Page 101 of Vicious Addictions

This piece of filth thought it was a good business move to bring a container intoourdocks filled to the brim with traumatized, malnourished women. Whoever Igor reports to thought I wouldn’t notice and that they’d be able to smuggle the trafficked women in and then sell them off to the highest bidder. I may not know who Igor’s boss is yet, but I know that his lackey won’t be walking out of this room alive.

I know that much.

“Tick-tock,Boris.You know it’s just a question of time before my men find one of your buddies who isn’t as shy as you are in telling us what we want to know.”

But just as he opens his mouth to finally give me a name, the basement door swings open behind us, sealing his lips shut.

Goddamn it.

I turn to curse at whatever asshole had the bright idea of disturbing me when I see that the asshole in question is my adoptive father, Dom.

“You about done here, Jude? We got dinner reservations, remember?” he says as he walks in. He looks every bit as menacing as he did the first day I met him, even if he is wearing a fancy suit that was most likely bought by my mom. However, when I see my brother, Marcello, and my sister, Stella, walking behind him, also dressed to the nines, my smile drops right off my face.

“Jesus fuck, Dom. You shouldn’t have brought them down here. You knew I was right in the middle of interrogating this piece of shit,” I growl as I get up from my chair, putting myself in front of Igor so my siblings don’t get a good look at how I’ve spent most of my day.

“Why the hell not? It’s not like they haven’t seen worse before.” Dom shrugs off, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ooh, who is that? Can I help?” Stella says a little too eagerly, stepping closer to me so she can take a peek over my shoulder.

“No. Go back upstairs to the club. I’m almost done down here anyway,” I order, stepping away from my hostage since it’s obvious neither one of my siblings looks perturbed by seeing a bloody and bruised-up Russian tied up to a bolted chair.

“You don’t look done,” Dom interjects, eyeing the Bratva soldier in question. “Fucker looks like he’s getting his second wind to me. By this rate, we’ll never make our reservations.”

Jesus, my family loves to bust my balls.

“I’ll be done in a minute. Just give me another hour or so.”

“We don’t have an hour, Jude. It’s Annamaria’s thirteenth birthday.” Stella scowls, no longer looking pleased to be stuck in a wretched basement with my prisoner. “This is a big one. Don’t make me late for my baby sister’s birthday dinner. I swear, I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

“Kid,” Dom tilts his head over to Marcello before I’m able to say anything. “Think you can give your big brother a hand so we can get a move on?”

Marcello’s face turns blank at Dom’s order, and without hesitation, strides over to Stella to whisper something in her ear. When her smile stretches a mile wide on her face, I know this isn’t going to end well.

“Like I’d ever leave the house without one.” She giggles, retrieving a razor-sharp dagger from a garter latched to her thigh and placing the menacing blade into the palm of my younger brother.

Marcello offers her a curt nod and then turns to me, silently waiting for my go-ahead.

“It’s not like I can stop you, now can I?” I groan, throwing my hands up in the air before walking over to the corner of the room to grab my suit jacket.

“Marcello,” Stella suddenly calls out worriedly, stopping our brother from taking another step. She rushes to him and removes his jacket from him. He then helps her by peeling off his white dress shirt himself, handing it over to her for safe keeping. “Thank you,” she says gratefully once she has most of his clothes in her grip. “Mom would shit a brick if you came to Annamaria’s birthday dinner with blood on you.” She quickly pecks his cheek and then skips over to Dom.

“We’re on a clock here, kid,” Dom says, tapping his wristwatch to drive the point home.

My brother gives him another nod, all the while keeping that same blank expression on his face.

I love Marcello.

Love him more than life itself.

But sometimes, when I look at how he is now, I’m unsure if my baby brother even lives inside the man before me. Not when he switches off his humanity and becomes this…soulless thing.

I stand rooted to my spot as Marcello leans down to murmur something into the Russian’s ear. Igor’s face turns a ghostly shade of white, and before he’s able to utter a word, Marcello slices off his thumb clean, blood promptly spurting every which way. Igor’s cries of pain are ignored as Marcello takes the thumb in his grip and jams it into Igor’s mouth, his screams now replaced by the choking sounds that rip out of him. Marcello’s lips return to Igor’s ear, whispering something again that neither of us is able to hear. But when the Russian begins to cry while chewing on his own thumb, adding two and two together isn’t very hard. With the few teeth he has left, Igor is forced to gobble down his cut-off digit, spitting out the bone while swallowing the rest. My fists clench at my sides when the Russian starts throwing garbled curse words at my brother, his tears still streaking down his fat cheeks. But the minute Marcello directs the dagger to the tip of Igor’s cock, he starts singing like a fucking canary, no longer interested in cursing my brother out.

“Dimitri! It was Dimitri!” he shouts.

Dimitri Mikhailov.

I should have known he’d be behind this.

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