Page 64 of Rescued By the Mafia

“Why?” Dante returned. “You’re just going to bleed more later.” He gestured, earning Paul’s attention, and Iris watched Paul’s gaze follow Dante’s sweeping hand over to the man who’d just approached.

She bit her lip, eyeing the old bucket he carried. It was closed with a matching lid, but she was certain she knew what was inside. Just as she was certain the stains that aged it hadn’t all come from Mark’s blood.

“Wh-what the fuck…?” Paul stammered.

“Show him,” Dante said.

The man wordlessly popped open the lid, reached inside, and hauled out Mark’s severed and deliberately burned head by the hair. The head was facing Paul, for better or worse, but Iris could see what had become of one of the ears. That was more than enough for her to envision the rest.

Dante was nothing if not thorough.

“What…? What the fuck? What the fuck?” Paul scrambled backward as best he could, attempting to wedge himself behind the pillar, suddenly forgetting all about his bleeding foot. “Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is that!”

Iris had never seen him so scared. She’d never even been able to imagine it. The sight of his fear was so satisfying it overrode her own discomfort at the sight of Mark’s remains.

“This,” Dante said, motioning to the head, “is what happens when you fuck with my family.” He made a sharp downward motion and the man set to work returning the head to the bucket. “Iris is my family, and you’ve been tormenting her more than long enough. So today, you pay. You pay in every way imaginable, and then, I’ll let you die.”

nineteen

Revenge so Sweet

The bucket was set off to the side and the bag with the removed teeth was placed beside it. Iris had the distinct impression all of this was significant. She’d certainly not met a man on Dante’s payroll who qualified as lazy. So she said nothing and stood calmly, watching as her lover—the man she would marry—physically dragged her ex out from his half-assed hiding spot by the chain attached to his wrists. She watched as Dante threw the smaller, bleeding man like a ragdoll, Paul’s choked-off cries of pain filling the space. She watched as Paul attempted to fight back, swinging with more of a groan than a roar, and Dante caught him by the throat as if his arms weren’t there at all.

Paul was shorter than Dante, though not really by a significant margin, but from the moment they’d walked in and she’d laid eyes on her ex bound in chains it had struck her how much less-than he looked. So when Dante squeezed and lifted until Paul was forced to stand to his full six-foot height, the toes he had left straining for the floor, it seemed easy. Paul swung his chained fists again and Dante let go, allowing Paul to fall backward gracelessly.

The entire scene was humiliating. Dante was clearly toying with him. But Iris wasn’t angry about it, because she knew why. She knew Dante understood that Paul valued his pride and his image more than anything else. Constant pain could only break him so far.

Iris fought a smile as she watched Paul groan and struggle to right himself.

Then Paul’s eyes locked onto her again, pupils blown wild with frenzy. “The f-fuck’s so funny, bitch?”

For a single instant, that tone and those eyes sent a shot of cold dread down her spine.

Dante’s foot shoved him back to the floor, planted firmly on Paul’s chest, and he sighed. “That’s another tooth, Bishop.” He didn’t even wave his men over before they appeared, equipment in hand. Nor did he back away while they gathered around, forced Paul’s mouth open, and shoved the pliers in. Instead, his head tilted to the side and Dante said, “Maybe this time I’ll have you swallow it. Just for fun.” He dropped down into a crouch, crowding his men and lowering his voice until Iris almost couldn’t hear him. “’Cause to me, that would be fucking funny.”

One of the men looked up curiously. “Boss?”

Dante nodded. “Do it.”

A moment later, the man stood and his partner clamped their hand over Paul’s mouth.

Paul began choking and squirming, his body jerking beneath Dante’s foot.

“Swallow.” It was just a single word, but Iris felt as though it boomed around the room despite that Dante had barely returned his voice to ordinary levels.

She pulled her lips between her teeth and waited. Another few seconds passed before the other man stepped back and Paul’s twitching calmed. His choking sounds transitioned into a renewed wave of bloody coughing and Dante removed his foot. It was clear by then, however, that the worst had been done from Paul’s perspective—he’d been forced to swallow his own violently extracted tooth.

“If you throw it up,” Dante said calmly, “I’ll have someone scoop the entire pile up and force-feed it to you. So go right ahead. Neither of you will be happy about that job, but I will.”

Paul’s stomach heaved as he bent over and Iris thought for a moment he might vomit despite the warning. And she thought she might have to step out for that. But he surprised her and gathered himself instead, turning a glare to Dante. “The fuck … is the matter … with you?”

A cruel smile lifted Dante’s lips. “How can I promise to protect the love of my life, if I first don’t slay the beast haunting her dreams?” He suddenly took hold of Paul’s hair and hauled him forward, up to his knees. “We’re only just getting started, Bishop.”

An inappropriate heat sparked inside her. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to shove Paul out of the way so she could be the one on her knees in front of Dante, so she could show him her appreciation. She supposed that would have the bonus factor of infuriating Paul in a whole different way, seeing as she’d never willingly sucked him off.

That did make it tempting.

Paul let out a harsh, spitting coughing sound. “Your what?” He attempted to laugh, the sound wet and garbled. “That’s a … croc. A big, bad mafioso … all messed up, over that useless—”

---