Page 36 of Broken Princess

We look after the businesses that turn a blind eye to our more audacious criminal practices. They don’t pay us—much to the De Lucas chagrin. They keep their mouths shut and facilitate our alibis when necessary. Perhaps even provide the odd safe-house on occasion, and in return we have their backs in whatever capacity that might be. Anything from chasing off the upstart gangs or thugs trying to strong-arm them, to discouraging developers from edging them out of the old neighbourhood.

Sometimes it’s just that we like them. My dad’s favourite bakery has been under our protection for three decades because it’s the place that made my mother’s favourite cannoli.

“You think Manny and Stefano are on to us? This has got to be them, right? No way this is Marco. We did everything he told us to.” My ears pick up at the mention of Benny’s dad, Marco Romano. I hope Benny’s okay. I know the rest of the guys are watching this on Sin’s monitors, and he’s still reeling from finding out his father is involved in this.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” Carlo growls. Under his breath, he almost comically adds, “How I ever let myself get involved in anything that required your participation I’ll never understand.”

Interesting. What does Tony bring to the table?

“Fuck you, without me you’d never have got access to the?—”

He’s a total fucking idiot. I’m thinking I won’t need any of the tools I prepared at all at this rate.

“Shut the fuck up!” Carlo roars, and that’s our cue. Show time. I nod at Nico and take the lead.

“Oh, I wouldn’t listen to Carlo here,” I pipe up finally. Stalking towards Carlo, I yank off his blindfold and I see the flare of recognition before he schools his features and shuts down his facial expressions.

Of course, he knows who I am, and he’s clever enough to know he’s fucked, no matter what. We’re not getting anything out of him anytime soon. And that’s fine with me. I run my fingertips along his shoulder and then walk them up his neck before grabbing his jaw and jerking his head back. Digging my nails into his jowls hard enough to leave angry crescent-shaped divots behind. “You can just watch for now. Gag him, Nico. He doesn’t speak until I say so.”

I slap Carlo clear across the face and hold his hostile gaze as it returns to me.

This is going to be fun…

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NICO

This should not be turning me on. The moment she stood up and approached Carlo, her shift in demeanour was remarkable, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. A mythic and wondrous creature evolving before my eyes. She’s running on adrenaline, burning with anger and giving no fucks that I was supposed to take the lead. However, her timing and flair for the dramatic is impeccably executed. There’s no good cop, bad cop here. There’s vengeance and wrath. And she may well be both.

I’ll take on whatever role she needs. For now, she’s in control.

I reach back to my table of toys before hopping off and approaching Carlo with a spring in my step and a smirk on my face. I’m swinging a rather-large ball gag at my hip by the strap, but he doesn’t baulk and holds his mouth firmly closed in defiance. “You either open wide and take it like a good boy, or I use those pliers over there to extract every single one of your teeth, shove this in, and watch as you choke on your own blood.”

Carlo doesn’t flinch. However, my words are not intended for Carlo. They’re meant for Tony. My phoenix has removed his blindfold, and my performance is having the desired effect. Tony’s crumbling before our eyes—he’s pissed himself. Such a pathetic weasel.

Grabbing Carlo’s hair, I rip his head back, forcing him to open his mouth. I ram the ball gag in and start buckling the leather straps before he can spit it out. Holding eye contact the entire time—my favourite maniacal grin plastered across my face like a twisted masquerade mask—it has the desired effect because, for a moment, Carlo falters. I can see it in his eyes that a sliver of fear has embedded itself under his skin.

His bravado comes crashing back, and I’m sure he thinks he’s saying actual words but while he fights against the gag, all we’re hearing is unintelligible gibberish. That’s fine. He can waste his energy while I grab the hose from the industrial sink in the corner.

Is this sink big enough to carve up a body in? Why yes—yes, it is. I’m lazy by nature and detest having to take bodies out whole. It’s far easier breaking them up into more manageable pieces. When we kitted this place out, I requested an industrial garbage disposal, but Zo said that was a step too far. He’s probably right.

I turn on the hose and spray down Tony’s trousers and chair, and use the flow of water to encourage everything towards the central drain. We’ll be here a while, and I don’t need the stench of piss assaulting my nostrils for hours.

Aurora has returned to her table and picked up a large, serrated hunting knife. She’s using it to pick out the dirt from under her nails and then admire her talons. She flicks those long lashes up and smiles at me. That grin does something to me. Lights me up from the inside out. Her eyes are bright, but there’s a darkness in them that calls to me, like I see a reflection of myself mirrored back at me.

“Mind if I go first?”

Shaking her head, she proffers her hand in Tony’s direction. “Be my guest, Nico.”

Tony’s snivelling is now a low-grade incoherent babble. Maybe Sin will make some sense of it when he reviews the video feed footage later, but it’s useless to me right now. I slap Tony around with little conviction. Knowing me, I’d knock him clean out if I put my full weight behind it. He’s stunned into silence, and I watch him as his eyes dart between Rory, Carlo, and me.

He’s the very definition of a startled deer caught in the headlights, only whatever road he takes to save his skin—he’s fucked. We’re going to run him the fuck down.

Carlo shakes his head at him in warning and rolls his eyes in disgust as Tony cracks. Well, this is no fucking fun what-so-ever. I didn’t even get to use my knife. I sharpened her specially. Aurora laughs as I huff in disgust, folding my arms over my chest and leaning back against my workbench as Tony blurts out everything he knows.

The long and the short of his verbal diarrhoea is that he facilitates locations for Marco, Carlo, and Tony to meet under the radar to discuss unsanctioned jobs. He uses the premises of a select few of the businesses under Syndicate protection after hours. The owners think it’s Syndicate business and are none the wiser.

I glance at Carlo, who maintains his silence, refusing to make eye contact with Tony.

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