Page 14 of Savage Enemy

But she was.

She would be in so much fucking trouble later.

“Yes, she is,” a deep, raspy voice said from the staircase.

I whipped my head around to find an old man with a cigar sticking out from between his fat lips. A fucking lit cigar.

The insult of smoking in my home burned through my veins for sure, but seeing Val caught up in his stubby red fingers andanother man standing closely behind her magnified my rage exponentially.

They had her. My girl.

She kept her gaze on her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks, one side of her face reddened by a large hand.

Someone had dared to hit her.

Someone had hit my woman.

Images around me turned red.

The need for violence rumbled through me—it burned inside my blood, vibrated my bones. I would gut them all and paint my walls with their insides.

I moved slowly in Val’s direction.

Clenched my jaw.

Flexed my fists.

“Let her go,” I snarled.

The younger man put a gun to her head.

“She comes with us, motherfucker—or she goes with God.”

CHAPTER 3

VAL

My father’s calm collected voice echoed inside my head.

“Hello, Princess. We’ve missed you.”

He pressed his lips together and waited for my response, his cold, familiar greeting slapping me in the face like it had been only a week since he last saw me.

Saul Moscatelli never yelled, never lost control.

When he got angry, his voice softened. Whenever someone came crawling back to him, begging for forgiveness, he had this way of seeming like a kind and forgiving man. He made the person feel like family.

Then, the moment they turned their backs to go, believing he had accepted their apology, he would wrap piano wire around their throats and kill them.

My father’s unfeeling business demeanor, his fine-tuned ability to suppress all emotions and conceal his intentions until the moment he struck, made him terrifying.

This time, though, he wasn’t the biggest threat in the room.

Not to me.

Even if you disagreed with his logic, my father believed his actions had a legit purpose.

My brother Aris, however, didn’t need a reason for his cruelty. It was his sport. My twin delighted in causing pain and suffering to others. Whenever I looked into his eyes, I didn’t see my father’s veiled calculating or anything else like it.

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