Page 8 of Brutal Queen

I was a maelstrom of emotions and couldn’t bear the thought of another sleepless night feeling like I was still, in any way, controlled by Max. I may be free of his violence, but his cruelty still haunts me. Taking Enzo from me, from all of us, is the most soul-destroying form of pain I’ve ever experienced, and it makes me feel like I’m his marionette. Forever dancing to a psychotic puppet master’s song.

We’d been sent information on the latest low-level gangs to align themselves with the new De Luca organisation, so I ‘popped out’ for some milk and may have found myself in a bar that happened to be one of their favourite drinking holes. There were only a few of them there and I took it for the opportunity it was: easy pickings.

It had been far too easy to get them on their own. It’s amazing how compliant men can be when mesmerised by the promise of pussy. It was even easier to dispatch them in the back room of the bar. While every trophy I collected from their dead bodies brought a smile to my face, it wasn’t the most discreet of plans. I’d never intended for it to be, which is why I’d called Etta Romano on the way there. I may have been angry, but the last thing I am is stupid.

With a little help from one of my most impressive new capos, she was able to manage my latest little anger management issue.

Had any of last night's escapades been wise?

No.

Had they been satisfying?

Fuck, yes.

CHAPTER FIVE

SINCLAIR

We’ve been reviewing the assignments we need to hand out this afternoon. While resuming control of Bianchi interests, we’ve identified a few problem areas in a couple of our businesses. We discovered that Salvatore De Luca repurposed some of our more profitable, legitimate businesses into fronts for shit we would never have involved ourselves in. Not only do we need to resolve that, but we also need to start focussing on the De Lucas. The new capos are going to need to step up and prove themselves.

Aurora removed any hierarchy between the men and women now in charge. All eight capos report to her, and Stefano has continued as consigliere to advise her and manage the transition of power. Myself, Nico, and Benedict are acting as her personal protection and performing as many of the underboss responsibilities as we can while she decides what the new organisational structure will look like. No one will benamed as underboss while we’re still recovering from Manny’s betrayal.

To know that a man we trusted for years defected to the De Luca’s is more than most of us can stomach. I look forward to making him pay. I’m not normally a willing participant in the torture part of the programme, but for Manny Ferella—and Max De Luca, for that matter—I will make an exception.

My email pings, distracting me from the agenda Aurora mocked me for writing. My heart hammers in my chest and a sheen of sweat breaks out along my hairline when I see the name of the sender along with the title of the message.

From: M De Luca

Subject: Thank you for my gift, principessa. Time I delivered yours.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost, Sin?” Aurora asks from across the room, concern etched into her expression.

I can’t speak. I don’t want to tell her, but I can’t keep this from her, or protect her from it. It’s fucking killing me not to open it, but I know I can’t read it without her.

“Come here,colibrì.” My voice sounds alien, thin and weak like it's about to crack under the strain of having to destroy her.

She rises from her chair and when she reaches me I pull her down onto my lap and cup her face, not allowing her to turn to the screen yet.

“There’s a message in my inbox addressed to you.” I clear my throat, but it doesn’t shift the sense of dread I’m choking on. “It’s from Max.”

She inhales sharply and holds her breath, so I stroke her cheek, trying to encourage her to let it out again. Slowly, she relaxes and the gentle exhale mingleswith mine.

“I’m right here,” I whisper, keeping my tone as even as I can muster, encouraging her to face the screen.

Wrapping my arms around her middle, I drop my forehead to her shoulder, letting her tangle of waves block my view while she reads. I don’t need a clear view of the screen to know how devastating this email is. Her body goes rigid and she lets out a sound that chills me to my bones.

An agonising howl of rage and despair that reverberates through me.

I ease her hair back from her face and stroke it down her back, trying to soothe myself as much as I am her, but also allowing me a view of the screen. I’m afraid of what I’ll see, but I’m powerless to stop myself.

There’s nothing on Earth that could’ve prepared me for the images that will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.

Enzo.

Enzo, stripped and bound with barbed wire on a St Andrew’s cross.

Enzo, face twisted in agony, chained to a surgical table.

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