Page 2 of Villainous Kingpin

I heard men’s hushed voices, grunts, and I screwed the silencer onto the muzzle never pausing my steps. Each second counted right now. I rounded the corner to my living room.

Then I saw him.

My father, bleeding like a pig in the middle of my living room. Two bullets in his right leg. A piece of glass jabbed in his neck, and the right side of his face sliced. Angelo, his hacker and right hand man, tended to him, wrapping up his wounds.

Both of their eyes lifted my way. One wary set and one furious. The latter one belonged to my father.

“Where is she?” I asked, my voice vibrating with rage as I glanced around. Dread was like a chain around my heart, squeezing harder and harder. “Where the fuck is she?” I bellowed, my voice bouncing off the walls and returning my own echo in answer.

I had to keep my cool; otherwise, the rage would blind me and I’d stop thinking rationally. But the adrenaline rushing through my veins refused to heed the warning. It only cared about finding my woman.

The living room was in complete disarray. The hardwood floors were stained with blood and broken glass and overturned furniture was scattered across the room.

“Russians,” my father spat out, blood spurting out of the corner of his mouth. “They took her.”

“Names,” I growled, kneeling to lock gazes with my father.

I had to swallow down the burning rage until I had the facts so I could get my girl. I wanted to kill him for allowing them to take her. For not laying his life down to protect her.

Fury rushed through me, blood drummed in my ears. My control was slipping.

“Didn’t recognize them.” Something about the tone of his voice warned me he was lying. “She tried to run,” my father said. “Fucking girl tried to run and you know how they love the chase.”

The red haze in my vision darkened to crimson, picturing how terrified she must have been. The images of how fear would have flooded her big eyes kept playing in my mind. I swear to God, if those fuckers laid a single finger on her, I’d burn down their homes, their cities, and kill their families.

“Where were you two?” I growled. “Did you lead them here? How come they didn’t kill you?”

Bratva didn’t leave survivors. Just as none of us kingpins left witnesses behind. For a reason.

“We caught them on their way out,” my father retorted, spitting blood on my floor. A tooth bounced off the hardwood. “Fuckers,” he cussed.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up.

They better not have touched my girl. Not a single goddamn piece of her golden hair. And if someone brought her any harm, I’d rain hell down on them and their motherfucking world.

I stormed out of the living room, the gun still in my hand as I rushed up the stairs to my bedroom. As I climbed the stairs three at a time, my fingers dug into the mahogany rail, the marble stairs echoing loud under my feet, and I couldn’t help but recall her teasing me about it. She called it a fancy mobster home.

It was supposed to be the safest goddamn home in this country. I promised her she’d be safe here.

The bedroom door ajar, I pushed through it, but it was as if nothing happened up here. I could still smell her faint flowery scent. The sheets were tousled, just as they were when I left her. Except she wasn’t in between them.

Her duffle bag sat on the windowsill where she loved to sit.

They’d taken her.

My star. My light. My life.

Anyone but her, I prayed.Bring her back.

And for the first time in my life, I dropped to my knees.

Unless I got her back, I’d be the world’s most ruthless villain.

There was no life without her.

CHAPTER1

Wynter