Even with my back toward him, I could hear how fucking smug he was. If this asshole had any kind of idea what I had in store for him, he wouldn’t be spitting out arrogant answers. He would be begging for his fucking life.
My fingertips brushed over the knives in front of me. “Do you know who I am?’
“You’re a Valenti.” The guy spat again as if mentioning my family name left a bitter taste in his mouth.
I picked up a blade and turned to face him. “That’s right. I’m a Valenti. And do you know what that fucking means?”
He smirked. “That you’re a cocksucker.”
My lips twitched with a half-smile as I stared at him. He was probably in his mid-twenties. Scrawny. Ugly. Filthy. High.
And soon to be dead.
I walked up to him while slowly stroking the blades of the knives in my hands. After the whole thing with Layla at Vertigo, this was exactly what I needed. It was like the universe was throwing me a bone, trying to make up for the shitty night I’d had so far.
“Actually, it means you’re selling your shit on our streets. To our fucking people, our children. And unfortunately for you, when you fuck with what’s ours, we have no choice but to eliminate you.”
He snorted, his eyes wide, face pale. The guy was obviously high. Disappointing, though. It meant he wouldn’t fully register what was happening to him, the pain he felt. But at least it would make me feel better.
The second I stopped right in front of him, I lifted my arms in the air and spun the knives between my fingers before jabbing the blades straight through his hands and into his thighs.
He screamed. He screamed so fucking loud I was sure it echoed through to every corner of hell. Blood oozed out on the sides of the blades, running down his thighs.
I felt the rage melt out of me with every second his screams filled my ears. Son of a bitch deserved it. How many lived had he ruined already? How many children had he destroyed? People like him didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of us. Yes, I was the monster who made all these fuckers bleed. Yes, I loved exacting retribution by dealing out pain. But just like the rest of the men in our family, I only demanded justice from those who deserved it—like the fucker who currently sat bleeding in the goddamn chair.
His screams had subsided, his head lolling forward. The drugs in his system mixed with the pain would make him pass out soon. Unfortunately, I couldn’t drag this out for much longer.
“You work for the Mancusos.” It wasn’t a question. “What is Matteo up to, huh?”
He looked up, his eyes glazed over, tears and spit dripping down his face and chin. “Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?”
Warning prickled at the back of my skull. “What exactly is it that you think I want to know?”
He let out a maniacal laugh, and it pissed me the fuck off.
I grabbed the knife handles and twisted the blades deeper into his flesh. He squealed like a fucking banshee.
“I’ll ask you again. What is it exactly that you think I want to know?”
Lucio stepped up behind him and grabbed his face, forcing the fucker to look at me.
I let go of the knives, and he let out a few labored breaths. He opened his eyes and looked me square in the eye. “You…” He struggled to speak through the pain. “You…want to know…about…her.”
Goddammit.
I launched forward and grabbed his face, my fingers pushing painfully into his cheeks.
“Who the fuck are you talking about? Who?”
“The pretty blonde. So fucking pretty.” He smiled through clenched cheeks, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Such a shame. Such a damn shame.”
I jerked his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I screamed right in his face, but he was already starting to lose consciousness. “Talk, you piece of shit!”
Lucio took that as his cue and pulled out his gun, pressing the muzzle against the guy’s temple.
The guy just smiled. “They want to ruin you. They want to destroy your family.” He dragged out his words, his eyes closed, his face drained of color. “It was supposed to start with her…your sister.”
“Karina,” I whispered.