I wish I could claim credit for the split lip, missing teeth, and violently bruised eye, but that was Rem’s handiwork. The Cerreti underboss is getting antsy to kill this fucker, at least according to the note I found stapled to Rocco’s skull.
I’m running out of time to extract the information I still need. Lucky for me, I’ve got a riot of unspent energy coursing through me and Rocco Pagano hanging by the wrists like the piece of shit punching bag he is.
If ever there was a day to beat the information out of someone, today is it.
I land a fist in his gut. The bandages from my first visit are already soaked through with blood, each hit exacerbating previous damage.
I want intel out of him. Need it. But I also want him to suffer. Because of Rina. Because of Sera, too. The second I walked in here in the middle of the night, I knew the scope ofmy vengeance had expanded. My rage toward him amplified to dizzying levels.
He’s one of the men responsible for taking Rina from me. He’s also the monster who tormented his own flesh and blood, doing his damnedest to break one of the strongest women I’ve ever known.
The vision of Sera naked in my living room, touching herself, lives rent free in my head. Has pushed out a million other thoughts that need to be there, consumed so much valuable real estate I can barely take a breath without seeing her fondle her nipple or slip her delicate fingers between her gorgeous fucking thighs.
Even now, in this vile place, the memory sends my blood rushing south dangerously fast, my mouth bone dry and my cock too fucking hard. But the thing that makes me want to tear Rocco’s throat clean out of his body is what came after. The memory of her muffled screams, the ones she hid behind her closed door.
They were loud enough to be picked up by the mics on the cameras outside her room. If they were the screams of someone enjoying a good old-fashioned orgasm, then I’m the fucking reincarnation of Rasputin.
I’d bet my life those were screams of anger, frustration. Deprivation. I can’t pretend I’m not partially to blame, but most of the credit belongs to this asshole.
“Please,” Rocco gasps, blood trickling down his ribcage. “Just put me out of my misery.”
That earns him a broken nose, cowardly fuck. He screams as red rushes over his mouth and down his neck. Specs of it flying in my direction as he uses what little breath he has to curse me.
My phone vibrates inside my jacket. I ignore Pagano’s pleas, wipe one hand clean, and grab it. I’m hours into this sessionand my knuckles are starting to swell, but the pain is barely noticeable as I read Dimitri’s message.
They’ve made it to the house. Sera is settled in her new room. From this point on, there will be thousands of square feet between me and my frustratingly sexy captive. She’ll have space to roam in safety, and I’ll be able to finish my work in Chicago without her wearing my self-control down to the bone.
I should never have kissed her. Never have touched her. Never have taken her home in the first place.
Never have gotten distracted from the reason I came to this city to begin with.
Rina.
Rocco’s breathing is gurgled. His eyes glazed over in pain. I pick up a nearby bucket and throw the icy water on him, jerking him back from the brink of unconsciousness.
“Vaffanculo!Fuck!”
“We’ve been dancing around this subject all night, Pagano. Tell me how to find Shkodra.”
“Like I said last time,” he whines, “you can’t find him. He finds you.”
“Not good enough.” I slam my fist into his side, just above his kidney. His body tightens in agony before he sags against his cuffs. “Think harder.”
“Th-there is one place,” Pagano pants. “A club he goes to sometimes.”
“A club? That’s too easy.”
I pull back for another hit; Rocco sways on his tip toes—the ones he has left—trying like hell to avoid impact. “Stop, stop. Fuck. I-it’s not that kind of club. Just give me a fucking minute to catch my breath and I’ll tell you.”
“Ten seconds and counting.”
Rocco lobs a wad of bloody spit at my feet, his body shaking as he stammers, “The club is off the books, underground, moving from city to city to meet the demands of certain clientele.It doesn’t have a name, doesn’t have a regular location. But if you’re going to find the Albanian before the auction, that’s where he’ll be.” Rocco closes his eyes, his face turning ashy. “Y-you need an invite to get in.”
“An invite, that’s it?” It still sounds too easy. “Tell me who to talk to and I’ll get one.”
Pagano laughs, like he’s enjoying his own private joke. “The invite isn’t a thing, Russian. It’s a who.”
“Explain.”