Page 58 of Scandalous Kingpin
“May the Holy Spirit free you from this miserable life and your sins swallow you whole with the grace of the Holy Spirit. Amen, motherfucker.”
Goose bumps rose on my skin. It was hard to get used to hearing him recite his last rites.
My husband’s eyes found me, his breathing heavy.
“Angel?” My shoulder blades snapped together at the emptiness in his voice, the crazed look fixed on his face. I had to be strong right now. For him. No freaking out for some pedophile who didn’t deserve any of my sympathy. “My angel, why are you crying?”
My brows furrowed and I touched my cheeks. They were damp. “I’m glad you made him pay, that’s all.”
“Only thanks to you.” His voice softened, the crazy in his eyes slowly retreating. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He extended his blood-stained hand and I closed the distance, taking it without hesitation. After all, none of us were innocent in this world. Not my father. Not his. Not this priest who lay dead at our feet.
“Yes, you could have,” I assured him, my gaze bouncing between his beautiful eyes. “But all that matters is that you got your justice and found your peace.” My skin prickled forChristian and what was sure to be a long road of recovery ahead. “Shall we go?”
He nodded and stepped over the lump on the floor. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Holding his hand in mine, we slipped into the dark the same way we entered and followed the shadows all the way to our hotel room.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
PRIEST
Iwas buying time: I knew it, my brother and cousins knew it, but she didn’t.
While we followed Father Gabriel around Rome, my yacht had made its way to Italy. I had to ensure we had a way out of Italy. It proved the right thing to do.
The same night Father Gabriel took his last breath, we boarded my yacht in the small town at the mouth of the Tiber River. It was a major trading port, and during Mussolini’s time, a small town, Lido di Ostia, expanded in the area around the beach.
We sailed to Monaco, where we stopped for a brief business deal with the Corsican mafia. It was the closest thing to neutral territory that neither the DiLustros nor the Corsican mafia owned, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
After the rush of torturing Father Gabriel, dealing with the Corsicans felt like a nuisance. I didn’t bother dragging anyone with me on the dinghy, opting to leave my guards to watch over Ivy who was sound asleep in our bed.
Our bed.Fuck, I never thought I’d like the idea of having someone share my bed.
My jaw set tightly as I entered a palace in the neighborhood that exuded luxury and exclusivity. It was situated in the Carre d’Or, or Golden Square which was a small area located between Avenue des Beaux-Arts, Avenue de Monte-Carlo, Boulevard des Moulins, and the Mediterranean Sea.
My usual rage-fueled instincts had dimmed, and it had everything to do with Vittoria and Father Gabriel no longer walking this earth. Although, one fear remained: that my wife would learn the secrets shrouding her athair’s death. With everything she’d just done for me, I wanted to protect her from the pain that would inevitably come. She and Juliette… well, they were more than friends. They were like sisters.
The elevator stopped at the top floor and the gloomy thoughts vanished, and in their place was an expressionless mask. I stepped out into the lavish, gilded entryway, ready to face whatever came at me.
Jean-Baptiste sat in the corner, his pants at his ankles and some bimbo on his lap. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. He was even dumber than I thought to be caught with his pants down. I was almost tempted to slice his throat right here and now so I’d never have to see his face again.
Unfortunately, I had to be smart about this alliance—what with him being the head of the Corsican mafia. And then there was the small matter of his armed guards scattered around every corner of this property.
“DiLustro,” he greeted me, leaning over the table and snorting coke off a mirror, his woman grinding up and down on his dick. “Want some?”
I curled my hands into fists, shooting him a disgusted look. I didn’t even bother to clarify what he was offering. “I’ll pass.”
Jean-Baptiste leaned back and wiped his nose, then smacked his whore’s ass. It was then that I noticed his brother, who was Jean-Baptiste’s enforcer. Sébastien Noël Blanchet. All my intel showed that while Jean-Baptiste partied like a tragic “where are they now” rockstar, it was Sébastien who kept their men in line. He was a force to be reckoned with, a thug in a suit with a lot more brains than he let on.
Although, at this moment, he looked bored and fucking angry.
“Let’s get to work,” I gritted.
Jean-Baptiste chuckled. “The king walks in and he’s ready to hold court. Let’s have fun first.”
My molars ground. “Well, best not keep me waiting, then.”
