Page 114 of Impenitent Claim

“Why?” he stammered. “Who sent you?”

“You’re responsible for all the misery Signorina Rinaldi has suffered. No one hurts that woman and lives. So! It’s time for you to die,” I stated matter-of-factly.

The magnitude of the situation must have finally rattled through his thick skull. Tullio scrambled backward, nearly falling from the bed.

“Now we’re finally getting somewhere,” I sighed, uncrossing my arms and taking a step forward. “Let’s play a child’s game, shall we? Tag. I’m it. If you reach the front gate, I’ll let you walk away freely. Ready?”

The grown man whimpered. “Please! I have money.”

“On your mark,” I drawled. Anticipation crawled over my skin, begging to be unleashed.

From the doorway, the underboss shouted, “You’ll regret this. Take my money, it’s more than my enemies are paying you.”

“Get set!” I shook my frame loose, rolling my neck until the satisfying crack of bone popped.

The underboss tripped down the hall.

“Run,” I called out, tugging a pillowcase free. I took both the freed cover and pillow as I began to stalk my prey.

The sound of rapid footfall echoed. For lacking in obvious athleticism, he could move. It was always that way. Throw any creature in the pen of a beast and watch their survival instinct give them the strength and the speed they could never fathom. How many times had I seen bored soldiers toss prey into the pens of the wolves or bears they kept as pets? There was little else for entertainment during the long winters. Well, unlike the wild animals of the war camp, I was a beast far more fearsome. Having killed the bear I faced when they tossed my sorry lump of flesh and bone over that fence, I’d been forged into a monster capable of absolute destruction. Which was exactly what was needed now to complete this quest for vengeance. While he might not have physically touched my woman, Tullio and his son hurt her. Badly. And after murdering her parents, the underboss summoned her back here to become his prisoner, separating us and making me believe the worst of her. I should have listened tomy heart, because deep down, I knew she wasn’t some heartless temptress who’d used and discarded me.

It was a damn mercy my obsession drove me here to take her despite what happened last November.

I whispered down the corridor, keeping my own breaths short and soft. This scum was predictable. He’d gone first to his office for the landline that didn’t work, having forgotten about his cell on the nightstand—the broken cell that would never make another call. The pop of a semi-automatic being chambered made me smile. I’d anticipated as much.

Keeping my arm behind the doorframe, I extended the pillow.

Gunfire burst into the night. The pillow went flying.

I shook out the case and waited.

Sure enough, my prey, thinking he had the upper hand, crept to the door. He lit a flashlight, pointing it into the shadows. When he didn’t immediately see my body, he took a step forward.

I dropped the pillowcase over his head and swatted the gun. It loosened from his grip for a second, which was long enough for me to disarm him.

“That’s not how this is played, signore,” I tsked.

Bone snapped, once…twice. His scream rang through the night. I stepped back, letting him struggle and wheeze. Two broken wrists meant his hands hung limp and useless. He managed to push the pillowcase from his head.

The thick Russian accent made my words rasp as I pointed out the obvious. “You’re still not running. The front gate, signore, I suggest you try to reach it before I break something else.”

“It’s you,” he stammered, recognition finally breaking through the terror. “What the fuck, Elijah?! I sponsored you. I wasgoodto you!”

A deep laugh rumbled through my chest.

“The thing about wild animals, Signor Fabrizi, is that we’re never truly tamed,” I said with a grin. “Now…run.”

His breath, ragged and uneven, gave away how much pain he was in as he turned, tripped, and tried to run. I chased after him, the thrill of the hunt surging in my veins. The wooden floorboards groaned beneath my feet, every step a pulse of excitement. The air inside was thick, stale—like priceless, forgotten things left to stand silent sentinels in the corners. It smelled of metal and gunfire, with the faintest hint of fear trickling through the air.

The foyer loomed ahead, its grand staircase jagged in the shadows of the night, a treacherous promise yawning before us.

With a bound, I surged forward, giving the underboss a hard shove.

Tullio’s yell rang out, rebounding in desperate clangs along the walls to float higher where the ceiling trapped it. For all the extra poundage, his body didn’t bounce as it tumbled down the steps.

“The front door, signore,” I sang out. “It’s a straight shot from there.”

Broken, and fast coming to the realization that this could be his end, the man struggled to rise. The fall hadn’t broken anything. Pity. I would have to remedy that.

---