Page 76 of The Bonventi War
Frank's eyes are wide, panicked. "Please, I had no choice—they would have killed me."
"So you gave them your daughter instead?" My voice is barely human. "You let them put their hands on her while you just fucking watched!"
I glance around the workspace, spotting a metal tool on Raven's workbench—a sharp, pointed pick she uses for restoration. I release Frank's throat just long enough to grab it, then slam him back against the wall.
"Wait!" he pleads, hands raised. "I'm her father?—"
"No," I growl. "You lost that right."
I grab his wrist, pinning his hand to the wall. He struggles, but I'm stronger, fueled by a rage I've never known before. Not just my usual controlled violence—this is personal.
"Ravenna!" Frank cries out. "Please!"
I turn to look at her. She stands frozen, her bruised face wet with tears, but her eyes—those blue eyes—are hard as ice, and her face is firm.
I turn back to Frank. "She's not going to help you anymore."
With one swift movement, I drive the metal pick through his palm and into the wall behind it. There's a slight pause, and then his screams fill my ears.
Blood streams down the wall as Frank howls, his body squirming in agony. He's pinned like an insect, hand impaled, unable to escape.
His eyes dart wildly to his daughter. "Ravenna, please—I'm sorry?—"
"Stop speaking to her! She's not going to save you from what I'm about to do to you," I say firmly as I lean into his ear so he can hear me over his yells.
"Ravenna!"
She takes a step forward, and for a moment, I think she might intervene, try and stop me. Instead, she meets his gaze coldly.
"First, you sold me to cover your fuck-ups," she says, her voice shaky but confident. "Then, you brought them to me. Invited them into the gallery, and you watched as they beat me. Took me. Your own daughter."
She stops talking and just shakes her head, tears gently falling down her soft skin.
I press my forearm against his throat, cutting off his oxygen just enough to make him struggle. "You think the Russians were bad? They're amateurs compared to what the Bonventis do to people who cross us."
"I didn't mean—" he chokes.
I slam his head against the wall. "Don't fucking lie to me. You meant it. You handed her over to save yourself."
His eyes dart frantically between me and Raven. Blood continues to run down his arm from his impaled hand, dripping onto the floor.
"The only reason," I say, pressing the barrel of my gun under his chin, "you're still breathing is because I want information. Who's behind this? Names. Now."
"I only dealt with Mikhail Petrov," he gasps. "He's their enforcer. Takes orders from Viktor Sokolov."
The names solidify in my mind. Targets. Dead men.
"Where do you meet them? Where were they taking Raven?"
His face contorts in pain. "Warehouse, east side… number fourteen on Dockside Row."
I lean in. "If you're lying to me," I say, twisting the metal pick, and he screams again.
"I swear!" he whimpers. "Please, Ravenna?—"
"Don't say her name," I hiss. "Don't even look at her."
Raven walks up to us, her face pale but composed despite the bruising. She stands beside me now.
