns back to Marc, choosing to pick up the two-handled blade again from the small table. This time, when Valor runs it down Marc’s leg, he takes skin off with it.

His voice booms over Marc’s screams. “When did you talk to the Yakuzas last?”

I force myself not to balk at the disgusting sight and the spray of blood. It’s gruesome.

It’s meat. It’s like a beef roast. It’s not human, it’s beef.

Bile rises, but I draw deep breaths, distracting myself by watching Marc’s reaction and not looking below his waist .

Marc’s head wobbles back and forth before slumping forward.

Valor smacks his face.

Coming to, Marc blinks, shaking his head.

Repeating himself, Valor steps away. “When did you talk to the Yakuzas last?”

Marc sobs, shivering, but I can’t tell if it’s the cries or his body going into shock. “I don’t know how long it was. Like a few days after you all told us that all the fights were stopping.”

“Three and a half months ago.” Valor draws long, slow breaths. “At least you were smart enough to tell them after we moved everything.”

“I told them I’d call the guy when we knew where the action would be.” Marc’s eyes are watering, snot bubbling, and gurgling comes from his throat. The sounds churn my stomach. “But I didn’t.”

I look away from his face and see the blood from his leg running down the chair to a puddle on the floor. I notice, for the first time, a drain a little ways away. Practical.

“Do you want to dirty your hands, princess?” Valor’s voice is sweet, almost playful. “Or do you want me to do as you say?”

I’ve never been in this position. I made threats to Marc’s eyes and his life, but I never knew if I’d be able to do this given the opportunity.

Examining the table, I step toward it and grab the brass knuckles that are kinda shaped like a cat’s head.

Two pointing bits poke out from the top, and the space between them looks to be roughly about the size of a rib.

I slide the knuckles on my fingers because I’ve hit someone before.

I’ve punched more than a few people. This much I know I can do.

My heart rate picks up. I dreamed of killing him and getting some sort of revenge. Retribution for what I now know: there isn’t enough therapy to ever make the violated feeling go away. I was one of many. But I’m the only one who will ever get a chance to make him pay for it .

Adrenaline sends tingles through my body as I flex my fingers around the metal, savoring the weight. I can’t even contain the excited breaths sawing in and out of my chest.

Valor doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are locked on me. Every one of my movements has been cataloged on some level since I stepped through the door. Will he step in if I’m doing it wrong? Is there a right and wrong way to torture and kill someone?

No. As I meet his gaze, something between us changes. It’s less like judgment and a test to see if I’m fit for this and more like concern for my well-being. It feels like approval.

Before I overthink it, I step past Valor and look Marc in the eye. The one that Valor hit is swelling up so much that it’s hardly open.

“Fuck you, Marc.”

I thrust forward, twisting and correctly intensifying the force until my knuckles slam into his chest. Air escapes his lungs, and Marc sputters and gasps. I hit him again in a different spot. The knuckles are denting his shirt, leaving red marks on the white cotton where I puncture his skin.

Relief floods through my body. Vengeance feels so much better than I imagined. A weight slowly rises from the bottoms of my feet, pulling upward, and I want a little more violence. I need to let a little more of this rage go.

“You’re done with him?” I confirm without looking at Valor. If I look at him, I might lose my nerve.

“Yeah. We have his phone and books. Royal can figure out anything he didn’t tell us.” Valor sounds almost bored.

“I told you everything,” Marc gasps, his head falling forward. He wheezes before pleading. “Let me go. I’ll leave. I won’t come back this time.”

“Let you go?” My rage sours the happy feeling of vengeance. I grab hold of his hair, yanking on the strands. I try to keep my voice calm, make him understand how ridiculous he sounds. “ You don’t get a choice in this any more than I got a choice in you filming me. Filming us.”

It’s easier than I thought to ram the brass knuckles into his head. The sharp tines poke into both of his eyes. He screams and gargles. I hit him again and again. The crunch of bone turns soft as I start panting with the exertion.

“Antonella,” Valor calls, forcing my focus off Marc. “That won’t kill him. You’re just burning energy, darling. Step back and let him bleed into his lungs and drown, or use this.”

I look away from Marc and the pathetic lump of his body to Valor. He’s holding out a pocketknife I don’t remember seeing on the table, nor have I noticed it lying out with his wallet in the bathroom where he changes pants.

But when I look at that knife, I know I can’t use it. Hitting him is one thing.

But that... that I can’t do. I’m weak.

Too weak to kill him. The self-deprecation sinks in.

Too weak because I’m a woman, because Gregorio is right, women have no place in this world, and because if I can’t kill someone who hurt me, how could I have ever expected to stand next to Berto to kill for him?

Tears well in my eyes, and the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears mixes with a deafening whine of tinnitus. I shake my head.

“You’re brilliant, darling. Beautiful as you strike. It’s okay to not be able to do this.” Valor steps forward, and I move out of his way.

I close my eyes to avoid seeing what I can’t hear over the noise in my head.

Marc’s death doesn’t absolve him of all the shit he’s done, no more than it erases the memory of the videos from the boys’ brains he sent them to. But there is peace in him being gone for good. That peace has me opening my eyes to see the proof in his limp body.

Valor steps between me and the corpse. His touch is gentle as he unwraps my hand from the brass knuckles, and it settles me. The tinnitus and hammering of my heart relax, leaving me with a ghost of a headache.

He raises his free hand to wipe at blood or tears on my cheeks. “I’ll be right back. Close your eyes and don’t open them.”

I trust him, letting my eyes fall closed without any objection. Valor’s footsteps set a hurried pace across the floor. The door on the other side of the room flaps open and closed. Then two sets of footsteps return.

My body involuntarily jumps as a hand touches my shoulder.

Valor comforts me with kind words, but his hand falls away from my arm. “Easy. Turn toward the exit to the house.”

I do as he says, and when I’m facing the opposite direction, I open my eyes to walk around the table and stand with the monitor toward the door. Valor is right on my tail the entire way. He opens and closes doors for me until we’re finally back in the gym.

“It never gets less amusing. Gavin can’t watch me torture someone but has no problem cleaning up my messes.” Valor looks at me as he walks backward through the gym and into the hallway without touching me. It’s casual, almost small talk.

He leads the way back upstairs to the kitchen. It’s like a world away from the basement. The sun is still shining, and the house is warm and bright.

“Can you check your bread? We’re early, but I think you’ll want to shower,” Valor says, walking to the counter where I left the dough to rise.

I nod and do as he asks. The dough is almost proofed the entire way. “If I hurry, I can shower and get down here before it’s ready.”

“No,” Valor commands, and he’s firm. “Tell me what to do and take your time cleaning up.”

“Pull the cover back and poke the loaf. If the indent stays, it’s ready. If not, re-cover it. If it stays, put it in the loaf pan I already buttered and put it in the oven. It bakes for thirty minutes.” I try to keep the instructions clear and concise.

When I preheat the oven to the correct temperature, I see why he wanted to deal with the bread. My hand is covered in drying blood. But it’s not only my hand. It’s all the way up my arm.

Valor spins me back to face him, and it shakes me out of staring at my appendage. “You were magnificent. Go get cleaned up. I can take care of this.”

The gentle touch of his lips on my forehead is unexpected and sends warmth through my body, and for a moment, I let myself want more.