Page 82 of Broken Princess

Sin seems to realise I’m not just worried about Benny’s health when he yanks Benny back to the floor like a disobedient puppy and asks, “What’s the issue? Explain.”

I point at the map, and Sin joins me in my tirade of swear words.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” I say before clarifying to Benny, “They’ve been taken to the De Luca compound.”

All Benny says is, “Fuck.”

We’ve been waiting in the alley a few blocks south of our target for a while now. We’re all agitated, but there’s nothing to do but wait. The three of us can’t take on the full De Luca security detail.

“We don’t have fucking time for this,” Benny screams, punching the side of the van and howling in pain at his own stupidity.

“I swear to fuck, if you blow our cover because you’re too busy throwing a tantrum, I will have Nico spank your ass raw when we get him back,” I grind out.

Benny immediately shrinks back. That’s the first time I’ve ever referenced their dynamic to one of them directly, and it feels like I’ve crossed a line. I shouldn't have called him out like that. It feels like I’ve shamed him, and my mistake sits like a bitter pill in my mouth. He’s quiet, and withdrawn, and decidedly un-Benny-like. I turn in my seat and demand his attention. “Hey, I had no right to say that. What goes on between you and your… partners… is none of my fucking business.”

He blanches at my words, and I can’t figure out if he’s embarrassed or freaked out by my reference to Aurora. Swallowing nervously, he says, “Thank you. You don’t need to apologise, though. I just didn’t realise you knew so much about mine and Nico’s dynamic.”

I’m smiling as reassuringly as I can, given our current situation. “Very thin walls, Benny. Very thin.”

“So fucking thin,” Sinclair grumbles.

That gets a weak smile out of Benny, followed by a quiet plea. “Promise me we’ll get them back.”

“We will do everything we can.”

I can’t make that promise, as much as every fibre of my being wants to. I can’t be the man that makes it and then can’t deliver. It will destroy me, just like it did my brother. Benedict nods, but it hurts my soul to see him so lost.

We have a plan. I’m not saying it’s a brilliant plan, but it’s a plan, and it’s the only one we’ve got. After running it by Sinclair and Benny, it took us thirty minutes to make the necessary calls and pull in every favour we have and now all we can do is wait.

Every minute is torture, not knowing if our waiting is costing Aurora or Nico minutes they don’t have. We can’t make a move on that compound without back-up. I just fucking hope it comes soon.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

AURORA

Idon’t know how the fuck I dozed off, but I’m woken up by rough hands circling my biceps and wrenching me from Nico’s arms. As I’m pulled from his lap, he collapses to the side, and I see the tourniquet has done a piss-poor job of stemming the flow of blood—there’s a pool of deep crimson beneath his knee.

“Leave him, boss just wants her,” says one of the assholes behind me.

I’m making life as difficult as possible for them by remaining rigid and unmalleable. Eventually, they tire of my complete lack of cooperation and the stockier of the two hoists me over his shoulder, making sure to swing me into every wall and door frame he can on our way to wherever I’ve been summoned. I barely feel the bumps, but my ribs ache and I struggle to breath against the shoulder wedged against me.

As we ascend the stairs, I hear a loud voice yelling half in English, half Italian. I don’t know what I expected when Salvatore summoned his son, but this was not it and I can’t hide the shock from my face.

We stop abruptly and I’m thrown down, landing on with my full weight on my fractured foot which immediately gives way and I collapse to the floor. My pained cry is ignored, and I’m immediately wrenched up and forced to my knees. The pain is fresh and raw but not unmanageable. I clench my jaw, swallowing down the discomfort as I try to reassert an impervious veneer.

I find myself just inside the doorway by a large, ornate fireplace in what Salvatore has always called the parlour. I always found it pretentious, but in reality, it did make it easier to distinguish from the four other reception rooms on this floor.

I’ve spent more time in my father-in-law’s house throughout my marriage than I did my father’s. Mainly because Max didn’t give two shits about hiding his handiwork from Salvatore. In fact, he seemed proud to display my scars for his appreciation. It was in vain though—Salvatore never acknowledged them outwardly.

I associate this house with hopelessness. There was no salvation here, only a momentary reprieve while Max sought his father’s approval of my debasement.

And here I am again, still at the mercy of a De Luca. Only this time, I’m not the only one on their knees.

As I take in the scene, I find my husband restrained and being forced to kneel at his father’s feet. Salvatore is screaming at him, face red and consumed with rage. I should feel pleased to see him brought to heel, but I know every humiliation Salvatore serves to his son will be meted out on me. From my position behind them, I’m relieved Max can’t see me, but I know that won’t last.

“What the fuck are you playing at? You’re thirty-five years old and I’m still cleaning up your fucking messes. What’s so fucking special about the Bianchi whore that the minute she’s gone, you’re out there slaughtering surrogates?”

“I did what you asked. I killed her and her fucking father. What the fuck does it matter what I do now?” Max spits out, brimming with a venomous anger.

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