Page 77 of Heart of a Villain

Lorenzo wagged two fingers, letting the bartender know that he now needed a beer as well. “No. I’m thinking about?—”

“Find another plaything.”

“I barely unwrapped my last one.”

“Lorenzo, she was a thing. Find another one. They are everywhere. If you start developing an obsession, it will take away from my Alessandra, and that is not a position that you want to find yourself in with me.”

There was no other woman.

Not right now.

He could only imagine the way Acoisa would revolt if he asked her to “clip” his toenails with her teeth. That revulsion would be ten times greater if he made her kneel in front of him as he pissed in her mouth. Or as he cut her skin and dripped bleach into her wounds. Even better, as he held the back of her head and forced her to consume raw human flesh.

The way she would scream.

Gag.

Vomit.

And now, his cock was hard.

Clearly, she didn’t understand. Things didn’t run away to Sweden. Things remained in the possession of their owners unless they were stolen. He was like a little boy holding a magnifying glass, and she was the bumbling ant. Anything that came to mind, he could do to her. How was that not the equivalent of being God?

“Why give her to me, then?” he asked.

Chefe shrugged. “Because I could.”

“I want her back, Chefe. I wasn’t done with her.”

“You were the one who lost her.”

“I…”

He had no valid argument for that.

“I will not have you focusing on anyone, or anything, but my daughter, Lorenzo. I have spent too much time and energy building you into what you are for you to throw it all away over a woman.”

“I said I want her back, Chefe.”

Chefe leaned closer to his face. “If you leave this country without my permission and leave my Alessandra back here to wait on you, I will cut off your balls, put them on a plate, and watch you swallow them. I have sacrificed much more than you to get where I am. Stop being a pussy, Lorenzo. Moments like this make me wish Gano was still alive. There would be no fucking competition.”

Chefe grabbed his mug, beer sloshing onto the countertop, and walked off. Lorenzo watched him, simultaneously wanting to risk everything by killing the walking piece of shit and wondering whether Chefe was right. There were other gifts. If he was looking for someone to give him the reaction he was looking for, he would only need to travel across a border or two.

That logic would have worked had another problem not presented itself.

Acoisa ran.

Acoisa tried to get away.

How, the fuck, could he then not take chase? Break her down? Leave marks and scars on her body? The places he wanted to put a straight razor were probably too sensitive to place a fingertip. Hopefully, she wouldn’t die, and her body would remain warm for moments thereafter. That, he’d never done, but he’d started thinking about it once he realized that torture could kill her.

Nothing would be able to satisfy his need to drag her back to Brazil and torture her until tears leaked from more orifices than her ducts. He and Acoisa had unfinished business, and no matter what, she would die underneath him.

“Lorenzo!” Alessandra called, waving. “Did you get my snack?”

He searched deep and located another fake smile. “Coming right up.”

Later that night, he walked over to the front door and dragged it open. Alessandra stood on his doorstep wearing a coat despite the intense nighttime humidity. Chefe was growing pathetic in his old age if he truly believed “Princesa” was any greater a temptation than the strung-out prostitute.

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