Page 62 of Rescued By the Mafia

She offered him a smile. “Because you won’t compromise my safety.”

He pressed his lips to her temple and rumbled, “I do appreciate when you hear me.” He would also appreciate she never came into physical contact with the sharp edge of a blade of any sort again, but he wasn’t a complete fool. So he guided her out of the store, keeping his arm around her, and quietly said, “You were smart, diffusing the situation the way you did.”

“Thank you.”

“How’s your head?” It wasn’t like the bastard had caught her.

“Just a small bump. Nothing to worry about.” Iris leaned into him as they walked and softly added, “You can kiss it and make it better later if you like.”

He squeezed her hip, ignoring the last of their security detail trailing behind them, and said, “Don’t tempt me, Snapdragon. I may not wait for later.” He wondered if he’d ever been more blessed than when the sound of her soft, unbothered laughter wafted to his ears in response.

Dante framed her face in his palms not two hours later. “It’s not too late to change your mind about this,” he said. “You can get back in that SUV and Enzo will drive you home, or anywhere you’d feel more comfortable.”

Iris smiled. She understood all the reasons he was offering. It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected to be shaken and upset after coming face-to-face with the man who’d beaten her half to death more than once, taken pleasure out of breaking her and leaving her to suffer, and dangled in her face how isolated she truly was. She imagined her crying in Dante’s arms for something like two or three hours after with no real break had only added to the upset Paul had cultivated, too. None of which said anything for the incident that had occurred after, when the guy with the spiderweb tattoo had shown up out of nowhere and held her at knifepoint for reasons they didn’t yet understand. Despite all of that, however, her resolve hadn’t crumbled.

She had Dante to thank for that.

“I need to see it all the way through,” Iris said quietly. “I need to be there to see with my own eyes the moment whatever thing inside him passes for a soul is ripped from his body and he leaves this world. I think that’s the only way I can truly be sure it’s over.”

Dante pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “I can wrap my head around that. But understand that if you were uncomfortable the last time, this will be worse. I don’t plan on being merciful.”

She reached up and tugged him in for a proper kiss. Their tongues rolled together briefly, teasing, before she said, “I don’t want you to be. That monster only deserves the Dragon’s claws, not his heart.”

Dante rumbled with a low, vibrating chuckle. “Good girl.”

It was really unfair of him to use those words in this situation. But she supposed she’d invited it with the way she’d kissed him.

Dante straightened, tucked a wild strand of orange behind her ear, and turned toward the familiar unassuming door. It was the same facility they’d held Mark in, she was pretty sure. There were guards practically lining up for them between the SUV they’d climbed out of and the doorway, none of whom were Dante’s brothers, and when Dante led the way forward the nearest man pulled the door open.

“Everything’s secure, Boss.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” Dante didn’t break stride as he spoke, but his words carried behind him and Iris didn’t doubt that everyone heard him clearly. Though she wasn’t sure what he needed the extra muscle for. Pretense, maybe?

Regardless, she kept pace at his heel, confident in her recognition of the space by the time they reached the interior room where she’d last seen Mark. And she remembered, suddenly, the order Dante had given regarding Mark’s fate. She sort of did hope to not see that part, if she were honest with herself. But she couldn’t pick and choose. She’d insisted on seeing this through. That included the unpleasant parts.

In her peripheral, she noted four of the men from outside had followed them all the way to the interior chamber. As usual, she knew none of their names. He really did seem to have an endless supply of soldiers.

Iris shook the thought, and unnecessary perusal, from her mind and aimed her focus forward. Whether she liked it or not. Not. Decidedly not. She would never like the sight of Paul Bishop in any way other than that of his corpse, objectively, again. And he was most certainly still alive, if the immediate rattling of the chain and shuffling of fabric was any indication.

Paul—as Mark had been—was chained thoroughly and anchored to a column on the far side of the room. There was a portion of a dark, terrible bruise visible on the side of his face from where Dante had punched him hard enough to knock him out earlier. His boots and outer jacket had been removed, leaving him in his choice of swamp-green cargo pants and plain gray T-shirt.

Looking at Paul, chained and visibly snarling, less than a dozen paces from Dante, Iris couldn’t help but question her own past choices. Nothing about Paul even qualified as average in comparison.

Paul locked his glare on her and his eyes darkened in an all-too-familiar way. “After all I did for you, you stupid, filthy whor—”

“Beginning now,” Dante said, speaking in a loud, sharp tone, “every time you insult her, you’ll lose a tooth. If you’re dumb enough to run out of teeth, I’ll find a new way to make my point.” He snapped his fingers and two of his men stepped forward. One man held a pair of pliers. “That was two … and a half.”

She actually saw the whites of Paul’s eyes as he stumbled back, into the pillar. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Iris watched with bated breath and a strange, inappropriate excitement as one tooth after another was mercilessly pried from Paul’s vile mouth. Each tooth was tossed aside like so much trash, and Paul’s muffled shouts and restrained thrashing escalated to new levels when they went back in the third time. The sound was so shrill, even with pliers and half a hand in his mouth, Iris almost cringed. Except it was Paul. The man who’d stomped on her tibia, knocked her head into the counter, and abandoned her in the kitchen so he could set up his alibi when he realized he’d finally done enough damage that she actually needed medical treatment. The man who’d purposely beaten her baby out of her, then demanded she clean up the mess.

No, having a couple of teeth pulled without anesthetic was nothing. It was certainly less than he deserved.

The men stepped back when their task was done, one snapped on gloves, and the teeth were picked up and deposited in a garbage bag. A bag which was set aside with the clear expectation of more to come.

Iris returned her gaze forward, finding Paul slumped against the pillar and breathing hard. Blood trickled from his mouth and he looked as if he struggled to keep his lips pressed together. There was something unfamiliar on his face. Something she only recognized from the time he’d been wounded on the job. Her head tipped to the side and she opted to embrace the feelings twisting inside her. “What’s the matter? Did that hurt? Are you in pain?”

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