Page 60 of Ruthless Mafia Boss 3: Vino and Claire

Glancing at my watch, I ambled over to the gun case on the wall, my fingertips trailing over the cold metal bar, unlocking the case. I’d let Claire sleep a little longer, just enough time to scope out the situation in the meat locker and even whip up dinner later. I grabbed the sleek, black leather holster hanging inside, slung it over my broad shoulders, and stuffed two Glocks inside before shutting the cabinet. Without missing a beat, I followed Glacier out the front door.

He slid behind the wheel of the Bighorn Explorer, and I jumped into the passenger seat as he roared off toward the meat locker. I couldn’t wait to get back to Claire, but duty called.

Stepping into the meat locker, a sudden, icy chill ran through me. “What do we have here?” I snickered.

A muscled man sat in a wooden chair, his hands and ankles bound with his head drooping between his shoulder blades. His body shivering uncontrollably in nothing but a pair of boxers—was he asleep, or had he been knocked unconscious? I planted my booted foot on his muscular leg. “Wake the fuck up,” I barked.

I took in three of my bodyguards in heavy winter coats, their stern faces silhouetted against the hanging meat. I slipped on a pair of leather gloves and asked, “Glacier, where did you find him?”

He replied coolly, “In the Romano territory. He was fleeing the scene of the burning buildings he set on fire.”

I nodded. “I just talked to Vincent about the fire.”?Glacier continued, “He wanted to send this asshole as a gift. A surprise package, if you will.”

A smirk hit my lips. “It’s a welcomed surprise.”

I picked up a crowbar from a table nearby and swung it, catching the man’s arm with a heavy thud.

“Ah!” he screamed, his body convulsing in pain.

“Your boss keeps sending you guys to your death. What kind of boss does that? Not a very good one,” I said.

My brows furrowed with raw anger. “I’m sick of you assholes coming into my city and demolishing everything the Romanos built, all because your boss is fucking greedy.”

The man grunted, teeth chattering, “He’s coming for you next.”

Rage surged through me, and I raised the crowbar, hammering it repeatedly into his arms and legs. The sharp scent of copper filled the air as blood poured down his body. “I’m waiting for that motherfucker,” I roared, white puffs of smoke curling from my lips. “Better yet, I’m coming for his ass.”

Just as I swung the crowbar down on his head, causing blood to splatter all over me, I caught a glimpse of someone from the corner of my eye. I turned to my left. There she was, wearing a different t-shirt that stopped at her knees. My basketball shorts hung just below her knees, and a pair of my socks covered her feet.

She hugged herself tightly, shivering, her eyes wide and fixed on the bloody figure in the chair. “Glacier, finish him,” I instructed, placing the crowbar in his gloved hand. I walked over to the doorway and stopped in front of her, blocking her view.

“I still don’t know you,” she murmured.

“Look at me,” I commanded. After a beat, she met my gaze. “Do you think I’d hurt you?” I asked, my voice low with sincerity.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I want to believe you wouldn’t. But I don’t know…” she whispered. Despite her uncertainty, her hand softly traced the side of my face, and for a moment, I closed my eyes.

“Claire, remember: I don’t hurt women and children,” I said firmly.

I peered at her. “Gorgeous, I wouldn’t harm you.”

Claire shook her head like she wanted to believe what I said was true. But how could she, when she’d been physically abused?

“I need to wash my hands and burn my clothes. You can come with me or wait in the ATV.”

“I’ll come with you,” she replied.

“Claire, at least put on a coat.” I jutted my chin to the row of coats hanging on the wall.

She grabbed one and shrugged it on. We walked deeper into the meat locker to my clean up area.

Claire observed as I washed my gloves and face, watching the crimson blood swirl down the drain. Afterward, I took off my cargo pants and shirt, tossing them into a barrel. I added lighter fluid, struck a match, and tossed it onto my clothes. The flames, orange and blue, consumed the fabric. “This is your life,” she murmured. “It’s so different from mine.”

“This part of my life doesn’t have to involve you. We happen to be at one of my safe houses for the weekend where I torture my enemies.”

Claire’s fingers brushed against my cold abs. “I hate myself for having feelings for you.”

I ignored her words, knowing she was in shock. In time, she would adjust to our life.

---