Page 12 of Dove

“Don’t be ridiculous,father.”The disrespect was heavy in my tone. “We both know you’re not going to kill me here. What a mess you’d have to clean off your desk.”

I shifted in my seat, running my fingertips along the polished surface, leaving a smudge behind. His jaw clenched; his rage at my indifference evident, but the gun never wavered in his hand.

I had no doubt he could kill me if he wanted to. But if that were truly the plan, we would’ve met somewhere else. Where disposing of my body would be easy. Somewhere away from my sister. All of this was just for show. An attempt to assert his dominance. To instill fear in me.

“I am an asset. I know more about our enemies….” A smirk crossed my face as I tapped the wood. “And our friends than anyone else. We both know information is power.”

“Strength is power.” He shot back. I inclined my head slightly in agreement.

“Of course. But information can wound almost as easily as a bullet. Information such as how Carmine Gallo became the head of his family.” I saw the flash of fear in my father’s eyes. “Or how a large sum of money was deposited into a Swiss bank account under my mother’s name. I wonder how a dead woman could open a foreign bank account.”

He’d made a mistake when he’d aligned himself with Carmine. If the other capos found out he’d helped him gain the power that Carmine was now using to try and take us down, they’d see my father as a traitor. We don’t involve ourselves in each other’s businesses except with a formal contract. Like the one Alessandra would sign for her marriage. Backhanded deals are punishable by death.

“If you died, that information would die with you.” His jaw clenched as he stared at me. The gun still pointed in my direction.

Maybe I should feel something as he threatens my life. He is my father. But I don’t. I had no feelings of attachment to him. He’d given me his name, his power, and I enjoyed it.

But he’d also benefited from having me as a son. A soulless monster that had gotten rid of countless enemies for him. I made people fear the Vancini name, and until now, no one had dared to question our strength.

“Would it. Or have my men been instructed to send a package to every capo detailing your involvement with Carmine… if I died.” I smiled, relaxing back in my chair again.

He stared for another moment. I saw him considering his options. Wondering if I was ruthless enough to effectively end his life. His jaw worked back and forth, undoubtedly trying to find a way out. An excuse for his actions. A way to explain what he’d done so he could kill me. If he had any reservations before, he didn’t now. Keeping me alive was a risk, but a risk he would have to take. I’d left him no option.

He lowered his weapon in defeat. He cleared his throat as he straightened in his seat. “You’re right. You have been an asset to the family. I’d hate to kill my own son.

I gave myself a moment to enjoy the victory. The power. The strength. Before I stood, looking down at him. I wanted him to feel the shift between us. The dynamic that had always been there, but he was now being forced to recognize.

“Glad that’s settled.” I started towards the door but stilled when a thought occurred to me. Could you have taken her? Was he the rat? I spoke over my shoulder. I didn’t need to look at him for my threat to land. “And if I find out you had anything to do with what happened to Kincaid… you’ll wish I’d given you to the capos.”

Satisfied he understood his place, I quickly exited the house. I had one more stop tonight. One that would hopefully calm the rage running through my veins.

* * *

I unbuttoned my cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt as I watched Bash spray the unconscious man. The toes of his feet scraped the floor as he tried to twist away from the icy cold blast. His wrists were bound to the ceiling by chains as he dangled helplessly. The sounds of his wet chokes danced along my skin, making me smirk in excitement.

My little dove was still recovering. Because of this man, I couldn’t have the pleasure I really wanted. Instead, I would find it in his torment. I gave Bash a slight nod, and the water cut off. The slow drip as it ran down his body would live in his nightmares as it did hers.

The man’s stringy black hair fell over his beady eyes. His white shirt was plastered to his round stomach. Disgust rolled through me as I looked at him, knowing he’d touched Kincaid. Hurt her.

I ignored him as I addressed Bash. “Did you send their heads to the Gallos?”

My captive’s face paled as he realized what we were talking about. As the reality of his situation pressed down on him.

“Delivered this morning.” Bash nodded. I should’ve enjoyed the idea of Carmine opening the box and seeing the faces of the men he’d sent after Kincaid, but I didn’t. Not when what they’d done to her couldn’t be so easily erased.

“I-I didn’t know what she was to you.” He gasped. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I swear.”

My steps were careful as I walked to the table Bash had readied for me. The warehouse was deserted for miles. It gave me the freedom to work without interruption. The sound of the bay outside was barely audible over his pathetic words of pleading. Being close to the water was convenient when we needed to get rid of his body. Chopping someone up and feeding them to fish had become a stereotype for a reason. It wasn’t a bad way to dispose of evidence.

Before me sat everything I could possibly want to use. Knives in various sizes called to me. It was usually my preferred method. Nothing was more dissatisfying than a slow kill. There were also pliers, a screwdriver, and a hammer. But it was the match and cigarettes that caught my attention tonight. I picked up the small box then moved to stand in front of my captive.

The water had done nothing to cover his stench; stale cigarettes and desperation. I pushed the box slightly, revealing the sticks inside. I took my time selecting one as I fed off his terror.

I knew it wasn’t normal to revel in torture. I’d known it the first time I’d cut open a body to see what was inside. I’d long ago stopped caring. People cared too much about the world’s opinion of them. They broke themselves to conform. To perform for an audience more worried about themselves. Ultimately they died unfulfilled and depressed.

But not me. I fulfilled my potential. I did only what pleased me. No matter the consequences. Of course, in my position, consequences had become nonexistent.

It’s what I was trying to teach my little dove. To live for herself. To make herself happy. Because when she died, as we all would, it was only herself she had to answer to.

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