Page 63 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“Uh-huh,” I reply. “And how’d that go?”

He sneaks a look at Alfie.

“Don’t look at Alfie,” I snap. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Well, she, uh, she got away and got into their car. She was going for a gun, so I?—”

“So, you…what?” I close in, forcing him to back up until he hits the opposite wall.

“I grabbed her by the ankles,” he whispers.

“And?”

“I dragged her out of the car.” His eyes widen with panic. “But I swear I didn’t hurt her. She was going for a gun, and I was afraid if I didn’t get her outta the car, the cops would show up and fuck up the whole thing.”

“So instead, you roughed up the girl?”

“Backup hadn’t arrived.”

I pin him with a cold, hard stare. “Were you asked by me or Roman to have backup?”

“No, but it seemed like a good idea, and?—”

I raise a hand and his mouth snaps shut. I turn back to Alfie. “And you were supposed to ‘rough up’ Patrick. Your version of that almost put him in the hospital with two broken ribs.”

“Boss, he fought back hard. I was trying to keep him down?—”

And just at that second, my blood boils over and I launch a fist right at Alfie’s face. It cracks his jaw, and he crashes to the floor face-first with a loud yelp.

I shake out my hand. Fuck, that hurt. I’m not used to the enforcer role. I usually delegate that shit to Roman, but not tonight. I can fight with the best of them. Use my strength. I usually prefer a high-level game.

But these fuckers overstepped.

I kneel down next to Alfie and pull him up by the collar so I can see his face. Blood pours from his mouth, his eyes glazed with fear.

“You took the order,” I hiss at him. “You were in charge, and you deserve to take the punishment.”

He nods, his eyes dropping. “You’re right. I did. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t,” I mutter. I let go of his collar and stand up, glaring at Philly. “And what about you? Do you think you deserve to be punished?”

“I, um, well, no.” He shrugs. “I had to protect myself, so?—”

“Wrong answer.” I shove him back into the wall. “You were supposed to protecther. If she pulled a gun on you, then your job would be to get it away from her. That’s why you were brought into this organization, Philly. To take orders and fulfill them, not to make up your own rules as you go.”

I walk toward him, closing my hand around his throat. “When she went for the gun, you should’ve gotten into the car and driven away with Alfie. This was supposed to send a message. That’s fucking it,” I say softly as I squeeze, his face getting more purple by the second.

He squirms against me as I grip his throat tighter and tighter, making him sputter and writhe against my hand. Blood rushes between my temples, my pulse throbbing as Heaven’s battered face wallpapers my mind.

Every shred of self-control I cling to fizzles away. I slam Philly back against the wall, his eyes bulging from the sockets.

“You didn’t fucking do your job.”

An explosion of sounds erupts from within the deep recesses of my mind—glass shattering, bullets popping, and the screams that have haunted my dreams ever since. My arm muscles tighten, a guttural roar bursting from my chest. His fingers dig into my hands, his nails clawing at my skin, fast and panicked and then slow and finally, not at all. And I stop. I blink fast, clearing my vision enough that I can see his lifeless face and vacant gaze.

I release my grip and Philly drops to the concrete floor like a bag of cement. I turn slowly toward Alfie. I take a few steps toward him.

He scrambles away, backing himself into a literal corner before struggling to his feet. “Please, Matteo, don’t. I’m sorry I didn’t follow instructions. I’m sorry I didn’t stop Philly from hurting Heaven. I’m sorry?—”

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