Page 3 of Dating the Don

I must have hit my headwayharder than I thought that I had.

The scream starts to build in my chest.

Instead, words come out.

“I’msonot cleaning that…”

CHAPTER TWO

CRISTIANO

Rage consumes me.

It’s an all-encompassing inferno that has no boundaries and no ends. Just fire; fire everywhere.

I’ve spent my whole life keeping my temper in check. I've put in a lot of effort to stay true to my values and goals. I've evolved into two flawless versions of the same person, bothdark and light. Two distinct halves of the same coin. The public version of me is the ideal brother and community activist. The one who effortlessly supports his family in any situation.The ever-dependable and impeccably poised gentleman.

And then there’s this version.

One doesn’t exist without the other.

I need this side to balance out the other. Without it, I think the perfect version of myself would snap and shatter into a million pieces. Very, very rarely do the two sides happen to see eye to eye. But, at this perfectly harmonious moment, we both want the very same thing. Mostly to make this sorry bastard choke on his own breath.

This Irish bastard is standing in my way and he knows it. The only reason that I haven’t cut the tongue in his otherwise useless mouth is because he has information that I desperately need.

However, that has nothing to do with his teeth. This morning, he had a nice, full set that is now rapidly dwindling into nothing. If he doesn't get smart soon, he's going to be a pulpymess. However, it's possible that he may enjoy choking on his own teeth when I jam them down his miserablethroat.

He will tell me what I want to know before we are done, and only then will I allow him the mercy of death.

This man played a part in my father’s murder. A big part. He only needs to give me the name of who he reports to and then I can end his life. I’m not going to pretend that I won’t deeply enjoy it.

It’s only been a week since my father died. The shock of his loss is still fresh, a festering wound in my chest. It will stay that way for a long time. The man was my hero, my idol. It doesn’t matterthat I never really cared for the violent lifestyle that he led, he still was my father.

I know it is naive but, in my eyes, my father was always practically invincible.

And now he’s gone.

Taken before his time by these low-life bastards.

And for what? To weaken us? Did they not think that by cutting off the head, two more would grow in its place? They severely underestimated the strength of my father’s clan. Ofmyclan. I was born to lead these people. I effortlessly stepped into a role that I had been groomed for since I could walk. The might of my father’s empire wants blood for what was taken from them and I will deliver it, in spades.

The jerk in front of me has been a faithful servant of the Doyle family for more than thirty years. I have him and the Doyles know it. I, on the other hand, know that they won't attack me in my own house toget him. They willlet him fall while they figure out what to do next. They never did reward loyalty. He picked the wrong fucking side.

“Please…” the man sighs. It’s mostly just a flap of his swollen mouth but I understand him all the same. There will be no mercy for him. None was given to my father.

“What was that?” I bend at the waist, cupping a bloodied hand around my ear. A syrupy sweet smile is plastered on my face as I wait eagerly for his answer.

“Pl…” the man inhales, like the effort of speaking is just too much for him to function. Perhaps it is. Perhaps he truly cannot manage to force air into his chest properly given that his ribs have been damaged. Or, perhaps one of those teeth scraped something important on the way down. I cannot feel empathy towards him. Every time I think that my mask of brutality might slip, I hear my mother’s desperate screams as they lowered my father’s coffin into the ground. We could only bury what was left of him. Barely enough for her to say goodbye to and certainly not enough to get closure from.

My mother had practically collapsed. Keeping her upright had required all of my strength. Even my sister wept. I cannot recall her displaying any emotion at all other than when she hangs out withMaeve.

There’s been no time for me to grieve. Not a single moment to process any emotion other than the all-consuming rage that has powered me from the inside out since it happened.

The bastards are feeling proud of themselves right now for doing this to my family, but I’m going to make them pay for it.

Alberto, who everybody has always called Al, is standing to my right with black leather gloves on, arms folded over his chest as he watches me work. He’s a simple man. Cut and dry. Black and white. He was the logical choice for me to elevate as myunderboss and right-hand man last week. Which is actually saying something because he's always been a little more off on violence than I am. We have experienced a great deal together, and he shares my need for justice.

“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear,” I say as I pull my knife from my back pocket. “Or, perhaps you simply don’t understand the situation that you’re in. You will die. You know that. It’s all a matter of how many days I’m going to drag it out for. If you’re going to choose to be a good little boy and give me enough information to reward you with a quick death.”

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