Page 59

PSYCHO

Getting Carlo Bianchi out of prison was an expensive endeavor. As it turns out, paying off every guard working, as well as the warden, takes a lot of fucking cash. Glancing at Hadley perusing my knives makes it all worth it. She wants this, hell, maybe she needs it.

“What about this one?” She asks, pointing to a nine-inch serrated blade.

I tried to give her my favorite knife, but she refused it, not wanting to use it on this piece of shit, since I frequently use it on her. There was no argument from me because, of course, I don’t want her thinking of this asshole when she’s in bed with me, or any other time. It’s one of the biggest reasons we are doing this in one of my warehouses, instead of our home. It’s best for her to not have physical recollections of her past, where we will share our life together.

“That one will hurt, but if you don’t want him to die fast, you have to be sure to not insert it too deep.”

I catch Carlo’s wide eyes, as he lays strapped to the table. Stepping over to him, I rip the duct tape from his mouth, grinning at him humorlessly as he yells from the pain, which makes me laugh, because that is nothing close to what he’ll experience.

“Time to spill your secrets, Bianchi.”

“Fuck you,” he spits.

Hadley comes over, having chosen her knife, and slides it down his limp dick.

“Do you know what I did to Jimmy?”

He shakes his head profusely, as tears spring to his eyes, and I stand back to watch the glorious show.

“Fuck. Stop.”

Piercing his ball sack, she continues talking, and I fucking love the way she’s elevating his fear. Playing with him while she tortures him.

“I torched his dick.”

Much to my surprise, his eyes grow wider, and I chuckle at the thought that he hasn’t even heard the worst part yet.

“Then I cut it off and fed it to him. I was nice though, and cut it into bite-size pieces, so he didn’t choke.”

He stares at Hadley like he is seeing her for the first time, and I’d bet money that he has never seen her like this. She was his victim, now she’s my violent angel, taking back what belongs to her. It’s fucking beautiful.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He asks, as he continues gazing at her with shock plastered in his expression.

She arches a brow, as if mystified that he can possibly not know the answer to that question.

“You did,” she says, with no emotion to her voice, I know it’s there but, fuck, I’m proud of her for not showing him weakness, not giving him any power to hurt her further.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but it doesn’t reflect in his eyes. He is sorry as fuck, but not for hurting her, he is sorry he ended up in this position.

She laughs sardonically, as she drags the blade across his abdomen, and he hisses in pain.

“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so, Carlo? If you’re sorry, that makes up for you beating me, choking me, and killing my son. Doesn’t it?”

When she drags the knife down the center of his chest, I warn her, “Go slow, baby. I know you want to make him suffer, but we need answers.”

I can’t help but put my arm around her waist when she steps back, because my world is not quite fucking right, if I don’t have my hands on her.

“Who killed her father, Carlo?”

The bleeding is minimal at this point, but he’s clearly pissed, as he flashes me a glare. He doesn’t speak to her, but to me.

“Tell that crazy bitch to put the knife down, or I’ll take that to my fucking grave.”

“Hadley.”

Now it’s her turning to me with a glare, and I stare back, with the promise in my gaze that she’ll get what she deserves. It has taken us months to get to this point, and my girl has been losing patience, but I want her to have the goddamn closure she needs. I also have some concern that if she doesn’t find out the truth, somewhere in the back of her mind, she’ll think maybe my family did it, and I can’t have that standing between us.

“Talk.”

“We did. My family, and yes, I was part of it. Everything was orchestrated. Meeting her was planned, killing her father, telling her that the Bonettis did it. Danielle’s involvement. Every fucking bit of it. Except Michael. Her getting pregnant was never part of the fucking plan.”

“Danielle?” I question, feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut at the mere mention of her name. Her father is high up in the FBI’s Organized Crime division, so she couldn’t be involved with this.

“It was all staged. Your father being arrested, and her coming clean about feeding her father information to take you down. It was all to divert your attention. We killed Amici, because my father wanted your weapons business.”

Our weapons business, it’s always about the fucking guns.

I grip Hadley a little tighter, running my fingers just up her shirt to feel her skin, while the pain in my chest grows as thoughts of my father filter in.

“How was that going to get our weapons business?”

“It showed that he could not be trusted. If he murdered one of his own men with such callousness, caring nothing about his family, it meant everyone should watch their backs with the Bonettis. The plan was to kill her afterward, in the same manner, but then she got pregnant, and my father wanted to use the baby as leverage.”

I have never looked into the date when he was arrested, never asked when Michael was born, I never fucking asked any of this shit, but now that it’s staring me in the goddamn face, I do.

“Hadley, how old were you when you got pregnant?”

“Fourteen,” she whispers, as if she’s ashamed, but it’s not her that’s causing my blood to fucking boil.

“How old were you?”

I know he’s older than her, but I’m not one hundred percent sure how much older.

“Twenty-four,” he answers, and the bile rises in my throat. She was a goddamn child, and he fucked her. Then he beat her repeatedly, and took her son from her, in the most fucking traumatic way.

“Do your worst, little lamb. I’m going to sit and watch you make him bleed, for everything he has done to you. For your son. Take as much, or as little, time as you want to. This is for you. If you need me, I’ll be here, but this is your stage.”

I kiss her on the cheek, and whisper in her ear, “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Turning to me, she places her hand on my cheek, feeling my beard beneath her fingertips, then rises to her toes and kisses me softly.

“Thank you, Massimo.”

Pressing my palm to her face, I stop her from moving away for a moment.

“Anything for you, little lamb. Fucking anything for you.”

I kiss her softly, and allow her to pull away. Taking a seat, I watch my girl blossom into the woman she is. Fucking stunning.

She pushes the knife into his shoulder, and drags it through his flesh, and his screams echo off the walls, his back arching off the table as he’s wracked with pain. Hadley is calm, collected, and tortures him like she has done it countless times.

Holding the knife in front of his face, she orders him, “Lick.”

“I’m not drinking my own fucking blood,” he hisses through a clenched jaw.

Tilting her head at it, she speaks softly.

“Yes, Carlo, you will. I’m in control now. What is it you used to say to me? Oh right. You brought this on yourself. This is what you deserve, so fucking take it.”

Hearing her, quoting his words back to him, causes me to clench my jaw, as my own murderous rage sets in. I want to jump up and take over, but I can’t. This isn’t about me, it’s about Hadley.

Bianchi licks the knife, and gags at the taste of his blood, so I warn him.

“You vomit, and you will eat it, asshole, so I suggest you swallow.”

He swallows, and she cuts into his chest, below the sternum, so he does what they all do, and tries to manipulate her into stopping the torment.

“Please, Hadley, think of Michael. He wouldn’t want you to do this.”

I watch as my girl snaps, turning from the sweet girl I knew all those years ago, to an unhinged killer. Pulling the knife out of him, her voice comes out raw, and drenched in fucking pain I wish I could take from her.

“How dare you use my son, not your son, my son, to save your own skin. You’re a pathetic man, Carlo, fucking pathetic. Rot in hell, you disgusting piece of shit.”

She raises the knife over him, both of them sobbing for different reasons, and plunges it into his stomach, pulling it out and doing the same thing over again, as he writhes in pain. I count in my head as she viciously stabs her abuser, the killer of her son, and once I get to twenty, I rise to my feet.

“Hadley, drop the knife, baby. It’s over.”

She drops it, the metal clanging on the tiled floor, and collapses in a mess of sobs. Walking over to her, I fall to my knees, pull her into my arms, and hold her tight against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” she cries.

Kissing her on the forehead, I encourage her to get it out, because she needs this.

“No apologies, baby. Let it out.”

After crying into my chest for several minutes, her sobs subside, and she tilts her head back to stare at me with an expression I don’t deserve. Like I’m a goddamn hero, when I’m anything but.

“Thank you, Massimo. I love you.”

I swallow hard, as I tell myself I can fucking do this. For her. Knowing something is true, and speaking it, are different things, and my voice comes out raw, the words foreign on my tongue.

“I love you too, little lamb. I love you too.”

Twenty-six years ago, I told her she’d be mine one day, because she was too young, and then she disappeared from my life, like a cloud of fucking dust, leaving me wondering if I imagined her. Now she sits in my lap, covered in blood, and while I can’t predict the future, I know one thing for sure.

I’m fucking keeping her.