Page 80 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

“Again, why should I care about his sick revenge? I don’t give a fuck about them, Dominic or the old man. Why do you think I can stop Dominic from hurting him?”

Camila’s lips purse. “Because he’s the one that killed your mother. And Dominic’s parents as well.”

My heart drops. Once again, I feel like someone swept the carpet from under my feet and left me free falling into an abyss.

CHAPTER 21

Dominic

Iused to read Carly’s medical textbooks when we were in college. I learned a lot about the human anatomy in the process. I know how to kill a person in under a minute. I also know how to draw out a person’s death. And I’m currently taking great pleasure in using all that knowledge at my disposal.

The Don’s mansion has a building at the back of the main house that’s suited me perfectly the past two days. We’re currently in the torture chamber that reeks of coppery blood and mildew. The dim light of a single bulb swings above, casting warped shadows on the cracked concrete walls. It’s cold, biting even, but I don’t feel it.

All I feel is a heat of rage simmering in my chest, a volcanic fury that has boiled over and spilled onto the man shackled to the chair in front of me. The Scepter, S, doesn’t look anything like I expected him to. He’s a relic of the man I’m guessing he once was. His face is sunken with age, his gray beard is thick and stringy, but what really intrigues me are the scars on his face.

He might not have died from the fire that everyone believes killed him. But he certainly suffered in the process. It brings me satisfaction to imagine all the pain he must have gone through to survive.

His eyes are two black pits of endless chaos. Right now, they’re gleaming with a twisted sort of glee. For two days, I’ve made him bleed—cut after calculated cut, a predator savoring its prey. He’s covered in shallow wounds, just deep enough to hurt, not enough to kill.

He’s trembling, his breath coming in wet, ragged gasps, but his grin remains. It didn’t take me too long to figure out he was a psychopath without any human feelings. No wonder he was able to commit so many brutal murders. Adrian was able to get me a little more about his history since his capture.

The Specter was born in Manchester, U.K. and subsequently abandoned. Left on the streets to fend for himself. When he was old enough, he came to the U.S., Chicago, and started building an empire. He has a genius IQ and a propensity for computers. Not to mention his unaffected personality. It wasn’t hard for him to establish himself in the crime world. But it all came crashing down when he was betrayed by someone in his inner circle. They tried to kill him with that fire, and they failed.

The Specter was transported back to his hometown in Manchester and he stayed there for a while, recuperating, healing from his injuries. He became a ghost and then returned to the U.S. Which is when the serial killings started. The killings that took everything from me.

I press the blade of my knife against his cheek, the steel biting into his paper-thin skin. He doesn’t even flinch. Apparently, he’s suicidal since he’s going to die soon anyway. It’s why he came out of the shadows in the first place. He concocted an elaborate plan to ruin my life, so I could help him to his death.

I’ll do so gladly, but I won’t make his journey to death easy.

“This is getting boring,” he croaks, his voice hoarse but still carrying that infuriating lilt of amusement. “You’ve been at it for two days and you’ve got nothing. Tsk, tsk. You’re losing your touch, Shadow.”

The name claws at me like barbed wire. My grip tightens on the hilt of the knife, the muscles in my arm flexing as I drag it down his face, splitting his cheek open in a thin, bloody line.

He doesn’t scream. He chuckles.

“Do you really think this will bring them back?” he wheezes, blood pooling in the corners of his mouth. “Your mother, your father, your brother. Oh, and let’s not forget the woman you love. You think this will bring Madelyn back? Heal that aching organ in your chest?”

My fist slams into his jaw before I even realize I’ve move. His head snaps to the side, but when he looks back at me, he’s smiling again, red-stained teeth bared like some deranged predator.

“You can’t fix what’s been broken, Dominic,” he says, his voice softer now, almost kind. “You broke her and you broke yourself. You ruined everything with your own two hands. How does it feel?”

I grab him by the throat, my knife pressed against the hollow of his neck.

“You don’t get to talk about them,” I growl, my voice trembling with the force of my rage. “Don’t mention my parents, my brother, and especially don’t mention Madelyn. Her name shouldn’t even be leaving the lips of scum like you.”

“I could tell you so many things about your family, Dominic. How I watched the life drain from their eyes. How I listened to their screams.” He pauses, his grin widening. “I could tell you how your father tried to protect you, how your mother tried to shield him, or how?—”

I drive the knife into his thigh, twisting it until I feel the muscle tear. His laughter cuts off with a strangled gasp.

“Yo-you think I didn’t plan for this? You think I don’t want this?” he asks, his voice shaky. “Give me all your anger, Dominic.We both know who wins at the end of it all. I caused all your pain, and once I’m dead, you’ll be left with nothing.”

I pull the knife out of his thigh and throw it across the room. Then I lean in close, my hands gripping the arms of his chair, my face inches from his.

“You’re going to die here. And I’m going to make sure it’s slow and painful,” I say, my voice low and cold.

He licks his cracked lips, his eyes gleaming, “Good,” he whispers. “Make it hurt.”

Hours pass, or maybe minutes. Time blurs into a haze of blood and screams. I don’t know how long I’ve been at this, but my body aches with exhaustion, and the air around us is thick with the smell of iron. He’s slumped in the chair now, his head hanging low, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

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