Page 75 of Monstrosity
"How convenient. Proof that's nowhere near here." I lean in close. "Here's what I know—your men shot my pregnant wife. That makes you responsible."
"But we were just?—"
"Just what? Just following orders? Just doing business?" I slam his head against the dock. "You put shot her while my daughter watched. Shot her when she was pregnant. There's no 'just' about it."
"Rico Castellano!" he gasps out desperately. "It was Rico Castellano who paid us!"
I freeze. Not because I believe him, but because he's reached the truly pathetic stage—throwing out random names, hoping something sticks.
"Who?" I'm shaking him now. "Never heard of him. Try again."
"Please! I can prove it! The Irish—they'll want me alive—you promised!"
"The Irish want you breathing. They didn't specify how much." My knife appears in my hand. "Maybe I take a few pieces first. Help jog your memory about whose idea it really was to kill Flora. Maybe I don’t even give them to you alive after everything you did to my family."
"Rio!" Irish soldiers surround us, weapons trained. "Boss wants him alive, remember?"
I look at Connor, then back at Bembe. "Change of plans."
"That wasn't the deal?—"
"The deal was we help you get your drugs. They're in the warehouse, probably thirty million worth. This piece of shit?" I haul Bembe to his feet. "He's mine. Personal business."
Connor's jaw tightens. "Liam won't like this."
"Liam gets fifty-five percent of the biggest score he's ever seen. He'll get over it." I press my knife to Bembe's throat, just hard enough to draw blood. "Unless you want to try and take him from me?"
The Irish soldiers exchange glances.
They're outnumbered now, with more Raiders appearing from the warehouse.
Connor's not stupid—he knows this isn't a fight worth having.
Doran comes up, obviously overhearing the situation. “Leave him. I’ll explain to my uncle. It was necessary. Bembe gave them no choice.”
Connor looks at Doran and nods, knowing better than to argue with the man who has Irish and Russian mob blood flowing through his veins.
"Rio!" Tor's voice on comms. "We've secured the warehouse. You need to see this."
Connor finally says, "But this better not come back on us."
Doran grabs Connor by the throat, “Did I fuckin’ stutter?”
"It won't." I'm already dragging Bembe toward the warehouse. "Tell Liam he'll get his money. This is between me and the man who tried to murder my family."
Inside the warehouse, my brothers have set up a perimeter.
Bodies cleared to the sides, drugs stacked and cataloged.
And in the center, a nice clear space that'll do perfectly.
"String him up," I tell Gorm, shoving Bembe forward. "Time to see if his story changes when he's got proper motivation."
"Rio," Tor says quietly. "The Irish?—"
"Will get their cut and go home happy. Doran’s already covering for us." I'm already pulling out my tools. "This fucker threatened Dasha. Put bruises on her throat. Made my daughters live in fear. You think I'm letting him walk out of here?"
"Didn't say that." Tor's smile is dark. "Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing. Need help?"
