Bardoni took a step back, anger flashing across his face. “But—”
I gripped his collar, jerking him closer. “I’m your Capo. I don’t tolerate words of objection. You’d do well to remember that I’m my father’s son. Cruelty runs in my veins, and right now I want nothing more than to spill blood.”
“I apologize, Capo,” Bardoni sputtered, and I released him.
Two hours later, I was finally on my way home. My anger had only risen higher. I wasn’t even sure why. I felt such a myriad of emotions but anger was the most familiar option. For years I’d dreamed of getting rid of my father, of becoming Capo, and today my wish had finally been fulfilled. But it had come through betrayal. The traitors were still among us, waiting for their next chance to remove Matteo and me as well.
Someone had betrayed us again. Fucking again. Whom could I trust?
Fury turned my vision into a red haze. Violence burnt in my veins, pounded in my temples, wanting to be unleashed.
I staggered out of the elevator. Romero stood from the couch. “I heard what happened.”
Did he now? I stalked toward him. How could I be sure he was trustworthy? Few people knew what my father did. I shoved Romero against the wall. “Who told you?” I growled.
“Matteo,” he bit out.
“So you didn’t know before?”
Romero tried to unlock my hold on his throat but I pressed harder into him, so fucking desperate to rip something to shreds.
“I would never betray the Famiglia,” Romero choked out, then coughed. “I’m loyal. I’d die for you. If I were a traitor, Aria wouldn’t be here, safe and unscathed. She’d be in the hands of the Bratva.”
I released him and he dropped to the ground, sputtering. Aria came down the stairs in a little nothing.
Romero looked her way and I lost it. “Out, now,” I ordered, the rushing in my ears growing in crescendo. I gripped Romero, my body shaking with hardly suppressed rage. I threw him into the elevator then hit the button. The doors closed and I locked this floor so nobody would be able to come up.
Who knew if the murderer of my father was out for Aria as well.
Aria.
My body throbbed with a dark hunger, a ferocious burning. Everything around me was utter darkness, except for her.
“Are you okay?” Aria asked.
I turned my head toward her as she approached me slowly. My eyes took in her nipples straining against her nightgown. My need for bloodspill battled with lust in my body.
Aria took another step closer and I snapped, letting my hunger take control. My thoughts turned to static, my body driven by instinct. I grabbed Aria, feeling her heat, smelling her divine scent. Mine. Always mine.
I needed her, every inch of her. I jerked her forcefully against me and silenced her with a harsh kiss.I turned, discomfort dragging me from sleep. My brain was foggy, my muscles tense and sore as if I’d worked out for hours. Groaning, I peered up at the ceiling before I realized I wasn’t in the bedroom. I jerked, fumbling for my gun, which wasn’t there, and sat up. Early morning light streamed into the living room. I was on the floor, completely naked. Images from last night, small glimpses as if taken through a foggy lens, materialized before my inner eye. Father being shot. Me returning home in a rage, attacking Romero and…Aria.
My chest constricted. I looked around and then my eyes landed on my wife, lying on her side on the wooden floor. She was curled into herself, her body covered in goose bumps. Slowly I got on to my knees and moved closer. Bruises bloomed on her lower back where she must have rubbed over the floor. Bile traveled up my throat at the sight. A sight I remembered from my childhood when Father had violated mother.
What had I done? Fuck, what the hell had I done?
I pushed to my feet, staring down at Aria. With shaking hands I lifted her and found more bruises on her hips, finger shaped bruises. For a moment, I was sure I’d throw up. I hadn’t thrown up in a decade, not even when I had been surrounded by my enemies’ blood, bowels, shit, vomit and piss. I carried Aria into our bedroom and gently lowered her to the bed. Aria didn’t stir, deep asleep. And then a new worry shot through me. I carefully felt the back of her head for bumps, but there were none. She let out a small sigh. I sank down on the edge of the bed, feeling drained.
My eyes were frozen on my battered wife. All my life I’d sworn I’d never become my father, not in that regard at least. I curled my hands to fists, despair and guilt battling a furious war in my chest. I considered calling Matteo but shame stopped me. He and I had hated our father fiercely for how he treated his women. How could I admit that I was as bad as him?