Page 37 of Temptation: Discreet

“Don’t freak out, but…” Ry says, pausing to clear his throat. “They’ve been taken by the Columbians. I tracked them getting into a white Sedan. It drove off towards Sierra’s bar, but stopped short of it. Traffic cams show a couple guys dragging both of them out and putting them in a truck. I tried to trace both their phones but it cut out the moment ....”

My grip tightens on the seat as I fight the urge to grab my gun and shoot every fucking person on sight. “The Columbians burned the car. I’ve messaged you the last location I was able to get off the car before it went black. It looks like they may be heading to Vegas.” Ry delivers the news cautiously, aware of the gravity of the situation.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Mother Fucker.

“Keep on the lookout for the truck, they didn’t switch it already. Get Rocco to call Dario. We need to confirm their people can get here today to assist us. We’re going to fucking war. We’re going to kill all those mother fucking Columbians.” Julian and I nod in agreement, solidifying our partnership, at least for now. We prepare to make the world pay for the actions of a couple of lowlifes. I’ll burn this world fucking down if I have to, to find my Lina.

5 hours, 29 minutes and 32 seconds later, we are arriving in Vegas. Ry has been on the phone the entire time it took to arrive just silently typing away as he continues his search. There is still no sign of the truck they transferred her to. They have a 3-hour head start from when I had the altercation with Julian. I’m kicking myself for letting her get away like that, but I didn’t want to push her after everything with her father. I didn’t expect her to try and run. As soon as I get her alone, this girl will face her punishment - there’s no way in fucking hell that I’m letting her leave me after this.

Julian has been whispering on the phone with Marcelo, a mixture of Spanish and English, his mask still on his head. We spoke to Rocco, who thankfully got in touch with his cousin, and they’re bringing more men from Italy to assist us, along with the Italians already in Vegas. The Columbians are going to wish they never messed with us - they are going to regret ever touching what’s mine.

Arriving at the casino where we first met Dario, a group of well-dressed men in suits each supporting gold chains around their necks, elegant Rolex watches around their wrists, and numerous rings adorning their fingers are waiting for us.

The head of the Vegas territory, Gio Rossi, steps forward, his dark hair is pulled to one side, mirroring the style of the other men under his command. Gio approaches me first, extending his right hand. “Enzo, I wish we were meeting under different circumstances. It’s good to finally meet you,” he says in his thick Italian accent, then turns to the others greeting them with a simple nod of his head.

Gio walks by my side, leading me through the casino’s elevator and down to the basement. As we descend, the dark corridors are permeated by the pungent smells of chlorine, mold and urine.

“We have secured several guests for you,” he says, his smile reaching his eyes this time. "We captured as many as we could from the surrounding area, and confirmed they were all Columbians before bringing them in. Your tech also helped us identify your mole.” he pauses, then adds, “I hope you’re pleased with the outcome. They await your questioning.” He turns and departs the way we came, without waiting for a response from me. My men and I stand before a group of men, kneeling and chained to the floor in nothing but their boxer briefs.

This may be the best welcome I’ve ever received.

Chapter 28

Istare at the gifts the Italians have bestowed upon us. I’m unsure why they’ve chosen to help us in this way. I had anticipated they would send some men to help but I wouldn’t have trusted that arrangement either.

Julian enters the room, his mask on and knife in hand. He toys with the sharp point, allowing the overhead light above to glint off the blade’s reflection. The men before us tremble in fear, each one crying and pleading for their life in the same desperate manner.

As I walk the line of men, a familiar face stops me in my tracks. I recognize him, I’ve only ever seen this man when I watched my Catalina from a distance, the one that would watch her like he wanted to fuck her.

This is our fucking mole? He’d been so insignificant to our team, that I can’t even recall his fucking name. Matteo, perhaps? He looks like a fucking Matteo. His eyes are bloodshot, snot staining his face and down onto that beer belly of his. I know Julian won’t show him any mercy, knowing this fucker betrayed his family.

“Are you ready to tell us where Catalina is?” I demand, my voice tinged with fury. I swiftly shrug off my jacket, allowing it to drop to the floor. I’m not sure if these men know Catalina’s whereabouts, but I suspect they might have overheard something or picked up a clue that could point us in the right direction. My men stand behind me, creating a human barrier by the door in case anyone tries to escape - not that they’d get very far, with the additional guards outside the basement and at the end of the hallway.

Julian follows my lead, shrugging off his own jacket, tossing his knife back and forth between his hands until the it falls to the floor. He rolls up the sleeves of his white button-up, continuing his scare tactic with his blade. I carefully roll up my own sleeves, my movement a little more controlled and steady as the silence in the room becomes deafening.

I glare at the mole. “Talk, or I rip out your teeth one by fucking one, until you drown in your own blood.” Matteo trembles, the stench of fear and urine thick in the air. My men chuckle at their cowardice.

My chuckles follow as I pick up a knife from the steel table beside the entrance and approach our prisoners. “Eeny. Meeny. Miny. Moe,” I point the blade at one man and then the next as I continue the little nursery rhyme I had learned when I was a kid. “Catch a tiger by the toe.” With a swift motion, I slice off the ear of one prisoner, like cutting meat at a butcher's. The man howls in pain, while the others continue their cries.

I continue going down the line, carving shallow cuts into each of their faces. “If he hollers. Let him go. Eeny,” slice, “Meeny,” slice, “Miny,” slice, “Moe.” The knife leaves thin trails of blood dripping down each of their faces. Tucking the blade into my waistband, I wait, giving them a chance to talk.

I raise my eyebrows questioningly, but the men remain a blubbering mess, their pleas growing increasingly frantic. “Por favor,” one yells, as the others cry and plead louder, begging, to the point where now I’m irritated. “We know nothing. Please spare us.”

Julian starts swinging his knife back and forth, like a madman wielding a sword. He advances closer and closer to the men on their knees. His laughter is haunting. He continues his motions, closer and closer until he slices one right across the chest. Blood pours out of him like a waterfall, as the others scream and cry in horror. One man even vomits all over himself. Fuck. This is not going to end well.

I crack my knuckles and grab one of the men by the back of his neck. His tattoos are on full display, showcasing his allegiance to his people and the gang he’s a part of. I clench my fists and swing, knocking the wind out of him with the punch to his chest. My mind goes black as I continue landing a few more blows. Reaching for the knife, I carefully bring the sharp point to his skin as he struggles to catch his breath. I angle the blade just right and gently dig it into his flesh, carving him the same precision you would use to skin an animal being prepared for meat. His tattooed skin peels away from the blade, blood dripping down from his wound.

I continue my methodical movements, carving away every piece of Columbian related tattoo until his body is covered in patches of blood. Julian takes a different approach, slicing more of them open to expose their organs. While he prefers the beauty of a rather quick kill, I like to prolong their suffering. I want them to feel the full agony of every cut, every pull, and every crack as I systematically torture them. I make good on my promise, ensuring they feel everything while I extract some of their teeth one by one from their gums.

We continue on with our brutal quest for vengeance; each of them torn apart by Julian and myself. Each person suffers increasingly gruesome torture. Most of them could only cry and beg for us to stop. The few that Julian tortured died instantly, while some lived long enough to plead for forgiveness to God, as if that would have helped. The evil I had carefully concealed is finally coming unleashed, creating chaos with every step.

Of the 15 men that were delivered to us, only Matteo remains alive. We purposely left him alive, knowing that the fucker knows valuable information. If the dead bodies around him aren't enough to get him to talk, Julian might go batshit. Our clothes are soaked in blood, the once white shirt now crimson from Julian’s excessive bloodshed.

Gio and his men returned several hours later to clear out the basement as we showered and changed our clothes, settling ourselves in before being escorted back to the basement. That fucker, Matteo still remains on his knees, surrounded by several new unfamiliar faces all on their knees in the same position.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Gio says simply, patting my shoulder on his way out. The fact that he permitted us to commit murder in his casino without concern, is astonishing. Is this what the mafia life is truly like? Fuck. I should have stuck around if it meant I could do as I please. I hadn’t realized it could be so liberating, so freeing.

“Have you spoken to Rocco about the deal with the Italians?” Julian questions, pulling me from my thoughts about making an official career change. Once I marry Catalina, I would technically be involved. So, I guess that’s natural, right? That’s if her brother’s allow that little detail, and hopefully we don’t start another war with the Italians by not letting her marry whoever they chose for her. Julian nods towards the door where a visibly exhausted Rocco waits, waiting for me like he knew we needed to talk,

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