Page 105 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“I wish it were under better circumstances,” Romeo said, helping me climb the steps and enter the main cabin. A flight attendant greeted us with a bright smile, and Romeo thanked her, then led me to a plush leather seat. It looked like we were the first on board.

I settled into the seat, closing my eyes and wishing I’d let Romeo fill my prescription. “How long is the flight home?”

“About an hour,” Romeo answered, buckling me in and lifting the armrest between our seats so he could hold me. “Feeling rough?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Maybe we can get the meds when we land.”

“Absolutely.” He stroked my hair, and I melted into him. “You can sleep. I’ll stay right here.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I mumbled, giving in to the sudden exhaustion.

“I love you, Riona.”

I smiled. “Love you too.”

Chapter Thirty-One

It damn near killed me to leave Riona with Sloane when we returned to Chicago. I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with her and hold her, reassure myself she was really okay. But duty called. I didn’t tell Riona my uncle—the person responsible for her getting shot—was tied up in the bedroom at the back of the jet. She’d been through enough already.

And she was so damn sweet about me having to leave, telling me to fuck him up for her. I planned to do just that as I descended the stairs at Deception. My brothers were already gathered below, waiting for my father and me.

I tapped on the door before punching in the code in case Cosimo was already in one of his states. Nobody wanted to be greeted by a knife. Dante knew about that one firsthand and had the scar on his ear to prove it.

The bright fluorescent lights shocked the eyes, and I squinted for a moment as I took in the scene before me. Giuseppe was manacled, chained, and strung up. It was more for psychological effect than practicality, since rope worked just as well and could be burned. Cosimo didn’t reserve his torture for the body alone. He wanted to break the mind, as well. It was what made him such an effective weapon for the family.

Even now, he and Niccolò stood in front of our uncle as they forced him to watch, purveying a table of torture implements and discussing the merits of each blade. They were a pair—twins with an obsession with sharp objects. Niccolò channeled his desires into BDSM, while Cosimo took it from morally grey to black in his more traditional dungeon.

Both clad in black suits, they looked like modern reapers, harbingers of pain and death. I preferred to use my fists, but I didn’t have the same thirst for blood as my brothers. Today was different, however. Now, I wanted to inflict as much pain as possible on my uncle to repay him for what he did to Riona.

“Romeo.” Dante stood to the side, presiding over the little sentencing. Our uncle had already been declared guilty by the entire family, and my father intimated he had more proof of his betrayal.

Niccolò and Cosimo turned their heads, identical dark eyes focusing on me. They nodded in unison, then Cosimo motioned to the selection of torture tools. “You get first pick.”

“Thanks.” I approached the table but knew I wouldn’t use any of those things. Instead, I shrugged out of my suit jacket, setting it off to the side and rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt. I loosened my tie and undid the top button on my shirt, rolling my shoulders and flexing my hands as I approached the traitor.

Giuseppe glared at me, his face twisting in anger and mouth pulling into a pathetic sneer around the… ball gag.

“That’s a nice touch,” I tossed over my shoulder, tapping the red ball in the center. The twins snickered.

“My contribution,” Niccolò offered with a grin. “Seemed fitting for a filthy little shit.”

Giuseppe yanked on his chains, but only his toes touched the ground, making the effect comical, like a fish flopping out of water.

“Don’t worry, dear uncle.” I patted his cheek, then slapped him hard. “Humiliation looks good on you.”

That only made him flail more, and I laughed darkly. He had an awful lot of nerve acting so feisty when he must know what was in store for him. My uncle wouldn’t leave Cosimo’s dungeon alive. He might not even leave in one piece.

I made a show of cracking my knuckles, and Giuseppe had the fucking audacity to roll his eyes and mumble something through the gag. My blood heated, and I let my fist fly. The right hook connected with his jaw with a crack that the sound panels on the walls absorbed. He stayed silent, a testament to his training in the family. We were about to test how much he could withstand.

I hit him again.

And again.

Trying to draw a cry from his lips.

He grunted but remained still, maybe even relaxed.

“Fuck this.” I looked down at my bloody knuckles and my uncle’s red, puffy face. Blood trickled from a cut on his brow, and the dark tinge of bruising rose to the surface of his cheeks.

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