Page 73 of Bastard Prince
Unfortunately, he was also greedy and narcissistic, believing that the world owed him everything simply because of his last name. He was also brazen and ruthless enough to do just about anything to get what he wanted. Even if that meant offering up his own brother as a scapegoat.
“Well,” Anderson dragged the word out, adding a dramatic slow clap, “it took you fucking long enough, that’s for sure. I thought I was gonna have to spell it out for you.”
“When?” I asked, my anger at the cost of my uncle’s treachery rising with every breath I took. “When did you recruit him into your operation to take out the De Marco Family?”
“Oh, Francesca.” She shook her head in mock sadness. “We didn’t recruit that slimy piece of shit. He reached out to us. He’s been working with the Bureau long before I came on the scene.” I knew my face showed my shock, but I couldn’t even begin to think about controlling it. My grandfather’s words from just weeks ago were rolling around in my head.
I swore to them that there was no way a De Marco had turned rat.
All this time, he had been looking for an outside source to explain the trouble the Family had faced—businesses raided, shipments going missing—and all along it had been his very own son who had sold him out.
I desperately wanted to get my hands on Silvio De Marco. I’d show him the price of his betrayal.
One fingernail at a time.
“Yes, he’s been selling secrets and buying favors for well over a decade. All he ever wanted was to be the head of the De Marco family. He tried everything to make it happen.” Anderson sighed, as if recalling a fond memory. “Of course, some of his moves were better executed than others.” Leveling her bland stare on me, she licked her lips, almost as if she was anticipating the words that were about to leave her mouth, and I braced myself for what she could possibly have to say. “Your mother, for example.”
My ears buzzed, spots danced in my vision, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Staggering backward, my ass landed on the edge of the desk, the legs squealing as the force of my collapse sent the thing sliding across the concrete.
My mother. Silvio had killed my mother.
I clenched my eyes shut, my mind flooding with memories that I had tried so hard to forget.
The sound of my sneakers on the hospital floor as I walked the halls, waiting for her to get out of surgery.
My father’s face when he’d received the news that she hadn’t survived.
The sadness in his eyes when he’d told me that neither she nor my brother would be coming home.
I now knew that he had hid Antonio for fear that another attempt would be made on his life. My father had told no one of his deception, and now—finally—I could understand. Somehow, Giovanni De Marco had known that the threat was closer than anyone else would have ever guessed. He may have lied to me, but from where I presently stood, it looked like his lie was ultimately the thing that had saved my brother’s life.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Anderson said, coming to stand before me, her face so close to mine I could count her pores. “It’s not like you mafia wives had exceptionally long lifespans to begin with. Silvio probably saved her a lot of heartache. After all, her husband was either going to cheat on her repeatedly or wind up dead.” She pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “I guess prison was another likely option, and look how that turned out.”
Running her finger up my cheek, Anderson then held it up between us, and I was shocked to see moisture on the tip.
I was crying, and I hadn’t even noticed.
She stared at my teardrop on her finger for a second before placing her finger in her mouth and sucking on it with a soft moan.
“You know,” she said, her sour breath blowing across my face, “I have wanted to taste your tears for a long time, Francesca. I always suspected that your pain would be exceptionally flavorful.” She reached for my face again, and I turned away, but trapped as I was against the desk, and without the use of my arms, there wasn’t really anywhere for me to go. Pinching my cheeks in her claw like grip, I cringed as Anderson extended her tongue and ran it slowly up my face, humming in satisfaction as she lapped up my sorrow.
“Exquisite.”
I had never hated anyone more than I hated Special Agent Caroline Anderson in that moment.
So I felt absolutely no remorse when I snatched my chin out of her grip, reared back, and then head-butted her right in her fucking face.
I reveled in the sickening crunching sound her nose made as it collapsed beneath my forehead.
Shrieking, she stepped back, allowing me the freedom to get away, and I shuffled around to put the desk between us, blinking away the stars in my eyes that the move had caused.
“You fuckingwhore!” she roared, the sound muffled by the fact that air was no longer able to escape her smashed nose. Forced to breathe through her mouth, and with blood running down her face in a steady stream, she looked like a ghoulish villain in a horror film. “You filthy, stinking, fucking bitch!” She started around the desk after me, and I crab walked sideways, my cuffed hands pressed against the wall as I moved. I was searching for the doorknob, the one that would let me out of this room and take me back to Enzo, but I refused to take my eyes off the monstrous woman currently stalking my every move. “I should have just killed you myself when I had the chance. But no, Eric wouldn’t let you out of his sight. He wasobsessedwith you! The little mafia princess, all innocent in her frumpy clothes and pearl necklaces.” She spat a mouthful of blood on the floor, her pace not slowing. “Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to fuck you up?” Reaching behind her, Anderson withdrew her duty weapon from her heinous polyester slacks, waving it around as she flailed her arms. “What the fuck is it aboutyouthat has perfectly reasonable men panting like dogs?”
Unable to look away from the spectacular trainwreck that was unfolding before me, I missed the stack of old newspapers that had been tossed haphazardly against one wall. When my foot landed on it, the whole thing slid out from under me, and I stumbled, forced to look at the floor to regain my footing.
It was a move that cost me.
