Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“What if this were your brother? Your sister? Anyone you love?”
“You’ve seen what he’s like, Con. You show up there, he’ll literally rip your head off.”
“Not if you come with me.”
He released a loud scoff. “Oh sweet Virgin Mary, are you out of your mind?”
“Come. Don’t come. I’m going either way.”
He dropped his face into his hands and released a frustrated sigh. “Sleep on it—”
“No. Give me his number.”
“You don’t want to be on his radar. We were lucky enough to get the fuck out of there.”
“I’m doing this, Tommaso—whether you help me or not.”
“What about your mother, Constantine? She’s gonna be devastated when she learns her son is dead. But how much worse would it be if she found out both of her sons were dead?”
Guilt flushed through me when I pictured her in my mind. “I still have to do this, Tommaso.”
He released another irritated sigh. “Fine.”
His eyes flicked back to mine. “If you go alone, you’re dead. So we have to come along.”
“You don’t have to. This is my choice.”
“And my choice is for you not to end up in an oil drum yourself, so . . .”
We arrived in Florence the next day.
Tommaso secured a meeting with Darius, and my hand should have been trembling with nerves, but I was fucking still. Grief made me invincible because I feared nothing. Edric’s stupid decisions got him killed, but I could have done more to stop him. Could have called and checked in. Could have made sure that he broke things off before Darius found out. But I was too busy with my own shit.
We arrived at their villa, a sprawling estate not far from the Duomo. We were frisked before we checked in and then led to a different room from before. This one had a throne made of stone—with human skulls carved into the rock.
And he sat upon it, dressed in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, slouched sideways like a king bored with his own responsibilities.
The large room looked like it used to be a ballroom because of the size. Now there were tables placed everywhere, with men occupying the chairs. Sort of reminded me of the gambling room at the Villa de la Sirenuse in Palermo.
The numbness from the grief faded when I looked at him.
Replaced by rage.
Bloodthirsty rage that would never be satisfied—even with his death.
Darius stared at me from his throne, eyes locked on mine with the same intensity as last time. Hostility simmered under the surface and slowly boiled to the top. He clearly hated me for a crime I didn’t commit. “You came all this fucking way, and now you have nothing to say?” His voice boomed as he straightened in the chair, going from a state of calm to madness in a split second. He made a fist and slammed it down on the stone armrest—hit it hard enough to make a thump so distinct it sounded like wood. “Speak.” Then he was on his feet, a behemoth in size and power, the statue of Apollo that had come to life. “Or should I just rip your tongue out now?”
“I want my brother’s body back—and I’m happy to pay you for it.” I kept it brief and straight to the point because his presence was so intolerable. I had no weapon on me, so if I wanted him dead, I’d have to do with my bare hands. We were the same height, but my size was no match for his. He was like a fucking gorilla.
He turned to one of his men and gave a nod that was as good as a verbal order. Then he returned to his throne, sat down with his knees wide apart, back to looking bored.
A moment later, the oil drum was brought out on a dolly and placed next to his chair.
“Was thinking about making it my nightstand. Put my lamp on there, some other shit. A fucking piece of furniture.”
I couldn’t control my expression. Couldn’t control my breaths. All I could do was stand there and be stabbed by his words.
“And that’s what he’ll remain. Forever my prisoner, floating in chemicals to preserve his flesh and bone, his tomb holding my gun while I fuck my favorite whore on the bed.” He smiled at me, like the horror on my face was the finest hit of cocaine. “Should have told Tommaso that over the phone.” He gave a shrug. “But I thought this would be more fun—and it was.” Sick pleasure radiated from his eyes, and then he gave a quiet chuckle like this was all fun and games.
“Name your price,” I repeated. “I’ll pay whatever you want—”
“You think I need money?” He was on his feet again and then striding toward me, his behavior unpredictable, volatile. He came right up to me. “Do I look like I need money to you?” He yelled right in my face. “Your piece-of-shit brother came in my wife’s mouth, and he will spend the next sixty fucking years as my nightstand. When I’m old and shit with a maid wiping my ass, he’ll still be my nightstand. When I’m buried, he’ll be buried with me—because that motherfucker is mine.”