Chapter 18 Caruso ♫
❄︎ Viktor ❄︎
Her hips stiffened over my hardness, the damp heat from her core sending me into a spiral, and though I didn’t give a fuck about whoever was at the door, her gasp told me the moment was lost.
I growled in disappointment as I slid my gaze to the door.
“What is it?” I snapped.
Walter shuffled, his boot-clad feet just shy of the threshold. “We just concluded the sweep. There are no other intruders around…”
“A lack of intruders is not important news enough for you to ruin my peace, Walter.”
Rosa squirmed in my arms, but I held her down, unwilling to lose the heat of her body.
“My apologies, Don. But also, Adrian has a hostage for you.”
“Thank you. Leave.”
The moment the door slammed shut, she pried away, tugging her dress down like she didn’t just hump me like a dog in heat.
“Why’re you shy now? Come finish what you started.” I licked my lips, desperate for a distraction from the roaring pain in my limbs. She’d done a shabby job, but at least the bullets were out.
“Consider finishing it yourself,” she spat, more vim for herself than for me.
Embarrassment flushed her face, her pouty lips engorged from excitement.
“Where was this reservation when you were grinding on men in Tribeca?” The image of her rubbing against him, just hours ago, drew a dark haze of rage over my vision.
“It’s called consent. I consented to that. I don’t consent to this.”
I regarded her with quiet contempt, my rage simmering down. It was obvious she was lying to herself, and I didn’t have time to help her figure out her adult urges.
With a deep, rejuvenating breath, I pushed up from the chair, pausing to steady the lightheadedness from blood loss. Heading to my walk-in closet for a shirt, she flinched, thinking I was coming at her.
With a bored glance, I brushed past her.
“I need a room, if you don’t mind. And a phone.”
“Go into the hall and pick any of the guest rooms.” I picked out a grey T-shirt, the roaring pain a constant buzz behind my eyes. “Ring up Enza if you need anything.”
I moved to leave, and she stepped in my way.
“How long do I have to remain here?”
“Can you drive?”
A confused look crossed her features. “Yes?”
“You can take any of the cars whenever you’re ready. I’ll have someone pick it up.”
Sidestepping her, I moved to the doorway, anxious to question the hostage Adrian brought back. Someone wanted my head, and liking my head as much as I did, it was imperative I found them before they found me again.
“Hello? You’re supposed to be protecting me. Not asking me to drive out at what… 2 a.m.?” she huffed, following behind me.
I turned around, halting her momentum as she nearly collided with my chest. Her scent, coy and sweet, wrapped spindly fingers around me.
“Then stay, Bambina. It’s not such a hard choice, is it?” I smirked, staring at her pointedly. “Unless you’re running from something.”
“I’m not running,” she whispered, not meeting my eyes.
“Then pick a room. I’ll sort this out and we can pick up where we left off.” At her horrified expression, I added, “Concerning the big mystery behind our papas.”
With a wink, I stepped out and let the door softly close.
My fist clenched and unclenched, easing out the tension from my muscles. Rosa tested my restraint time and time again, and I’d resigned myself to taking it as a test, just to see how much I could take. She was either a curse, or bait. Either way, I couldn't stay away as there was too much at stake.
I hadn’t had as many assassination attempts as before Rosalind made an appearance, and somehow, I didn’t doubt that whatever threats arose now stemmed from her and her whole situation.
First, my father ticks off an enemy of George Marlow, gets killed, but not before securing the marriage contract, not for the control or the money, but just to watch George crumble.
I mused at how much the man must have loved his kid, to allow a rival suck so much fight from him to the very end. All because he didn’t want her to know the truth.
Darko, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit about his sons as humans. He trained us to be hitmen, machines to carry on his legacy. And when either showed weakness in the form of emotions or dared to dream beyond the violent world of guns and drugs, he broke them. Reshaped. And threw us right back into the fray.
Tinkling sounds echoed in the metal hallways leading to the torture room, outfitted with a cremation chamber to keep things tidy.
Stepping further into the space, the sound of pained groaning filled my ears.
A man stood, tied by both arms to a pole in the center.
Adrian, wearing a spotless white shirt folded at the arms, held a pair of pliers in one hand.
“I haven’t asked him anything. Just buttering him up for you.”
Buttering up, as in pulling out every single fingernail from both his hands.
I grinned.
It may not beat getting humped by a stubborn, conveniently prude heiress, but it would do.
Maybe I would find out just what about this heiress, apart from her deceptively innocent allure and inherited assets, drew attention like sharks to blood. And more importantly, the who behind the scenes.
Because let’s face it. Anonymously hired muscle men? Faceless attackers? The mastermind didn’t want to be found. But he’d caught my attention. And I don’t abandon trails easily. I see it to the very end. Obsessively. Wholeheartedly.
Snapping my fingers, I activated the soundproof systems, and then the speakers, which blared a haunting Italian ballad.
♫ “È una catena ormai, che scioglie il sangue dint’e vene sai…” ♫
(It’s now a chain that melts the blood inside the veins, you know…).
The bound man behind me mumbled incoherently as I perused the wall of tools, spiked whips, brass knuckles, chains. Piercing and crushing devices.
I picked up an electric saw.