Page 71 of Bound in Promise
“I won’t pick how I’m going to die,” he snaps. “You sick fuck!”
“Says the man that tried to rape my wife.”
“I didn’t rape her,” he shouts.
“But you tried.”
Angelo huffs and straightens his spine in an effort to reclaim some semblance of power. “Listen…we can make a deal.”
“We had one.” I lift my gun, tired of the back and forth. I want to get Victoria out of here and on a plane ASAP. “You broke it.”
“We didn’t talk details.” My index finger flirts with the trigger. “This is bullshit, Moretti. Just let this go.”
My arm drops, just enough to aim at his cock, and I curl my finger. The crack of the bullet echoes in the room.
Angelo gasps at first, then bows forward, hands between his legs as he screams at the top of his lungs.
It’s not enough.
Nothing will ever be enough when it comes to Lombardi.
He tried to sell my wife to some fucked-up politician. He tried to touch what I claimed as mine. He murdered my nephew when I hadn’t yet decided if I was going to take care of him myself.
Angelo Lombardi has been nothing but a pain in my ass.
“Maybe I should hang around and take your place,” I muse, knowing even the thought of my taking his organization will bug the fuck out of him. I step closer and lean forward. “I’d love to meet the man that bought my wife.” Then I remember the promise I made to myself and lift a foot, resting it over one of Angelo’s spread hands. Slowly, I press my weight forward, and the satisfied crunch of bones splintering is everything I imagined.
“Fuck you,” he seethes. “No one will follow you. You’re a nobody, a has been.”
“True.” I level the Glock again and catch him in the left bicep, earning a slew of curses and a lecture on how I’m going straight to hell. “We’ll set that idea aside for now.”
“I will kill you, Moretti. I swear to God?—”
“No need to do that,” I retort evenly. “You’re not going to have a chance to see him.”
“You fucking stupid-ass?—”
“Dante.”
I spin around, finding Victoria standing in the doorway, twisting her fingers and looking at me like she doesn’t recognize me at all.
A beast.
One that kills.
A monster enjoying the agony another man is suffering.
I don’t give a shit. This is who I am, this is what she married.
“What are you doing in here?” I growl, fixing her with a glare and hoping she runs away.
She doesn’t.
No, not my wife.
The woman clearly doesn’t give a shit about any orders I give her. Doesn’t believe in doing what she’s told.
“It’s time to go,” she claims. “Enzo said we’re running out of time.”
