Page 42 of Rescued By the Mafia

Then there was the chain. A large, thick chain that was woven around the steel ceiling rafters for support had been dropped down and used to tie up the man they were there to see. He wasn’t tied to a chair, he wasn’t sobbing or pleading, and he hadn’t been beaten to within an inch of his life. His wrists were wrapped in chain and a small stretch of that chain was clumped up at his feet, giving Iris the impression that he had a bit of maneuvering room. Anger colored his face as soon as they entered, burning so hot on his skin he developed red blotches above his mustache.

Iris could barely linger on that, though, because the other thing she noticed right away was that the room smelled. It smelled like waste. She crinkled her nose, trying not to be obvious in her reaction.

“What in the shit is this?” Mark demanded, his voice rising. “I’m a deputy sher—”

“We know who you are,” Dante said. His voice was hard in a way he never used with Iris. It reminded her of how he’d spoken to Jarrod, actually. Dante strode forward, motioning for her not to follow. “We know what you are. What I want to know, Mark, is what the fucking hell you were trying to do by ambushing Iris yesterday.” He took hold of the chains above Mark’s wrists and jerked them higher, forcing Mark all the way to his feet. “And you had better be honest with me the first time.”

“Goddammit!” Mark struggled in Dante’s hold. “I’ll have each and every one of you arrested, you hear me?”

“That’s not an answer, Mark.”

Romeo shifted his weight. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation, Mark?”

The figures across from them both paused. Dante glanced over his shoulder.

Romeo continued. “Record says you and your good buddy Bishop took two whole weeks off, supposedly just to go see the Big Apple.”

Iris’s chest tightened and her brow furrowed. “So you are here with Paul.”

The chain rattled. “Of course I’m here with Paul!” Mark heaved an audible breath. “But if I’d known you’d fallen so far as to hook up with these Soprano wannabes, I’d have fought harder to just get him to let you go.”

“Instead you chased her down,” Dante said, “and ambushed her on my property. Were you going to drag her back to that piece of shit, kicking and screaming? Or were you going to call him to meet you there and let him do the dragging?”

“Fuck you,” Mark spat. Iris saw his foot twist, as if he tried to kick Dante, and Dante moved so quickly in response she couldn’t follow his exact motion. But Mark landed hard on his back, the chain clanging and shaking, and Dante dropped a knee to Mark’s sternum as his hand closed around Mark’s throat.

“I don’t like to repeat myself,” Dante said in a low tone. “So understand that what I want to know from you is simple. I want to know how much you knew of his plan before you approached Iris yesterday, and I want to know where or how to find Paul Bishop. The sooner you provide me that information, the swifter your death will be.”

Dante released Mark’s throat and stepped off him, watching. Iris and the rest of the room stayed silent, waiting to see how Mark would respond.

Mark coughed and rolled, awkwardly, onto his knees. With his fingers half tangled in the trailing chain and his face aimed at the stained concrete floor, he wheezed, “I always … liked you, Iris—”

“Don’t address her,” Dante said sharply.

Mark laughed, the sound raspy and weak, and lunged to his feet. He threw himself forward, holding on to the chain as if he thought he could force it to stretch farther. The chain snapped taught, yanking his arms up and back by the wrists, before he could reach Dante. But he held himself on his feet despite the surely uncomfortable position, his back bowed and legs braced. “Was it your idea, strong man? Were you the one who suggested she start accusing a deputy of domestic violence? When did you two first hook up, huh?” His eyes were wild when they flicked back to her. “Were you fucking this bastard on the side while—”

Dante’s fist connected with Mark’s breastbone and the man went flying backward. His spine cracked against the chain-wrapped pillar. “I warned you.”

In her periphery, Iris saw Romeo shaking his head.

Mark slumped to the ground again, groaning, as blood dribbled from his lips.

That same something that had compelled her to yell at him in the parking lot crawled up inside her again and Iris took a step forward. “Do you remember, Mark, that horrible accident I had about two years ago?” The room seemed to go painfully quiet as Dante turned enough to see her, allowing Mark to see her from his new slumped position. She continued. “Paul must have told you. He was telling everyone. How I got careless while I was mopping, and I was so lucky he came home when he did because I was on the floor, bleeding from the head and hadn’t even called myself an ambulance. Turned out I’d fallen, given myself a concussion, and managed to snap my own tibia clear through.”

“Shit,” Romeo muttered.

Iris ignored him, and every other watchful eye. “I was in that cast forever, you must remember. It took so long to heal.”

Mark groaned and made a move as if to nod.

“No one ever considered that that story was a lie,” Iris said. “Paul was so proud, he gloated after I came home how not a single person—not even Sheriff Granger—bothered to double-check his alibi, even to see the receipt he was so careful to go out and get. While I was bleeding on the floor.” Her chest constricted as Paul’s sneer accompanied the voice replaying in her memory. “It was just one more point of proof in the end. No one ever suspected him. No one ever would. He could beat me as bad as he wanted, and it didn’t matter.” She did her best to keep her voice steady as the first tear spilled. “Not a single one of you so-called protectors would save me. Or even listen to me. Instead, before I could even get out of that god awful cast, you took to joining in his public teasing about it. Telling me to be sure I had supervision next time I went to mop the floor, or how maybe I should get a Life Alert. You thought it was funny.”

Mark made a sound like he wanted to say something.

Dante twisted back around and brought his foot down hard on Mark’s nearest leg. The snapping of the bone within echoed through the room in the delay before Mark let out a shriek of pain.

Iris’s eyes widened, her gaze glued to Dante’s foot as he pushed it into the wound he’d just inflicted. The pain of the memory in her chest began to ebb. Whatever other damage he’d done, there was no way Dante hadn’t just shattered Mark’s tibia.

Dante took a single step away from the writhing man and held out one hand. “Torch.”

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