An impulse seizes control of my limbs, and I’m too sober to even try to suppress it. I slam my hand down, driving the knife blade first into his chest. That glorious smell grows more pungent, that song rising to a crescendo. Howling, Salvatore jerks, his eyes rolling, but the wound won’t kill him outright. Oh no…
“A name,” I demand in a voice that resonates an octave deeper.
Salvatore falls silent as his eyes flicker in recognition. Despite everything, I have to laugh. That wasn’t the voice of the good old Donatello I’ve spent the past few years pretending to be. It’s a tone that feels more natural to me than breathing. The guttural cadence of Il Mostro.
“A name,” I say, relishing in the resulting echo.
All this time, Salvatore’s mouth has been wide open. He’s trying to scream—he just can’t find enough air. Poor bastard.
“Cat got your tongue?” I ask. Then, I rip the blade out to see if that helps.
And it does. He makes a sound this time, sharp and piercing enough to echo in a beautiful song. And that song…
I hum along to the melody—it’s music to my fucking ears.
“Give me a name,” I command a second time.
He gurgles. Croaks.
But not once does he look at his little girl, shaking with silent tears. Not once does he hold my gaze. Not for one damn second, does he show an ounce of regret.
“You won’t tell,” I deduce in disgust, rising to my feet. “You always were a secretive little cunt. You’re just buying time until your backup arrives. But if you think I’ll play your game? Think again. Blowing your brains out is a death far too good for you. But I’ll spare your daughter the horror of watching you die. I won’t give you the satisfaction.”
Turning, I grab the girl by her arm and approach a set of doors on the other end of the room. Time is ticking, and I’d prefer not to waste a second. Still…
As her frightened whimpers reach my ears, some impulse makes me hunt for somewhere to put her. The new Donatello deserves that ounce of mercy. As suspected, the doors open onto a closet—but one so damn big I whistle in approval.
“Nice. Who knew there was so much money in being a lying cunt, huh?” I look back, but Salvatore seems too busy groaning to answer me.
The girl, I leave beside a hanging series of multi-colored suits, tailored finely enough to suit Fabio’s most fashionable wet dream. She curls in on herself, her eyes so damn wide. I turn away, clenching my jaw so tight it throbs. As I do, I discover a promising weapon dangling from a custom rack—ties, all of them silk. Grinning, I grab one, a deep crimson which seems fitting for the occasion.
I return to Salvatore, winding the material between my fingers as I scan the room itself. It’s an old habit—how I loved to ingrain every moment in my memory. I wasn’t the kind of man to shy from his crimes.
I reminisce over them.
Salvatore’s bedroom is admittedly one of the most boring places I’ve killed in. Apart from the king-sized bed, the bastard has a marble fireplace overlooking a view of the property. Not too far from where he lies is a doorway leading to a large bathroom with a sunken tub and gold fixtures.
And there, resting on a gleaming countertop, is an object that renders Salvatore himself nothing more than a liability—a cell phone. I approach the counter and grab it, stroking the smooth surface as I turn to face him.
“You always did like your devices,” I say with my own chuckle. I swipe at the screen, unsurprised to find it locked by a passcode. “Laptops. Journals. With your shit for brains, you always had to write shit down to remember it later. Giovanni used to rip you a new one for that.” I toss the phone into the air and catch it one-handed. “I suspect this will tell me everything I need to know, won’t it?”
His expression alone is my answer—hell, yes. And if it’s nothing more than a dead-end?
At the moment, I don’t fucking care.
“I could say a speech, I suppose,” I tell him, stooping back to his level as I slip the phone into the breast pocket of my shirt. “Draw it out. Make it dramatic. But I’ve realized one thing since we last worked under old Giovanni, old friend. You aren’t worth the fucking effort.”
Carefully, I raise the tie and watch understanding dawn across his face. The gun would be too quick. Quicker than Olivia suffered.
For him? I make it slow, taking my time to loop the length of silk around his neck. Taking both ends in my hands, I twist them together and tug, carefully controlling the pressure, watching every second.
How his eyes bulge.
How he flails.
How his face reddens before turning blue as he sputters for air.
I once told myself that revenge wasn’t worth the damage it inflicted in the long run. A man can only sow so much evil in the world before it comes back to him tenfold. I wasn’t much of a saint before Olivia died. Hell, to tell the truth?
I deserved to lose her.
I deserve to die.
But Vin didn’t.
Even as Salvatore finally goes still, his eyes bug wide; it doesn’t feel good enough. Grisly enough. Brutal enough. Hissing through my teeth, I kick the son of a bitch, hearing bone crack in response.
Apart from a slight throbbing of my big toe, I don’t feel a damn thing.
No relief.
No satisfaction.
Just pain.
Swaying on my feet, I scan the room and find a wooden series of cabinets near the fireplace. My hands shake as I wrench open the doors of one. Sure enough, inside one is a fully stocked minibar. Antonio was almost as bad of a drunk as I am. I
