Page 121 of Dirty Mafia Torment
“Your father called!” I yell, stumbling down the drive after him. As much as I’d like Emo strung up and bloody, there’s a more urgent matter to attend to.
“Dante’s been captured!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RENZO
Fina’s screamwill haunt me for years to come.
I couldn’t unlock the manacles fast enough. My hands were clumsy, my panic clawing at my throat. She lay crumpled on the stone driveway, her face swollen, blood trailing down her legs. That white rubber suit bunched at her ankles like some grotesque costume. And standing over her, clutching an eye, was Settemo Accardo.
The image is burned into me, violent and permanent. Her battered body. His enraged expression. The sick silence only interrupted by the cackle of a nearby rooster.
Before I could deal with Settemo, she stopped me with news I never saw coming. Massimo took Dante, a man who’s been a big brother to me and who I owe the fucking world to.
I’ve lived a life of chaos. I don’t flinch. I don’t stumble. I thrive inside it.
But I’m dealing with dual mindfucks. Both deeply personal.
I’ll break Settemo Accardo.
Bone by bone.
Breath by breath.
Until nothing remains.
While weighing what’s the best way to deal with the Massimo situation.
I held Fina in my arms the entire boat ride. Cleaning her wounds the best I could with the gauze and antiseptic my father’s men had on hand. Refusing to let them touch her. Keeping her safe and protected, knowing I was almost too late.
We’re in my brother’s villa, seated in a chair across from him. She squirms on my lap, uncomfortable beneath his intense scrutiny. I don’t release her, no matter how angry she gets or how the tension between Sandro and us builds.
“I want every man at your disposal hunting for Settemo Accardo.”
She stiffens at his name.
Sandro stays quiet, taking it all in, missing nothing.
Rage has its claws in me and won’t let go. The jagged scrape on her cheek from being dragged across the stone driveway stokes it hotter. The deep gash on her knee, bleeding through the bandage, sends violence pulsing through me. The raw, bloodied fingertips where she clawed at the ground to stop him have me strung tight as a drum, seconds from snapping. Every wince, every flinch, every sigh. I log them like I’m taking names. I won’t rest until that bastard is dead.
“Not going to happen,” my twin says. “In case you missed it, your friend Massimo Grassi has started a war.” His gaze shifts to Fina, then back to me. “As for her, I want her gone.”
Fina mutters something into my neck that sounds like asshole.
I want to pull her closer, replace Settemo’s fingermarks with mine. Instead, I set her on her feet and then, without warning, launch across the desk. My hand locks around Sandro’s throat, driving him and his chair back until we crash to the floor.
We start swinging.
Twins have their own language. Ours is brutal.
He lands a shot to my head.
I drive a fist into his kidney.
We’ve fought before, but this is different. I’m actually furious, when it’s typically the other way around.
“Get the fuck off me,” he growls.
