“Len has made a case that he should be the one to marry Bianca Larone now that his brother is no longer available to fulfill the deal. However, the Palermos have taken Bianca and maintain possession of her for reasons unknown.” Marco and Nick both glance at me for only a split-second.
They know. I don’t know how they know, but they know. Bianca is mine. I hope they realize that means I won’t let anyone walk out of here alive if that’s what it takes to keep her by my side.
“You stole my bride, Antonio.” Len slaps his hand on the table. “Hand her over, and this doesn’t have to go any further. Constantine has already blessed our marriage. I could have sour grapes over Geno.” He shrugs. “But I can let it go as long as you get out of the way. Give her to me, which is only fair.” He smirks. “Then we can be brothers-in-law.”
I edge closer to Bianca. She’s breathing faster, her heart probably racing.
“This is what is fair,” Constantine adds. “I had a deal, and I still intend to uphold my end. I kept Bianca in pristine condition, and she’s never been so much as touched by a man. She’s the perfect bride, and she belongs to Len.”
“It’s a fair offer.” Marco looks at Antonio. “Any counter?”
“I have a counter,” Bianca says, a sassy edge to her voice that sets my blood on fire. She reaches behind her and fumbles around.
That’s when I see she has a gun tucked into the back of her pants.
What the fuck? For a moment, I wonder how this might play out. Is she going to kill everyone at the table? Goddamn, she is beyond adorable.
I can’t let her do that, of course, not when everyone here is armed to the teeth. Reaching down, I stay her hand.
She clasps her fingers with mine. “My counter is that all of you can go fuck yourselves, especially you, Father. I’m not pristine. In fact, I am absolutely filthy, and I love being that way. I’m in love with the Butcher, and I have his cum inside me right now. So all of you can stop patting yourselves on the back and fuck right off. I’m not something to be bought and sold, especially not by my horrible father and this ugly, greasy man sitting here trying to buy me. I’m glad your brother is dead, but you may be even worse.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline.
You could hear a pin drop.
“How dare you?” Constantine Larone is on his feet, his face beet red. “You stupid little cunt!” He pulls a gun.
I yank Bianca backwards as he fires, and the entire room erupts in yells.
Pain blooms along my temple as I fall to the floor, then roll to keep Bianca beneath me.
“What the fuck, Larone?” Antonio shouts.
“Are you all right?” I ask Bianca.
She turns her head to look at me. “I’m okay. Great, actually.” She laughs a little. “Finally telling him off felt amazing.”
“Stay down and close your eyes.” I kiss her cheek, then rise, my gun already in my hand.
Antonio has already wrestled the gun away from Constantine Larone, and Gilly has a gun pointed at Len.
The other families have all fled, screeching tires echoing through the warehouse. All except Nick and Marco DaVinci. They sit in their same spots, both of them simply watching.
“I demand that Bianca be returned to–”
I fire, and Constantine’s head jerks backwards, his brains painted over the wall behind him as his body hits the floor.
“Fuck.” Antonio swipes some of the gray matter from his suit coat.
Then I turn to Len.
He shakes his head. “You can’t.” Turning to the DaVincis, he says, “You can’t let him touch me. This is a meeting. There are rules, and–”
“From what I saw, you and Constantine broke the rules, conspired to take Bianca by force if necessary–and then Constantine lost the plot and tried to off his own daughter.” Nick DaVinci tsks. “Not a good look.” He stands and buttons his suit coat. Marco does, too, both of them walking to the door.
“Good seeing you again, Antonio.” Nick shakes his hand, and with that, he and Marco walk away, giving their silent blessing to whatever else happens in this room.
“Nick, wait!” Len screams. “Wait!”
I grab his head and slam it onto the table. Blood spurts from where I broke his nose. Then I grab one of my knives and use it to stab through his hand and pin it to the wooden surface. I do the same to his other hand with another blade.
His screams are a sweet melody as I go to work.
“You thought you could take my girl?”
Slice.
“You thought you could touch her?”
Stab.
“You thought you could even breathe the same air as her?”
Break.
I go for a long time, long enough for his screams to turn to whimpers, long enough for his life to hover on the edge of oblivion, long enough for Gilly to start looking green, and long enough to finally come out of my rage-filled haze. I take a breath and back away, admiring the grisly work I’ve done. Len only has three breaths left in him. Maybe four if he fights for it.