I’d spent hours looking at photos of Luca with his family in the last few weeks. The internet was full of official portraits, few of which conveyed any honest emotion, but a few unwanted paparazzi photos had revealed Marcella’s and Aria’s feelings toward the man I hated more than anything. By some miracle, they seemed to adore him, and while he always kept his cold-bastard façade up in public, I had a feeling he was at the very least protective and possessive of his daughter and wife. He would act now that we had her.
Marcella shrugged, trying to appear blasé, but she dug her red-painted nails into her upper arms. “If you say so. Many victims love and admire their abusers.”
I took a drag from my cigarette. “Some do. But it is always mixed with fear, fear of displeasing their abuser and being at the receiving end of their wrath.”
“How would you know?” she said sharply. “Did you major in psychology?”
I gave her a tight smile. She didn’t need to know more about my past than the story about my father’s death. “Nah, unlike you, I wasn’t given the privilege of going to college.”
“It can’t be about money. I bet your club makes plenty of money with drugs and guns. It’s a lucrative business.”
“I’m surprised you know more about money than the price tag on your fancy shoes.”
“I never look at price tags,” she said dryly, giving a delicate one-shoulder shrug.
I actually laughed. She had bite. I liked that. I’d expected something else. “So your daddy shares his business stories with you?”
Maybe Marcella could actually be useful as more than bargaining material. Earl was keen on expanding our business but the Famiglia had a tight grip on drugs and guns.
“No, he doesn’t. That’s something everyone with a bit of brain knows.”
I couldn’t tell if she was lying. She had a good poker face. And she was definitely too confident for her own good.
As the silence between us extended, she looked around her cell cautiously.
“In case you’re looking for the toilet, it’s over there.” I pointed at the rusty bucket in the corner.
“I won’t use a bucket,” she said in disgust.
“Then you can just let it go on the floor like the dogs do.”
She looked over to the cage on her left again where Satan was now lying in her kennel, keeping a close eye on Marcella.
The roar of several bikes told me the celebrations of a successful kidnapping would soon begin. With cheers and hoots, several of my club brothers made their way over to the kennels. They clapped my shoulders and checked out the captive with leery eyes and dirty comments. After a few minutes, in which Marcella seemed to have tried to disappear into the wall, they left for the clubhouse.
Marcella gripped her forearms even tighter, glimpsing at me. “So what now?”
I tossed my cigarette on the ground. “You stay here and get comfortable, and I’ll go to my brothers.”
Loud country music blasted through the open windows and a few guys were singing along out of tune. They must have found the moonshine already. The door of the clubhouse burst open and Gunnar stumbled out, his shirt half unbuttoned and a bottle of moonshine in his hands.
“Maddox, you’re missing the party,” he shouted.
“I’m coming!”
“I suppose you’re celebrating my kidnapping?” Marcella asked, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. Today was the first time I saw her hair not perfectly straightened.
“That, and your father’s upcoming painful death once he hands himself over for you.”
Marcella surprised me when she pushed away from the wall and came closer. I narrowed my eyes and straightened from the bars. She was a petite woman, a head shorter than me, but sometimes appearances were deceiving. The smile she sent me was ice cold. “Enjoy the party while it lasts, but don’t make a mistake, the only death you’re celebrating is your own.”
Gray arrived on his bike at that moment.
“Finally, Gray, move your ass over here. Your old man has been looking for you all day,” Gunnar shouted.
Gray gave me a nod as he got off his bike. I shook my head, wondering what he’d been up to again. His eyes settled on Marcella and he grimaced. His sentiments toward the kidnapping hadn’t changed. Mine hadn’t really either but sacrifices had to be made if we wanted our well-deserved revenge.
Gunnar slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the clubhouse, even if Gray looked as if he’d rather spend the evening at the kennels with me.
Marcella’s gaze darted from them to me. “Your brother?”
I tilted my head, realizing she was watching everything closely. I wasn’t sure how she knew we were related. We both had blonde hair but Gray had our mom’s gray eyes and his face was softer than mine. “Half-brother,” I said.