“Fuck you.”
I sigh. Then I punch him hard, causing his jaw to go slack from the impact.
“Hey!” comes a familiar protest from behind me.
I ignore Renata and continue. “Let’s try again,” I say calmly. “Answer me or the pain’s going to get worse. Your choice, really. I’d appreciate it if you helped me out here, though. I’ve got a busy day.”
Drago lifts his eyes to mine. His nose is bloodied, his lip is split, and there’s a bruise starting from the base of his chin up to his cheekbone.
“I have more allies than you think,” he snarls. “But the night you dropped in… well, I was only able to escape because of my dear sister.”
I keep my expression neutral, but I glance at her. She looks like she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. But I can’t help feeling a sickening sense of cold ripple through my stomach. Had she helped Drago escape that night? Has she known where he was all this time?
Has she been the one in control from the beginning?
“She called the cops,” Drago continues to boast. I can tell he’s desperate to show the reach of his power. “But she called the ones I taught her to call. The ones who recognize their true don.”
The pieces are beginning to fit tougher. “Ah,” I muse. “So the two cops at the door were just a distraction.”
“It was so easy to get you looking the wrong way, you stupid fucking Irishman,” Drago goes on. “Two clowns at the front door to keep you occupied. So it was simple business for a few more to come in the back and get me out while you two were pretending to play house.”
I grit my teeth. He’s right—such a basic fucking plan and it did exactly what he wanted it to do.
Though I am surprised by the allies he’s got hidden in the woodworks. I wouldn’t have thought there were many left in the force who still gave a damn about the Lombardi claims to mafia royalty.
“Fair enough. Tip o’ the old cap to ya, mate. So what’s the plan now?” I ask.
He flashes his teeth in a snarl. “I’m done talking.”
“Guess that makes it easy for me then,” I say with a shrug.
Then I start talking with my fists.
CRUNCH.
CRUNCH.
CRUNCH.
Skin splits, blood spills, bone breaks underneath a hailstorm of punches. Lombardi grunts in agony for the first few, but the ones that come after that are met with silence.
That is, until I feel a determined weight attach itself to my right arm. I shake it off hard. Renata goes flying back against the wall.
“Stop!” she begs, straightening up immediately and launching herself at me once again.
I whirl on her. “I thought I made it clear you that were not to interfere.”
“He’s my brother,” she cries—as though that means a fucking thing. As though that changes the evil stuff this bastard is made out of.
I shove her back against the wall, and for the third time, she comes flying back at me. She’s not just going to stand back and watch this play out. So I drop my fists and grab her instead.
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” she screeches.
Ignoring her, I throw her over my shoulder and leave Drago behind in the cell with my men.
“Kian! Let me down!”
“The thing is, darling… that’s not fucking happening.”