Page 22 of Mafia Darling

He wanted to make me angry, to hurry this along. It’s what I would have done in his situation. A swift death was always preferable. But I intended to draw this out as long as possible. Months, if I was lucky.

“She is mine, which means she is off limits. You took her to blackmail me, to force my hand into giving you something you do not deserve. And you will suffer for it.”

He sneered at me. “I bet you love her big tits. I certainly loved watching them jiggle as she and Mariella played on the beach. I even got to feel them when I tied her up with that rope—”

I didn’t think, just lunged. My fist swung out and I popped him in the mouth. The chair rocked from the force of the impact, so I righted it with my foot. Both Enzo’s lips were split open and blood coated the satisfied smile he gave me. “The great Fausto Ravazzani, pussy-whipped over a piece of Canadian trash.”

Trying to get a handle on my temper, I exhaled and retook my seat. “I heard Mariella didn’t make it.” I pursed my lips and made the sign of the cross. “Such a tragedy.”

He snarled and struggled then, trying to get at me. Yes, this was much better.

“Figlio di puttana! I asked your men to let her go, as well as my wife and children. What kind of man are you?”

“Your puttanella helped kidnap Francesca. Did you honestly think I would let her live after that?”

“I will kill you for this,” he panted, his hair hanging down in his face. “Whatever it takes, I will kill you. I never hurt Frankie. I never intended to. She was treated respectfully while at my home.”

“Except for your wandering hands,” I remarked. “Giulio!”

“Yes, Papà?” My son was by my side in a blink.

“Bring me a cleaver and a small wooden table.”

He walked to where the weapons were stored as I stared at Enzo. We said nothing, merely watched one another. I hadn’t intended to start so brutally, but the idea of this man’s hands on Francesca made me crazy.

Giulio arrived and handed me the items I’d asked for. “His right hand,” I instructed. “Untie it.”

Enzo jerked as Giulio freed his right hand, his jaw locked tight. Giulio tipped his chin to another soldier, who came forward to place the wooden table in front of Enzo. Then the two of them held Enzo’s hand flat, fingers extended, on the wood.

I tested the cleaver blade while the boys worked. Sharp. When Enzo was in place, I stood and glared down at D’Agostino. “You restrained her and put her in a trunk. Then you tied her up and forced a gun in her mouth. You thought to use her against me, but it failed. You shouldn’t have touched her.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Francesca

I woke slowly, my entire body sore. For a moment, I couldn’t remember why. Then it all came rushing back.

Beach house. Attack. Fausto.

My lids flew open and I stared at the plaster ceiling. I was in the castello, but this was not my room. Fausto had brought me here last night and put a guard outside so I couldn’t escape. Again. Jesus, being a captive really sucked. Would I ever have my freedom again?

I pushed up onto my elbows and did some deep breathing as the morning sickness washed over me. I’d stopped vomiting during my captivity at Enzo’s house, so I hoped the worst of it was over. Now I just felt queasy all the time.

Two familiar suitcases waited inside the door. My things from Fausto’s beach house. It was a relief to have my belongings, but it meant I was here for the foreseeable future. Well, just until I could convince Fausto to let me go.

I sat up and something on the nightstand caught the corner of my eye. It was a white box with a red bow. A gift? Excitement eclipsed the nausea for a brief second. I liked gifts, and he knew I was furious with him. Was this a peace offering?

Should I open it? I stared at it, thinking. I should throw it out. I didn’t want anything from him. The only thing he could give me was my freedom—and we all knew that wasn’t happening.

What was this? If lingerie was stuffed into that tiny box, he had a rude awakening coming. I wasn’t wearing lingerie for him again, ever. Curiosity nagged at me as I stared at it. The box’s size was more tailored to jewelry, like a bracelet or necklace. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it.

But maybe I wanted to see it.

I reached for the box and slipped the bow off before I could change my mind. Then I pried open the lid and peeled back the white tissue paper. Was that . . .?

Holy fuck!

I dropped the box like it was on fire and watched a fingertip fall out and roll onto the carpet. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. That was Enzo’s finger. I knew it deep in my soul. Why in God’s name had Fausto given me Enzo’s finger?

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