Page 150 of The Bad Wedding Date

The man was old. Whatever power he held, it didn’t come from his body, only his wallet and that vile mouth that had spewed the most disgusting words to my mother and now Charlotte. The thought of what he would have done to her had we not got here in time made it hard for me to stick to the plan we had forged—a plan the guys had implemented to keep me out of prison—because right now, I wanted to stay in the back of this limo and take my time tearing Matteo apart. I wanted to break every bone in his body, then torture every muscle until he begged me to slice open every vein beneath his skin and let him bleed out.

I squeezed my fingers tighter, and his eyes grew bloodshot with every passing second.

“Men like you amaze me,” I said. “So brave when looking down on a woman. So self-assured. Cocksure. But when you’re face to face with a real man without one of your guards in front of you, you crumble… just like this. There’s no fight. Nothing. Just brittle bones, bad breath, and rotten skin.” I leaned closer, my nostrils flaring as I spoke through gritted teeth. “I could crush you like a fucking bug, and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

“P-please,” he begged—actuallybegged—his face turning purple as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“Admit it to me.”

“W-hat?” he croaked, grasping at my hands to try and release the pressure.

“Tell me you’re a scumbag.”

“I—”

“Tell me!” I roared, my blood pumping and my heart on fire with destructible rage.

He clawed at my hands one last time before I felt his body slacken in my grip. “I… I’m a sc-scumbag.”

Before his breaths could run out, I released him.

His body sagged like a ragdoll, and the all-powerful Matteo Vega fell apart in front of me, gasping for breath as his hand went to his neck, presumably to make sure I’d left it attached to his body.

When he looked up at me with wide eyes, I lashed out again. My fist connected with his jaw, sending his face flying into the backseat, and then I grabbed the back of his head and slammed it down into my knee, enjoying the sound of something breaking in his face.

All those women.

All those days, weeks, months, years, and lives he’d ruined for no other reason than he could.

He didn’t deserve me sticking to the plan.

He deserved to die.

When he fell to the floor of the limo in agony, I straightened my tie down over my shirt and rolled my shoulders back. I’d never needed willpower like I needed it now, and it took everything in me not to end his life right there, but death would be too easy for a man like him. I wanted every single one of his living days to be spent with him writhing in internal pain, just like my mother’s had been.

I reached over to grab him by the collar, and then I opened the car door to drag his beaten-up body out of the limo, dumping it on the pavement next to his men with an almighty thud that sent Joey, Dean’s, and Ray’s eyes over to me as I slammed the door shut and straightened out my suit.

“Is he dead?” Dean asked, toeing Matteo’s torso, only for him to groan in pain. “I guess not.”

Seeing Wade standing by the entrance to Henry’s Bar with my woman in his arms made my stomach churn.

“He’s going to wish he was,” I muttered to Dean before I gave the men a nod that signalled for them all to collect their victims. It was time for everyone to see the real Matteo Vega—the one that existed in the privacy of his own home.

Picking him up by the scruff of his neck, I dragged him over to the bar and pushed through the door, with Dean and Joey in tow with their men. Wade, not far behind with Charlotte in his arms. Ray stayed outside, manning the entrance. He never had been a fan of the dramatics.

Matteo’s feet struggled to keep up with my confident strides, and blood dripped down onto the floor as I pushed him forward through the small crowd until everyone turned to realise who I had in my grip… and the beaten-up state of his face.

Henry’s Bar turned silent, and for a few seconds, you could have heard a pin drop.

A few gasps and cries of horror rang out, followed by a surge of four or five security guards rushing forward to no doubt try and take me and my team out. As the first of the guards came towards me, something made him stop when he saw the look on my face, and he held out his arms to halt his men before he looked over to where Charlotte’s mother and father were standing at the bar.

Those men were nothing but hired help. They saw it in our eyes: we were born to fight.

I glanced over to Charlotte’s parents.

Laurie’s eyes were wide with shock, and she had a delicate hand over her mouth, as though Matteo were the victim, and I were the brute, but one look at Mitchell, and I knew he knew better than to think that of me.

His request for me to keep Charlotte safe at the wedding echoed through my mind.

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