Page 55 of Tortured Hearts
“Don’t…” I crush my wrist against my chest, the words I should say drowning in a lifetime of red. “Don’t show mercy.”
The look he gives me is so detached Iwonder if he even heard me. Then a slow smile spreads across his face, brutality coating every inch. “I never do.”
Chapter Seventeen
GIANNI
Iwalk in darkness to the delivery entrance of the dilapidated two-story building. Contrary to Anton’s “exterior versus interior” cliché, the Chop House isn’t a smokescreen. It’s simply a shithole that should've been condemned years ago.
Then again, line the right palms and eyes will turn.
The rusted door groans as I swing it open. Instead of rushing inside, I move in silence, letting adrenaline fuel my bloodlust. Once the coppery perfume hits my nose, I smile.
Anton is standing next to the guest of honor, his arms stained red. As usual, there’s not a hint of expression on his face. If it weren’t for the dripping blade in his hand, I wouldn’t be able to tell if he was about to commit murder or make a sandwich.
I stop and tilt my head. Henry hangs limply against the wall, his arms chained to the beam above his head. I take amoment to admire Anton’s savage artistry. He’s carved the wordinfamedeep into his forehead. Impressive work for such a short amount of time…
And messy. Head wounds bleed like a motherfucker.
“Is he alive?”
Anton shrugs. “For now.”
I slap our guest’s cheek. “Wake up, Henry. We’re going to play a game.”
He lifts his head, his eyes widening. “Gianni? What the fuck?”
I’m so glad he asked.
I unbutton my cuffs and roll up my sleeves. “‘The fuck’ is that I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to answer them.”
“You call that a game?”
“In here we do.” I gesture around the empty warehouse. “Welcome to The Chop House, where there’s only one rule—mine.” Stepping closer, I smile darkly. “So if I think you’re lying, you lose a body part. We’ll start with something simple like your fingers. Keep lying, and I’ll cut off a more important and”—I lower my gaze to where he’s pissed himself already—“apparently smaller appendage. Are we clear?”
Most men cry and beg by this point. Clearly, I’ve underestimated him.
“Marcello will destroy you for this,” he says, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth from what I now see are a series of full-throttle punches. “I’m part of his inner circle.”
“Think so?”
“I’ve proven my loyalty. I’m the one who sent his son crawling to his own funeral.”
Anton shoots me a pointed look. Even with anger boiling in my veins, I can read his unspoken warning.“Let him dig his own grave.”
AlthoughI want to punch this asshole’s ticket to Hell now, I know he’s right. The more information we get, the higher our hand will be when it’s time to reveal it.
“Well then, Starling—Saddler—whatever the hell you’re calling yourself these days… Consider this a baptism by blood.” I extend my palm, never breaking eye contact. Within seconds it’s filled with the heavy grip of my favorite meat cleaver. “You want to be part of this world…? Then know that a truemafiosodoesn’t hide his sins like a little bitch. Inside these walls, he stands by his actions.” I give the cleaver a practiced spin. “Then again, I told my father you don’t have what it takes.”
“Fuck you.”
“The manners on this one…” Holding the blade steady, I side-eye Anton.“What do you think?”
“I think you should’ve let me put a bullet in his head an hour ago,” he mutters, moving beside me. Glaring, he backhands Henry, sending his cheek crashing into the wall. “Show some fucking respect. He’s the heir to the throne, not some errand boy, youcoglione.”
Henry scowls, his head wobbling from the hit.
I click my tongue. “That sounded like it hurt.”
