Page 73 of Unforgivable Ties

“Vincenzo?” I said, still trying to regain full consciousness. “Vincenzo, you need to stop!”

He wasn’t at work. He couldn’t just kill a random thug from the underworld and get away with it; this guy might have family and friends who would look into it.

I crawled over to him and grabbed his wrists. “Stop, please.”

Ignoring my plea, Vincenzo delivered another crushing blow to the unconscious man. “He hurt you, Steph,” he growled, eyes bloodshot and wild. “He was going to...” he didn’t finish the sentence, and punched the man in the face again.

“Vincenzo,” I said softly. “You did enough.”

His eyes met mine filled with an unholy rage, but as he registered my pale, terror-filled face, his fists stilled. Panting heavily, he let go of the unconscious man and turned to me.

I flew into his arms, not caring that blood was splattered across his chest and matted in his long hair.

“I was really scared,” I sobbed into his chest, my words muffled by the fabric of his snowsuit. His chest heaved beneath me, each exhale unleashing a raw growl from deep within his throat.

“I know.” His voice, rough with barely contained fury, echoed in the silent room. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer. We sat there in silence for a couple of minutes before I broke it.

“What are we going to do with him?” I said, my voice a panicked whisper. “When he wakes up, he’ll report you to the police.”

“No, he won’t,” Vincenzo said. “With what he was going to do to you? He’ll consider himself lucky he got the beating of his life and not jail.”

“How do you know?” I asked hesitantly, watching the man’s unconscious body.

“I’m a criminal, too,” he said flatly. “If there’s one thing I do know, it’s the unspoken rules of this life.”

I didn’t like Vincenzo referring to himself as a criminal. Sure, he worked for the mafia, and they did a lot of illegal things, but he didn’t deserve that label. Even though he didn’t want to admit it, he had a sweet and caring side, albeit it only for me.

He pushed away from me, getting on his feet. The cold air filled the gap where his warmth had been, seeping in through the unzipped fabric of my snowsuit.

“Let’s go,” he said, extending his tattooed hand out to me.

I grabbed it, and he pulled me up to stand beside him. At that moment, I was sure I would follow him anywhere.

Vincenzo

Some things about this life would always have to be hidden from Stephanie.

There was no way I was just going to give that man the beating of his life. He had planned on assaulting Stephanie, and if I had to guess, killing her afterwards. He was going to die.

I snuck through the abandoned snow lodge at 2:30 am, watching out for any signs of life. Everyone was asleep from a hard day of hitting the slopes or a long day at work. I exited through the back door, where no cameras could catch my exit. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, making it impossible for anyone to see me. The snow under my boots crunched quietly as I made my way towards the wood cabin where that man was staying.

I grabbed a shovel that was sticking out of the snowbank, my mind set on what it was going to do. I hadn’t buried bodies in years—it was typically reserved for the grunts—but I would dig six feet with ease for this man.

I walked into the forest behind his cabin and got to digging. Through the thick layer of frost and snow, into the hard groundbeneath. As the hole grew deeper, my breath came out in white puffs that danced and disappeared into the night.

After I dug the hole, I dropped the shovel and walked into the man’s cabin. He had woken up and was moaning in pain, but I had made sure to break his legs while kicking his ass so he wouldn’t go anywhere.

“Glad you’re awake,” I said, standing over his body. “I’ll enjoy this more.”

Before he could scream, I duct taped his mouth shut. Then I bound his wrists and legs together, creating a makeshift body wrap. His eyes were wide and terrified, his muffled screams echoing in the cabin. But my heart held no mercy for him—it never did.

I picked him up over my shoulder and took him out into the cool night air.

I had already gotten a lot of my fury out when I beat him to a pulp. Now, I wanted to see fear in his eyes. I wanted him to be just as afraid as Stephanie was.

There in the still, frosty air, I dropped him into the hole I’d dug. He squirmed and writhed under the bounds of his duct tape prison, his whimpered pleas muffled to near-silence. I watched his desperate struggle, drinking in the sight of his raw terror. A grim satisfaction settled over me, cold and harsh as the winter wind howling through the bare trees.

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