Page 25 of Cruelest Vow

D’Artagnan

There was nothing worse than those who still believed they could escape my wrath.

Not by pleading for their lives but by daring to defy me with threats and rage.

There wasn’t a need for words. I hadn’t come here seeking information. I’d come for one thing only.

Exacting revenge.

I was extremely good at what I did, my extensive training providing both hunting and killing skills. I’d never thought about the orders provided or the consequences of my actions. I was a machine, my position as Underboss meaning I was an assassin for the DeLuca family. My conscience had been stripped from me, erased years before. While I usually didn’t toy with my prey, my moods had become insufferably darker, requiring additional reflection prior to eliminating an enemy.

A part of me hoped my method of extermination would soothe the demons, driving them further into the darkness. Sadly, my brutality did little more than feed a continuing need, my desire to break bones and leave blood dripping in the wake of my actions taking full control over any sense of decency.

Tonight was no exception.

Bodies were strewn across the concrete floor of the warehouse, blood already staining the pitted surface. Rain pounded the metal roof, exacerbating the sound, the pinging noises unable to drown out the sharp hisses issued by the last man left. I’d purposely saved him to the end, forcing him to watch the extermination of the others in preparation for what he’d face.

He’d put up a good fight, my kidneys taking the brunt of his fists, but he’d been no match for me at the end.

He’d been the catalyst, the man responsible by selling his soul to the highest bidder. I couldn’t care less about the loss, the man nothing in the eyes of the people who’d paid him well for his work and loyalty. The only thing worse than a thief was a rat.

The warehouse was stocked full of stolen product belonging to the DeLuca family. I’d been sent to rectify the situation, returning the millions of dollars of illegal drugs, weapons, and even olive oil to the rightful owner. My family. The shipment had been hijacked, which was a difficult feat given Franco’s cousins ran a crime syndicate out of Jersey. All because of the man shackled to a chair in front of me. Thank God I’d thought to bring rope, adding that to my gear bag at the last minute.

“Fucking asshole. You won’t live out the day,” the bastard snarled. He twisted hard enough, he almost knocked himself over. I brought the legs down again with a hard jolt, jarring him enough his eyes opened wide. “I will kill you.”

His incessant threats drew my attention from the fog that had formed around my mind since I’d fucked Lucia.

The taste of her sweet pussy lingered in my mouth, no amount of whiskey dulling the effects. I leaned forward, closer to the pissant who’d defied the DeLuca family. “You tried. You failed. Just like the cockroaches you made an alliance with. You fucked up, asshole.” Muttering the words surprised me, but the last two days had rattled my sense of purpose. “Now, I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I’d say you’re a greedy piece of shit.”

“Fuck money. You don’t understand,” the shithead snarled.

“Exactly what isn’t clear?” I planted one foot on the chair next to him, driving the tip of my blade against his throat. He reared back, his head the only part of his body I hadn’t secured to the metal chair.

“I had to do it but now, I’m glad I did.” Slobber oozed past his lips, the caked blood staining the once colorless froth. My hunt had ended in a whorehouse on the Upper East Side, the fucker shocked when I’d burst into the room, ordering the floozy hired for the evening to leave and lose her memory. I’d brought him to the warehouse on purpose, keeping the man in suspense while being tossed in the trunk of my vehicle.

When he spit at me, catching my arm, I took a deep breath to keep from overreacting. The man thought himself to be invincible. Either that or he was dumber than a box of rocks.

“Everyone has a choice,” I told him. His had been to disclose the location of a private sale, a step-cousin killed in the process. I wiped the glob on his pants, shaking my head when he grinned.

I was fed up with playing games.

My thoughts drifted to the hunter I’d killed only two nights before. As with all assassins, they never carried identification. I’d learned nothing from the weapon he’d carried, the Glock standard use for police officers and killers alike. I wasn’t certain what I’d been hoping to find, but the man had covered his tracks as would any professional.

That meant a hit had been ordered on Lucia’s life.

In addition to the one I’d been assigned. I had to find out the identities of the players or I’d bring the trouble back to Italy with me. A two-continent war wasn’t viable for anyone.

My patience had run out.

The corner of his mouth twitched as I twirled the knife, the slight nick nothing more than a scrape of skin yet he bellowed from nervousness.

I waited for his testament of shame, his flurry of apologies. They never mattered. If I was tasked to eliminate a problem, the last traitor was already dead, something he already knew. Finally, I could tell by his eyes that he’d finally accepted his upcoming fate.

“They made me. They… they told me… I’d die if I didn’t tell them what they needed to know.”

His stuttering only fueled the rage inside. No one fucked with the DeLuca family, least of all a two-bit drug dealer with no sense of purpose in his life.

“They?”

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