Page 22 of Savage Enemy

I shut my eyes for just a second, to remember the little boy Santo used to be—so unlike the monster he’d become.

He grew up taller than Aris, and that probably drove Aris crazy. Santo’s blond ringlets had darkened to a golden-brown and straightened to hang along the sides of his face. Tattoos and scars marred his skin.

He looked every bit like the killer Saul Moscatelli had raised him to be, standing there in complete confidence with a gun pressed against Stefano’s head.

In that moment, Saul stepped in, his demeanor so calm and casual like the fucking sociopath he was.

“Mr. Vignali, I apologize for the intrusion. We’ll leave peacefully now, so you can clean up your home.”

“Peace?” Stefano snapped. “Oh, there’ll be no more fucking peace on this earth. How the hell did you get into my house?”

Saul waved him off with a flick of his wrist.

“The important thing is the return of my property. I’m taking Valentina home, where she’ll fulfill her obligations. I understand you weren’t informed about her marriage contract. With that in mind, I’ve decided to be gracious and let you keep the child. You’ll find him upstairs—mostly unharmed.”

Stefano’s jaws clenched, his eyes narrowed.

“If you’ve hurt my son, Moscatelli, nothing in this world will save you from me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut again, this time to pray to the Virgin Mother, asking her to watch over Enzo, begging that the pistol-whipping my brother gave him wouldn’t leave any permanent damage.

“Your son doesn’t know how to behave around his betters,” Aris said, “so I taught him a little lesson.”

I couldn’t see the smug grin on my twin’s face, but I could feel it. I remembered that evil look well and how, in most cases, it had been followed by the same words.

No one cares what I do to you, bitch, as long as I don’t mark up your face or spoil your cunt.

Stefano stepped forward.

“I assure you, my son knows exactly what separates him from a piece of shit like you.”

Santo thumbed back his pistol’s hammer.

Aris’s grip on my hair tightened, pain shooting across my scalp as hot tears burned behind my eyelids.

Saul calmly adjusted his cufflinks, ignoring everyone.

“In any case,” he said, “Valentina returns to Chicago with me today, after which she’ll make good on my obligation to Klimov.”

Instant recognition flashed in Stefano’s eyes.

Of course Stefano knew about Klimov.

Everyone had heard about the giant, bloodthirsty Russian, how he’d come into power, and what he did to those who broke their contracts with him.

My twin’s abuse and Saul Moscatelli’s sociopathic behavior had driven me to desperation, yes, but neither topped the list of reasons for me to run from the horrors I faced.

Evil men had built and commanded my family. I knew this in my heart. But they didn’t hold a candle to the atrocities in which Klimov delighted.

The horrors he’d had in store for me as his bride.

The man didn’t just torture someone he wanted to hurt. That was a much too simplistic approach for him.

The last undercover cop discovered in his ranks had lived through the removal of his own tongue, followed by Klimov’s men beating him until he was close to death.

Then, with broken ribs and legs, the cop had survived only to be nailed to a wall in his home, where he’d been forced to watch Klimov and his associates brutally rape and murder his family, one by one.

Klimov’s men left him there to starve afterward, staring at the broken, mutilated bodies of his family.

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