Page 97 of Psycho

“Hadley.”

Now it’s her turning to me with a glare, and I stare back, with the promise in my gaze that she’ll get what she deserves. It has taken us months to get to this point, and my girl has been losing patience, but I want her to have the goddamn closure she needs. I also have some concern that if she doesn’t find out the truth, somewhere in the back of her mind, she’ll think maybe my family did it, and I can’t have that standing between us.

“Talk.”

“We did. My family, and yes, I was part of it. Everything was orchestrated. Meeting her was planned, killing her father, telling her that the Bonettis did it. Danielle’s involvement. Every fucking bit of it. Except Michael. Her getting pregnant was never part of the fucking plan.”

“Danielle?” I question, feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut at the mere mention of her name. Her father is high up in the FBI’s Organized Crime division, so she couldn’t be involved with this.

“It was all staged. Your father being arrested, and her coming clean about feeding her father information to take you down. It was all to divert your attention. We killed Amici, because my father wanted your weapons business.”

Our weapons business, it’s always about the fucking guns.

I grip Hadley a little tighter, running my fingers just up her shirt to feel her skin, while the pain in my chest grows as thoughts of my father filter in.

“How was that going to get our weapons business?”

“It showed that he could not be trusted. If he murdered one of his own men with such callousness, caring nothing about his family, it meant everyone should watch their backs with the Bonettis. The plan was to kill her afterward, in the same manner, but then she got pregnant, and my father wanted to use the baby as leverage.”

I have never looked into the date when he was arrested, never asked when Michael was born, I never fucking asked any of this shit, but now that it’s staring me in the goddamn face, I do.

“Hadley, how old were you when you got pregnant?”

“Fourteen,” she whispers, as if she’s ashamed, but it’s not her that’s causing my blood to fucking boil.

“How old were you?”

I know he’s older than her, but I’m not one hundred percent sure how much older.

“Twenty-four,” he answers, and the bile rises in my throat. She was a goddamn child, and he fucked her. Then he beat her repeatedly, and took her son from her, in the most fucking traumatic way.

“Do your worst, little lamb. I’m going to sit and watch you make him bleed, for everything he has done to you. For your son. Take as much, or as little, time as you want to. This is for you. If you need me, I’ll be here, but this is your stage.”

I kiss her on the cheek, and whisper in her ear, “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Turning to me, she places her hand on my cheek, feeling my beard beneath her fingertips, then rises to her toes and kisses me softly.

“Thank you, Massimo.”

Pressing my palm to her face, I stop her from moving away for a moment.

“Anything for you, little lamb. Fuckinganythingfor you.”

I kiss her softly, and allow her to pull away. Taking a seat, I watch my girl blossom into the woman she is. Fucking stunning.

She pushes the knife into his shoulder, and drags it through his flesh, and his screams echo off the walls, his back arching off the table as he’s wracked with pain. Hadley is calm, collected, and tortures him like she has done it countless times.

Holding the knife in front of his face, she orders him, “Lick.”

“I’m not drinking my own fucking blood,” he hisses through a clenched jaw.

Tilting her head at it, she speaks softly.

“Yes, Carlo, you will. I’m in control now. What is it you used to say to me? Oh right. You brought this on yourself. This is what you deserve, so fucking take it.”

Hearing her, quoting his words back to him, causes me to clench my jaw, as my own murderous rage sets in. I want to jump up and take over, but I can’t. This isn’t about me, it’s about Hadley.

Bianchi licks the knife, and gags at the taste of his blood, so I warn him.

---