Page 136 of Wounded King

"Violetta Carbone!" A loud voice rings out over the buzz in the emergency waiting area. "Where the fuck is my daught—You!" He sees me and strides straight forward.

I take a second to size the man up. In his early fifties, he looks like he's in his prime. Honed muscles, a little gray around the sides of his head, scars and wrinkles war for territory on his weathered face. Il Macellaio—The Butcher—aka Enzo Carbone, Violet's father.

My eyes narrow, search for his men, who sure as fuck have to be here as well, but I don't see anybody.

"Not here," I snarl at Enzo the moment he gets in my face. If he were anybody else, I would have shot him on the spot, uncaring of my audience. I'm not in the mood for family drama.

I march through the secured door that leads into the real emergency area, and there, I open glass sliding doors until I find one empty. I'm furious, but not enough to pull a writhing, obviously pregnant woman and her distraught husband out of one, or a mother and her screaming child from another.

"She's in surgery," I tell Enzo the moment we're alone in a room and I've closed the door behind us.

"What the fuck happened? How could you allow my daughter to get hurt?" He accuses, stepping right into my face.

I push him back. "I didn'tallowanything. You and I both know how our world works. Otherwise, you wouldn't have lost her in the first place."

His pissed off expression turns even more volatile at the accusation, but he visibly takes a deep breath. "How bad is it?"

"I have no fucking idea yet," I tell him.

"Who did it?"

"I'm waiting to get answers from two of the men responsible. They're waiting for me in the morgue." I lay my cards on the table. I don't give a shit about Enzo, he's outside his territory, but—like it or not—he's Violet's father.

Violet.

Just thinking her name creates an empty hole in my stomach that tries fucking hard to bring me down to my knees. If I give in now, I have a feeling I won't get back up again.

Enzo stares at me thoughtfully.

"What do you want?" I ask point blank. There are many reasons why I haven't killed him yet; one is that he is Violet's father, but another is that right now, he's the distraction I need not to go crazy with worry over her.

"Right now, I want to see my daughter. I want to know what happened to her."

"And after?"

His expression, already grim, turns downright lethal. "Then I will deal with my bitch of a wife and see my other children, the ones she took from me."

"Violet is my fiancée, we are about to get married," I push any thought of the possibility that this might not happen from my mind. I can't afford to think that way. "That makes her family mine. Turns her mother over to my protection."

"If," he gives me a sharp glare, "Igive my permission to this wedding, that will also makemeyour family."

Fuck me.

I asked for a distraction.Be careful what you wish for, Zia Rosa's voice echoes in my head. I always thought it was a stupid saying; now, I'm starting to get it.

"Let's tackle this one step at a time." I nod at him to follow, but stop him by the door. "But let's make one thing clear. Those two about-to-be-dead men are mine. You are nothing but a silent observer."

He looks as if he's ready to object, but wisely, albeit grimly, nods. Good, I can see now where Violet gets her good sense from.

The moment Enzo and I enter the morgue, we hear a subdued banging coming from inside one of the refrigeration units.

"Sounds like they have enough air," I remark dryly.

I nod at Marco, who pulls the door to the banger open and slides the gurney with him bound to it out.

"Nice touch." Enzo looks around approvingly.

I ignore him, already breaking the rules of aquiet observer,and step toward the man on the metal tray. I slap him in the face a few times, hard enough to split his lip and get his attention. At another nod from me, Marco takes the gag off.