Page 75 of Cage the Storm
Christ. They’re cockroaches.
I empty the clip. Reload. Empty again. Bodies are piling up by the entryway. Still, they come. A round grazes my bicep; another buries in the wall behind me.
Then a shadow detaches from the ceiling, and the butt of a rifle crashes into my temple. I go down hard, my vision swimming. Boots pin my arms, and a familiar face looms: Vittorio, Luna’s uncle, his gold tooth gleaming. “Papa D’Angelo sends his regards.”
I lunge, but a needle pierces my neck. Ice floods my veins.
Gunshots, a scream, and my blood turns cold.
Luna.
Through the haze, they haul her downstairs, her pregnancy on full display. She’s biting, kicking, fighting, and her scream splinters into a sob. “Nico, they’re—” A glove smothers her mouth. My pulse soars. Her eyes lock on mine.
I try to roar, but nothing comes out. My throat locks, my limbs dead weight. I thrash, useless, as they drag her away, kicking, screaming, her voice shredding the air.
I can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t reach her. They hurl her into the black van like she’s nothing. Like she’s not my entire goddamn world! Vittorio crouches beside me, his breath hot against my ear. He pats my cheek like I’m a child.
“Don’t worry. We’ll keep the kid. Family first, eh?”
I try to lunge, but my body doesn’t cooperate. The world slowly disappears, and Luna’s name is the last thing I hold onto.
When I try to open my eyes, everything happens in slow motion. My focus comes in waves, and the shadows distort unnaturally. The overhead light is too bright and hums too loudly. The ground beneath me feels shaky, even though I’m not moving. My stomach twists. I blink. Once. Twice. I force myself to focus.
Then I see her. Across the room, tied to a chair, wrists bound, mouth gagged. My wife. Mypregnantwife.
The fog disappears, and I growl, but when I try to stand, my body protests. And that’s when I realize they’ve stripped me to the waist and bolted me to a warped wooden board. The leather restraints with their jagged edges grinding into my flesh. The bastards are using my own torture tactics against me!
“Watch closely,figlia,” Papa D’Angelo purrs. “This is what happens to men who kill my only heir.” He points to Vittorio, who swings a crowbar like a batter warming up.
Crack.
The first rib goes. White heat explodes in my chest. I bite into the gag, copper flooding my tongue.
Luna’s scream is muffled by the cloth stuffed in her mouth. No!
Vittorio grins. “Too quiet,stronzo.” He rips the gag off. “Let her hear you beg.”
Papa D’Angelo backhands her. “Silence.You’ve pushed me to the limit.”
Crack.
Another rib. I arch against the board, a guttural roar tearing loose. “Luna. . .”
Her father rips the gag from her mouth, and she screams, “Nico!” Luna strains against her ropes, voice fraying. “Look at me.Marito, look at me.”
I force my gaze to hers. Her eyes are wild. Unbroken. Unbreakable. My throat burns as I fight to breathe. “Let her fucking go, D’Angelo,” I snarl through the pain.
Vittorio discards the crowbar. Selects a pair of needle-nose pliers. “Let’s see how a traitor’s bones sing.”
He crushes my pinkie finger first. The snap is obscenely crisp. I don’t scream. He takes the ring finger next. Then the middle.
Luna’s sobbing now, ragged and rageful. “I’ll kill you. I’ll feast on yourfuckinghearts—” Papa D’Angelo backhands her again, blood pearls on her lip.
“You’ll watch. Then you’ll thank me for purging his filth from your veins.”
He signals Vittorio. Two thugs tip the board backward until I’m inverted. A bucket of brine sloshes nearby.
Waterboarding.
