Page 51 of The Butcher's Wife

I understood what she wanted—a taste of freedom before she moved from one gilded cage to the other.

I leaned forward, intent on kissing her cheek and wishing her a good night. At the last second, she’d swiveled her head and kissed my mouth, snatching my shirt into her little fists.

I froze. She was clumsy and eager, licking at my lips and trying to kiss me like she wanted to eat me alive.

When I pulled away, I saw a look on her face I’d never seen before. A look that seared permanently into my brain, no matter how often I tried to forget.

She was serene. Taking control suited her.

She accepted her fate with grace as she looked me in the eye and told me, “Good night, Dom.”

I helped her into the house and didn’t wash her kiss off my mouth until the next morning.

When I pullup to Turi’s house, most of his SUVs are parked in the gravel lot. Annetta stares forward with wide eyes, wringing the seatbelt across her lap.

I lean over to rest my cut hand on her thigh, and I swear to God, it feels a little less painful from the touch. “I promise, no one’s going to hurt you.”

She looks fucking terrified, but she still whispers, “Or my family.”

“Or your family.”

Her shoulders ease a fraction. “I trust you.”

I know it’s a plea, an emotional jab to make sure I do what she wants, but she doesn’t have to do that. I already want to help her. And for as long as her dad and I have been watching out for each other, this is a loyalty that runs deep.

We walk the short path across the dark, cold driveway to the burst of warmth and light in Turi’s house. This late at night, only two guards are circling the grounds. The rest of the house staff have left for the day.

I know without checking that Turi and Marisol will be awake. If the moon’s out, they’re up.

Before I head upstairs to Turi’s watchtower, my phone buzzes with a text.

Turi

Meet us in the basement.

Nothing ominous about meeting in Turi’s designated torture room.

She couldn’t have read the text, but Annetta takes my hand in hers. Her fingers are slender and cool, and it makes me feel good that she’s still wearing my coat, like it’s my small way of protecting her.

I bring her to the basement door. “Wait here.”

Before I can knock, Turi opens the door. His icy gaze ticks over me and Annetta, landing on our joined hands. “Inside. Both of you, now.”

Annetta stifles a scream as we enter the room.

A man’s strapped to a metal chair, blood gushing out of his mouth.

Next to him, Barbara’s in a white undershirt and chewing a cigar, his breathing almost as loud as the man next to him. His bloodied hand rests on the man’s shoulder as he watches his daughter enter the room. The man in the chair is vaguely familiar with his wispy brown hair and shitty tattoos on his arms, but with most of his face bashed in, I can’t place him.

Turi is spotless as he walks over to the medical tray near the stranger and plucks a set of pliers from the top. He looksat the stranger as he swings his pliers toward Annetta and me.

The room seems to hold its breath as we wait for Don Salvatore to speak.

“Tell them what you told us.”

The man lifts his head eagerly.

Annetta sucks in a breath. This is probably the first time she’s seen something like this. I grip her hand firmly and shift her so that her body’s shielded by my arm. She presses in close to me like I can protect her from what the man’s about to say.