Page 8 of Mafia Darling

“So,” I continued when he didn’t speak, “you will tell me what I need to know, no?”

“I swore an oath to Don D’Agostino.”

“If you will not help me, that makes us enemies. Are you certain you wish to be my enemy?”

“No, but please. I have a child coming soon.”

The words reminded me of my unborn child, the one Francesca was carrying while Enzo kidnapped her. Renewed fury had me lunging forward to hold my knife against his throat. “I don’t give a fuck about you or your child. I will peel the skin from your bones until you tell me what I wish to know. See those IV bags?” I pointed to where Marco stood with the medical equipment. “That is to keep you alive until I get the information I need. You will not bleed out. You will watch as I pull your intestines from your belly and throw them onto the floor.”

My prisoner shook his head, terrified but silent.

I began trying to get him to talk. At some point he passed out, and Marco had to rouse the soldier awake with smelling salts. Finally, I ordered Marco to strip off the young man’s pants while I went to fetch a drill.

The second the metal bit touched his balls, the soldier began speaking. The words were slow and barely audible, but we eventually received the information on the house, exactly where they were keeping Francesca. The others inside, the number of soldiers on guard.

When we had what we needed, I took pity on him and told Giulio to take care of it, so my son put a bullet between the soldier’s eyes. As I stood, Marco gave me a long look. “Are you all right?”

“Ask me that one more time and I will slice your tongue out of your mouth.”

“Hard to have a consigliere who cannot speak, Rav.”

“You could still write.” I strode toward the stairs. “Get some men down here and clean up. I need to shower and then make a call.”

“Papà, wait.” Giulio now stood next to Marco, his gun at his side. “You need to sleep. It’s been too long. Zia is considering putting sleeping tablets in your drinks. You cannot get Frankie back without a clear head.”

I knew it, but I couldn’t sleep. The nightmares were plaguing me, my regret like a tire around my neck. Every time I closed my eyes I saw her, pictured her face the day I had sent her away. The sadness, the anger. The disbelief that I would act so cruelly toward her.

I am the best thing that has ever happened to you. And it will be too late when you realize it.

Her words were all true. She had been the best thing in my life and I had thrown her away.

“I will,” I lied as I stripped out of my clothes. Zia hated when I tracked blood in the house. “Do your jobs, both of you.”

Dressed in briefs and dried blood, I made my way out of the dungeon and into the dark kitchen. As soon as I stepped inside the lights came on, startling me.

Zia stood there, scowling.

I was in no mood. “Do not start, old woman.”

“Look at you. You look like a monster, which is why she left you. What kind of woman wants to bring a monster’s baby into this world?”

She was not wrong. I was a monster, born from a long line of monsters. Molded and shaped to be a killer, a king. Feared and respected around the globe, with wealth greater than most countries. And I would not apologize for it.

Just to annoy her, I grabbed a glass and the open bottle of ciró on the counter. I filled the glass to the top. “Your husband was a monster. One of the ’ndrina’s best killers. My father bragged that no one tortured better than Zio Dario.”

“And how many babies did we have?”

I took a long drink of wine, trying to cool the bloodlust and rage inside me. “I assumed he had enough bastards that you didn’t feel it necessary.” Dario had six children by three different women, as I recall. The men were now all members of my ’ndrina, as were their young sons.

She made the sign of the cross and glanced heavenward, no doubt saying a prayer on my behalf. “You dare to disrespect me in this house? I should put a curse on you.”

“I am already cursed. What’s one more?” My first wife had been killed and the woman I loved had been kidnapped. Murder and heartache was all I’d ever known, outside of my short time with Francesca.

“Never have you spoken to me like this. In all the years I have known you, I said you were a good boy. Now I am ashamed of you, drinking wine when you should be out getting your unborn child back safely.” She clapped her hands twice. “Give that man whatever he wishes and bring Francesca home.”

As if it were that simple.

D’Agostino was dangling Francesca out like a piece of meat, hoping I would bite. The price he’d quoted me, half my drug operation on the west coast, was ridiculous. I would not bow to blackmail or intimidation. I was il Diavolo—I inspired the intimidation, not succumbed to it.

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