Page 49 of Protected By the Mafia

Instead, Cristiano stepped around behind Matt and took firm hold of the hand Matt had put on Felicity’s throat the day before. “Come to think of it, I seem to remember finding you with your hand on my woman, too.”

Matt tensed. “Sh-she’s not yours!”

Cristiano forced Matt’s fingers apart and pressed the point of his blade against the tip of Matt’s index finger. “Oh, she’s mine.” He leaned closer as if he were going to whisper some secret into the shithead’s ear. “And she’s told me about you, Matt. The way you harass her. The way you insult her. The way you would show up at her job and say misleading things about her to her colleagues. You scared her, Matt. That’s not something I can let go.” He offered no other warning before slipping the blade beneath the man’s nail, slicing it off.

Matt shrieked, his arm jerking, shoulders wrenching.

Cristiano released his grip, letting the hand hang limply in its restraint, and stepped into Matt’s line of sight again. “If you think that hurts, you probably should have opted for the window.” He let his lips lift in an expression he’d been told made his own men uncomfortable. “No, you definitely should have opted for the window.”

Matt’s lips actually quivered. “People will notice if I disappear.”

Cristiano lowered to eye-level with the other male. “What people?”

Matt did his best to glare back at him.

“Just fucking answer him!” Chuck snapped.

Matt whipped his head to the side. “Shut up, fat-ass!”

Cristiano scowled, but Chuck responded faster. “Thought you liked a few extra pounds, the way you were always yankin’ it for that dumb bitch.”

Matt opened his mouth again and Cristiano shoved the handle of his dagger past Matt’s teeth. Matt’s eyes flew wide and the blade wobbled, but he managed to bite down fast enough to keep it from falling.

Cristiano stood and strode back to his pile of weapons. He lifted the sledgehammer from the bag, spun it around in his hands, and walked straight up to Chuck. “That was really fucking stupid, Chuck.” Then he swung, the hammer connecting with Chuck’s lower leg.

The room filled with screams and writhing, restrained bodies. Blood splattered across the floor, Chuck’s opposite leg, and dripped off his ankle. Cristiano set the sledge down in exchange for a length of rope, came back, and wound that rope around Chuck’s upper leg just above the knee. He pulled it good and tight before tying it in place, a makeshift torniquet, and straightened. Then he looked Chuck in the eyes and said, “One more derogatory word about my fiancée, and I come for an organ.”

Chuck heaved, gasping and trembling in place. “Y-y-you’re a monster…”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Cristiano turned back to Matt, who was staring wide-eyed and paler than chalk, at Chuck’s bleeding leg. From his angle he couldn’t necessarily see the exposed bone, but he could absolutely see the blood.

Matt’s stare followed Cristiano’s trail until he was looking forward again and the knife wobbled in his mouth as he whimpered. He fucking whimpered.

Cristiano reached out and retrieved the dagger. “Thanks for holding on to this.” He spun the blade around and wiped the handle on his clothes before letting it rest against his palm again. “Now, where were we?”

“Th-the Ink Blots,” Matt said, continuing to dart quick, frightened glances to the side. “C-Cezar Barros is the other guy Chuck was talking about. The one who called to set me up with the apartment.”

Barros again. Miguel had mentioned that name, too. Cristiano kept the observation to himself and ran a different direction. “What was your job?”

Matt swallowed hard. “Keep an eye on T’s sister. Report any changes in her routine, any visitors.”

Cristiano crouched down again and rested the blade of his knife on Matt’s leg, just above the knee. “Was it your job to harass her? To try and get in her pants and make her uncomfortable?”

Matt gave a jerkish shake of his head. “No! No, man, I just … she … she’s so…. You know?”

Cristiano tapped the knife deliberately. “We’re not going to be friends, Matt. Don’t try.”

Matt’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep, chest-puffing breath. Indignation filled his eyes. “You can’t fucking do this to me, okay? Yeah, so I got a little pushy with the girl you think you’re gonna marry, big fuckin’ deal.” Cristiano’s eyes narrowed, but Matt didn’t stop.

“You got a name? Well, guess what jackass, I got a buddy with a name, too. You wanna know how I got into the Blots in the first place? Coughlan. Brendan Coughlan. He’s the guy who’ll notice if I disappear.”

Cristiano drew back, his head spinning. “What did you just say to me?”

Whispers of old memories that should have been locked away played at the back of his mind. Echoes of voices he didn’t really remember anymore.

Matt had the audacity to look smug. “Rings a bell, De Salvo?”

Brendan motherfucking Coughlan. He hadn’t heard that name in well over a decade. It would always be too soon. Cristiano stood, towering over the piece of shit. “Coughlan’s the money behind the Ink Blots?” He probably didn’t even need to ask. Thinking about it, that answer explained everything.

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