Page 57 of Scandalous Kingpin
“We don’t want your money.”Punch.“I’m here to settle the score.”Punch.“Remember me, Father Gabriel?”
He was on the ground, swishing in blood smeared with his spit, those beady black pools locked on me. His eyes widened in terror.
“Christian…” He choked on his words. “DiLustro.”
I smiled viciously.
“Forgive me, Father, for I’m about to sin.” My voice was cold, seeping from the depths of my soul. He was on all fours like thefucking cockroach he was. I kicked his ribs, making him cower and draw his hands up by his ears. “You should say your prayers now, Father. Tonight, you’ll feel the icy grip of death.”
I kicked him in the balls with all my strength.
He hunched over, vomiting blood and holding on to his groin.
“You won’t be needing your cock anymore,” I drawled, pulling out a knife from my ankle holster.
He stared up at me with bleary, unfocused eyes. “Wh-what?” It was only then that he saw my wife sitting casually at the table in the rectory. “Ti prego, aiutami.” Help me.
He reared back when I elbowed him in the mouth. “Don’t look at my wife, you sick fucking pervert.”
Ivy smiled, drumming her dainty fingernails against the wooden surface of the table. “Christian, love, make sure you let me know if you need my help. I’d love nothing more than to peel this poor excuse of a man’s skin back, inch by inch.”
Fuck, I was in love.
Father Gabriel crawled away from me, attempting to hide underneath the table. He reached for Ivy’s leg, as if to beg her for mercy, but before he could touch her, I grabbed him and punched him so hard, he went flying across the floor.
“Don’t you dare touch my wife with your filthy hands,” I hissed and gripped his throat. His eyes bulged as I snarled into his face. “Now, fuckingpray.”
He swallowed violently, trembling as he looked up at me, his face ashen.
“P-please…” he choked, staring at me with undiluted terror.
My hand clamped hard around his throat, squeezing until his eyes rolled back in his head. “I didn’t hear you pray, Father.”
He squealed again as I grabbed the back of his robe and hauled him up, dragging him out of the rectory and into thenave, a part of the church similar to the one where I spent hours praying under the watchful eye of this sicko.
None of my prayers were answered. Father Gabriel’s wouldn’t be either.
Chapter Twenty-Six
IVY
Crunch of bones. Flaying of flesh. Whimpered prayers.
Just as I entered the nave, his confession echoed through the hollow church.
“I… It wasn’t my fault,” Father Gabriel pleaded, voice trembling. “She insisted. She told me it was God’s will. You were a child of sin. You were too much of a temptation.”
“I’m going to make you regret the day you were born.” Christian’s voice was sharp as a whip.
Father Gabriel’s face twisted into something ugly, revealing the predator we already knew he was. “It was your fault. She was right about you, you are the devil’s spawn.” My chest twisted with disgust at this sick bastard. If Christian let him live, I’d be sure to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. “Blame Vittoria. Blameyourself. You should have been born disfigured, the child of sin.”
Christian’s expression shuttered, pain he’d worked so hard to hide, plain as day. He breathed harshly, his chest rising and falling so fast I worried he’d succumb to an anxiety attack. I took several steps, stopping a small distance away, afraid I’d trigger him if I got any closer.
“You’re not ugly.” My voice was thick with emotion, hoping to get through to him. “And you’re not a child of sin. None of this is on you. It’s on him. We reap what we sow, Christian. When he dies, nothing will save him. Not his prayers. Not his God.”
The priest laughed, the sound grating in the otherwise quiet space. “But I’ll wait for you in hell, my boy.”
Christian lifted a chair and brought it down on Father Gabriel’s head, his cries echoing against the washed-out mosaics. The old wood splintered into pieces and he fell limp between the pews, his head sticking out at an awkward angle, stained with blood.
