Page 4 of Merciless Oath

It only takes two seconds for my hand to wrap around his throat. He coughs, sputtering blood all over my white shirt. Hiseyes bug out, and I squeeze harder. I lower my face as close to his as I dare, with all the bloodshed, and stare into his eyes.

It’s not him I see anymore. It’s my father. I grab onto that rage, protect it, keep it close to my chest.

“I’m going to ask one more time,” I growl, my other hand expertly pulling a gun from my holster and sliding the cool metal against his temple. “Who do you work for?”

Something shifts in his eyes, and his skin pales beneath the dried blood. His lip trembles as my fingers relax a little, letting him take a shallow breath. When he doesn’t speak, I cock the gun.

“The Aventuras,” he chokes out, shrinking back from the barrel. “Please, I have a wife… and a son… please.”

All of my built-up rage evaporates in an instant, and my shoulders lose their tension.He has a family. What the hell am I doing?

“Enzo,” Rafael’s voice warns behind me.

“Please don’t shoot me,” the man begs, sensing that my conscience just joined the chat.

I recall Rafael’s first lesson in intimidation tactics. “Never, ever believe anything that comes out of their mouth right before you pull the trigger. They’ll tell you anything to get you to crack. Never crack.”

I gnash my teeth together so hard that a shot of pain slices through my jaw. My finger rests lightly on the trigger. I take a breath and count:one, two, three.

The shot goes off, and the man slumps in his bound position on the chair. I drop the gun, sinking to my knees as his blood seeps onto the cement floor around me.

Rafael’s warm hand lands gently on my shoulder as I struggle to take a full breath. “The first one is always the hardest.”

I nod and pull myself up off the floor, reeling the emotions back in. We’ve been in training mode for six months now, working hard to get me ready for the transition.

I’ve perfected my shooting and knife skills. I can also fight without a weapon fairly well now.

But killing someone? That wasn’t a test I’d been looking forward to passing.

“Burgers?” Rafael whispers lightly, and I choke out a laugh. He knows how difficult this is for me, how out of my nature killing is, but his unwavering belief in me brings tears to my eyes.

“You’re paying,” I remind him, following him out of the bloody room. Some of the younger Romano family members are already waiting in the hallway, ready to clean up our mess.

Later that night, after too many burgers and even more bourbon, I stumble into my penthouse, exhausted. I drag myself into the shower, desperate to wash the day off my skin, but the knowledge of what I did has seeped into my bones.

After far too much time scrubbing under the scalding water, my skin feels raw and tender. I towel dry in front of the mirror as my reflection stares back at me. It’s the same me as this morning—before I killed a man.

Same unruly wavy brown hair, the same stupid diving board scar in my eyebrow. I flex my muscles, watching the watercolor-style tattoos across my chest and abdomen ripple. Tattoos that Rafael’s wife, Lux, says make me look like I belong in the Louvre, not the gritty mafia underworld.

After briefly contemplating another drink, I make the wise decision to head to bed instead. I would never want my mother’s downfall to become mine, so I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Memories of that man’s face right before I pulled the trigger claw their way into my brain. I groan with frustration, desperate to shut them out.

Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts.

Instantly, I remember the feeling of her slim, pale legs wrapped around my torso. If I try hard enough, I can smell her silky ebony hair as it tickles my nose and caresses my neck. The memory of her deep blue eyes locked on mine and half-lidded in pleasure sends a hot flush across my body.

Valentina. My forever favorite happy thought—and late-night fantasy.

Her sweet, tinkling laugh replays on a loop in my mind. The memory of my hands gripping her delicate hips makes me groan, and all thoughts of cold-blooded killing are replaced with images of Valentina’s lips spreading soft kisses across my chest.

She’s the reason I’m doing this. I’ll kill a thousand more faceless, nameless men if it’ll make me good enough for her.

CHAPTER TWO

Enzo

Six months later.

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