Page 54 of Beautiful Vows

His voice rises, filling the room with his righteous anger. “I want answers. I want the officers responsible for the raid. I want someone accountable for my stepdaughter being in hospital with a head injury. And I want my son, unharmed, returned to me immediately. Otherwise, I’ll use every resource at my disposal to expose the rot in your department. Do you understand me?”

The sinister threat hangs in the air. But this is Dominic de Luca, applying the full weight of his position. His last words are chilling: “The clock is ticking. For your sake, I’d hate to lobby for a new chief of police … or worse.”

He ends the call and turns to us, his eyes blazing. His rage is a mirror of my own riotous emotions.

Looking at Amara, so lost in her own mind, and thinking of Rafe, missing and potentially in grave danger, an icy determination settles in my heart. We’re in this world now. A world with danger, but with that comes consequences. A world where someone killed my mother and harmed my sister, accident or intentional, that we don’t know.

But as I sit here, holding my sister’s hand, I make a silent vow. Because whoever is responsible will feel the full force of my wrath and it will be far from beautiful.

Because someone will pay.

Chapter 18

Rafe

The sound of my growling stomach is like a feral animal, clawing and snarling from the depths of my torso. It rumbles and roars, a gnawing ache that twists my insides, a relentless reminder of the deprivation I’ve endured since my abduction.

The sound mocks me, taunting me with the harsh reality of my situation. I'm at the mercy of my captors as my life hangs by a mere thread.

The coarse fabric of the blindfold scratches against my skin like sandpaper is rubbing over the raw flesh of my injuries and intensifying the already throbbing pain in my swollen eyes. Hindering my sight, I’m only limited to mere glimpses of my surroundings, as the tightly bound cloth reveals only flickering slithers of light, and the briefest hints of my prison.

But I know I’m close to the ocean. The air is thick with the salty odor of the sea, a pungent aroma of rotten fish that invades my nostrils with each strained inhalation.

Beneath me, the cold, hard surface of a steel chair presses against my back, a mocking reminder of my captivity. But it’s the plastic ties around my wrists that send shivers through my battered body, the sharp edges cutting into my flesh with every feeble struggle.

Distant sounds echo through the cavernous space—the creak of metal, the slap of water against solid surfaces, the faint hum of engines—confirming my suspicions that we are perilously close to the ocean, perhaps on a harbor.

I slide my bare feet over the rough texture of concrete, the abrasive surface scraping against my skin like a thousand tiny knives.

My body trembles uncontrollably as I wait and wonder if this time my life will end.

Mafia men don’t live long—and I am a mafia man.

Time drags on endlessly, with each agonizing second feeling like an eternity, as I endure the torturous wait for him to return.

The drip of water somewhere nearby only adds to my torture. It’s like a swinging pendulum, a countdown to my demise, each drop echoing, waiting for the bomb to go off.

My body tenses up at the sound of footsteps, initially faint but growing louder, sending shivers down my spine as I brace myself for the next round of questions ... for the relentless beatings.

As a presence looms closer, the air shifts as icy fingers clutch my lungs and my muscles tense.

"Rafe de Luca." The menacing voice pierces the eerie silence.

A rough hand, its calloused fingers pierce into my flesh, gripping my arm in a vice-like hold, and I can’t help but recoil involuntarily at the unexpected contact.

“Are you ready to talk?” Each word drips with malice, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

My heart races, its frantic beats echoing in my chest like a trapped animal desperately seeking an escape from its cage. Or me from this living nightmare.

“Fuck you!” I spit out defiantly, bracing myself for the inevitable retaliation.

“Umph!” My breath is violent, expelling from my lungs as a crushing blow slams into my midsection.

Fuck!

Thud!

With each punch, the walls seem to inch closer, suffocating me as panic grips my chest in its icy clutches.

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