Page 34 of The Mafia King's Stolen Fiancée

“Waiting on you in the back,” he muttered as he greeted me with a clasp of the shoulder and a slap on the back. Then he shifted out of the way so we could enter.

“Bene.”

Mac was right behind me, though the two enforcers he’d brought stayed outside with the men Fox and King had left to guard the building.

Fox led us down a hallway with offices on both sides, then through a large, open area that had rows of shelving with boxes on them.

My phone beeped, and I withdrew it from the pocket of my jeans and read the text. “Alec says they’ve located Chet and should be arriving with him by tomorrow morning,” I announced.

Domenico chuckled. “You’re going to borrow my knife and steal all my fun, aren’t you, DeLuca?” he grumped.

A wicked smile curved my mouth. “I’d hate to go back on my promise.”

Fox glanced back at me with a curious expression, and Domenico gave him a quick explanation of what had transpired between Chet and me when we’d last met.

Mac made a sound that was basically the equivalent of a laugh for him. “Got a little dramatic flair from those Italian genes. Respect that.”

Fox chuckled and yanked open another door, gesturing for us to enter first.

“Rafa,” King drawled in greeting. He was leaning up against the wall to my right, arms crossed and feet braced wide. But he pushed upright when I walked inside, and we did a manly shake as well. “You didn’t show up in the next half hour, I was gonna start without you.”

He was teasing, but not many people would recognize that since there was no crack in the scowl that seemed to be his permanent expression. Unless he was looking at his wife or kid.

“Your patience is appreciated,” I murmured dryly.

Muffled noises came from the center of the room, and I turned to see two men strung up to the ceiling by their hands over their heads. They weren’t fully off the ground, but the chains had been shortened just enough to have them on their toes.

“How long have they been like this?” I queried as I removed my moto-style black leather jacket and tossed it to Domenico before rolling up my sleeves.

“An hour, give or take,” King answered.

“Eccellente.” Their arms wouldn’t be quite numb, but they would be tingling and sensations would be heightened.

I walked over to stand a few feet away from them and crossed my arms over my chest. “Do you know who I am?”

Both of them nodded, looking terrified.

“Then you should know better than to try to take something that belongs to me.”

The smaller man of the two—a skinny, balding weasel with bulging eyes and a large mouth—whimpered like a little bitch. “We didn’t know she was yours! I swear!”

“Domenico?” I called, never taking my cold, intense eyes off the hired goons.

“Sì, boss?”

“Perhaps you should demonstrate what happens to people who lie to me.”

“Con piacere.”

I let Domenico have some fun with his knife, watching dispassionately as they cried and bled. Eventually, I called a halt to it, and he walked over to a table that had a bowl of water and a rag. He dipped the cloth into the liquid and wiped the blade clean, then returned it to his pocket.

“Please,” the taller, even skinner, guy begged. “I’m sorry. We’ll never come anywhere near her again!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Mi dispiace. Did we somehow give you the impression that you would be leaving this place alive?Non ci credo.”

Slowly, I prowled over to the balding one and stopped right in front of him. “Then again,” I murmured objectively. “It might be beneficial to leave one of you alive to spread a warning to anyone who is considering touching something that belongs to the King of the South.”

I grabbed both sides of his nose near the bridge and jerked it sharply to one side, causing it to break.

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