Page 82 of Burning Beauty

The tears that Inez had been holding back started to flow. "You've never said that to me before."

Maria was shocked, then she realized that Inez was right, she'd never apologized for killing her child. Even if it wasn't her fault, she was sorry it happened. She was sorry an entire family, an entire community, had suffered.

"I'm so, so sorry Inez. If I could go back, if I could rewind the clock, I would never have picked that knife up. I would've found another way to resolve his anger."

Inez swiped her hand in the air. "No, child, if you hadn't picked up the knife, he might've killed you." She turned a tear-stained face to Maria. "We loved you too. When it was all over, and you were put under arrest for killing Marc, it tore our hearts out. It was like losing two children. I didn't know how to direct my anger, so I directed it at you." Inez looked away. "Like mother, like son I suppose."

"It doesn't matter," Maria said, all the terrible feelings she'd had toward this woman melting away in the face of a mother who was truly suffering. "We can't go back. But we can remember, and I try to always remember the best of Marc. His love for his family... for me."

"Thank you," Inez whispered. "You are too generous with your forgiveness, considering all these years you have spent away from your home because of us."

Maria didn't need that particular reminder. She might be ready to let the past go but forgiving the past five years was another matter. Instead of hashing it out though, she offered Inez an olive branch. "It's turned out okay for me, I'm happy now." Mostly. But she didn't add that part. She really didn't want to get into her relationship with Nic with her dead fiancé’s mother.

"Come," Inez said standing and using her firm voice. "Let us go and make some tortillas together. You used to enjoy spending time in my kitchen. It is time for us to become reacquainted."

Chapter Forty-Six

"Hold him," Nic instructed Luke.

"Let's talk!" Franco protested, going down to his knees when Luke gave him a good shove. "I can give you everything I took. Your contacts won't talk to me anyway. No big deal, man."

Nic was sick of Franco, from the top of his stupid mohawk to his questionable fashion choices, and his nasally whine. He nodded toward Luke. "Cut out his tongue." He watched with pleasure as the little weasel was pinned down by a couple of their men, his tongue yanked out of his mouth and sliced clean off. The old ways really were better. Cutting out the tongue, the necktie, cement shoes. There was a certain kind of charm to the retro methods.

"You think that was smart," Mercer asked from beside Nic. "He could've told you where the girl was taken."

King sent Mercer to help Nic retrieve his missing woman, since it was a lapse in their security that allowed her to be taken. Sitnikov had also provided his number one enforcer, Boris Grekov. Nic had been hesitant in accepting the help. He worked alone, he didn't have friends, didn't like people in his business. But with Maria in Franco's hands, he realized he could use all the support being offered. They could pool resources, move fast, show the underworld the combined power of a DeLuca, Sitnikov and King alliance. Hell, he should add Mercer's name to that list. Even though he worked for King, he was a force unto himself.

"Doesn't need his tongue to write down a location for me," Nic replied, watching dispassionately as Franco was set back on his feet, a steady stream of blood and saliva leaving his mouth. He was sobbing in pain and shock.

Nic stepped up to him and gave him a sharp slap to the cheek. "Am I right, friend?" he asked. "You can still tell me where my woman was taken. You don't need to lose more body parts, eh?"

Franco nodded frantically, his tears coming faster now.

"I can tell you."

Nic looked around with a raised brow, his attention focusing on Ronson, Franco's big bodyguard. The man who'd touched Maria. "Didn't I promise you retribution for putting hands on my woman?"

Ronson backed up, shaking his head and holding his hands up. He smacked into Boris, who at 6'7" towered over every person in the room, including Ronson. Boris grabbed the other man by the collar and shook him so hard his teeth rattled. "Stop crying like baby," the giant Russian instructed. "Take retribution like man."

"I don't want to die," Ronson begged and Franco gurgled something similar.

"You won't," Nic assured him. "Yet."

Touching Maria had been a death sentence, Ronson just hadn't understood at the time how serious Nic had been. The swiftness of his death depended on the next few minutes and how much information he was willing to give up.

Nic reached into his suit jacket and pulled his Ruger from his holster. "Hold him for me, hand out." He looked around. "On the countertop."

Boris and Mercer hauled Ronson over to the counter. He howled and bucked in protest. Boris took his arm and forced his hand onto the countertop, palm down. Nic placed the muzzle of his gun against the back of Ronson's hand.

"I'll tell you anything, just please don't shoot me," Ronson begged.

"Good," Nic said and shot him. Boris was smart enough to pull his hand back and they all turned their faces away as the bullet hit the counter, shattering the marble.

Ronson screamed and pulled his mangled, bleeding hand into his chest. The damage was extensive, not just from the bullet, but from the marble chips flying up to embed in his hand. Nic took note, marble was a good way to go if you wanted maximum damage.

"The other one," he commanded.

"No!" Ronson screamed, putting in real effort to get away now that he knew how much a bullet through the hand hurt.

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