Page 5 of Brutal Vows

I sigh, but it’s more for show than actual frustration. He hasn’t outright lied, which would’ve earned him a much more violent interrogation, but he isn’t exactly cooperating either. Liars and traitors will always get special treatment from me, no matter who they are. They’re as unforgivable as people who abuse women, children, and pets.

I push him back under for almost a full minute before pulling him up again.

“I saw you hiding behind the shelves in the warehouse three months ago. That ugly ass nose of yours is unforgettable. Who else was there with you that night?” I demand.

He may have survived the battle with the largest body count New York City has seen in decades, but every breath he took since he participated in the attack on my family has been onborrowed time. I will track down and murder every person involved.

Until three months ago, only one person successfully manipulated their way into my life with lies. I warned her never to return to New York City, but I won’t be nearly as kind to those who threatened my family.

My don’s words echo in my mind.

Kill them all.

When Nico Russo, the most powerful and ruthless mafia don in New York City, gives you a command, you follow it all the way through—even if you die.

Which I did. Twice. Once in the warehouse when my bulletproof vest failed and again on the operating table.

I’d do it all again. I have no regrets. Protecting the Russo family is a legacy my father began, and I will continue with pride. No mafia family is more deserving. Dante and Nico are the most scrupulous and trustworthy men, other thanmio papà, I’ve ever met. I will not insult them by failing again.

When Serenity was kidnapped three months ago, she’d just found out she was pregnant. Even though he’d only shown it for a millisecond, the fear in my don’s eyes when he found her pregnancy tests strewn over the asphalt plagues my nightmares. The fury in his instructions resonates within my soul.

Kill them all.

I wasted three months in recovery. Serenity and her brother, Giorgio, did their best to catch the fucker behind the attack, but he slipped away despite being badly wounded. They even razed an entire block and searched every emergency room within an hour’s drive of the industrial park to snuff him out, but he has connections. Powerful, dangerous connections.

Which makes dealing with this puny punk annoying.

I lean forward and murmur in my captive’s ear, adding an eerie intimacy to the moment.

“You think your tiny gang means anything? Give me names, or I’ll flood the sewers with their blood, chop them into tiny pieces, and stuff their bodies in the walls of their crappy apartments. They’ll never be found. Never be buried. Never find peace in the afterlife.”

His audible gulp betrays his fear, but he fights the zip ties on his wrists and pushes against my hold on his head.

Pinching pain streaks through me as the incisions on my chest stretch, but I twist my fingers, pulling chunks of hair out of his scalp, and push him down until the tip of his nose dips under the churning water.

“Is that what you want, Rubio? You want your entire family wandering the streets for eternity? You gonna kill your loved ones over a dispute you had no business sticking your fat nose into?”

“No! I’ll talk!”

“So talk. I’m listening.”

He stutters. I dunk him. He thrashes. I lift. He sputters and says several names. All male. He doesn’t include his leader, Chad.

I straight arm him so deep into the barrel my elbow digs into his back and air bubbles pop around his shoulders, ensuring water floods his nostrils as I push him nearly upside down.

He kicks and flails, but I pin his zip-tied ankles to the side of the barrel with my shin. When Karlos starts forward as though to help me, I jerk my chin, demanding he back off, and tighten my grip in Rubio’s hair.

I yank thestronzoup and ask him my next questions without waiting for him to gather himself.

“Who approached Chad? What did they promise you?”

He coughs. I push him under again until his chest expands, then pull him up and repeat my questions.

He’s not fast enough with a response, so I dunk and lift him again. When I lower his face toward the water once more, he breaks.

“A big dude! Spoke broken English. Scar running down his face. German or some shit.” He spits before continuing. “Gave us fifteen grand per person and promised thirty more each afterward. We didn’t know the Russo’s were the target. I swear, we—”

I push him under and hold him there until he stops fighting. He jerks a few times before going lax. With a disgusted flick of my wrists to rid my hands of his filth, I stalk toward the sink in the corner of the old butcher shop.

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