An unheard-of sense of peace washes over me, her presence snaring my full attention. A sweet angel overcome by tragedy.
There’s something about this graceful teen that fascinates me. She waits there, spine straight, without a care for the killer taking up residency in her private quarters.
“Be careful what you ask for, little girl. The devil destroys everything he touches,” I reply when she glances over her shoulder to find me cloaked in shadows. “My brother will keep him away from your door.”
The right corner of her mouth lifts ever so slightly before she turns away and yanks the drapes together again to snuff out the light.
“Well, it’s too late for that now.” The faint wisp of cotton sheets can be heard when she climbs back into bed again. “I’m going to find the men who did this and shoot them myself. I’ve already imagined the excruciating pain they should suffer… and dreamed how I’ll point a nine-millimeter Beretta at their temples, pull the trigger, and graffiti the walls of their homes with my bloodstained hands.”
I smile a little at her savage imagination and contemplate telling her she shouldn’t worry about justice. The Souzas would balance the scales, because she belongs to the cartel, whether she realizes it. Or maybe I should lie about the dark days becoming brighter, eventually. But I don’t.
Rather, I let the hush swallow her grief and close my eyes, wondering why I haven’t left her bedroom yet. And how I’d like to nurture that devil growing inside of her, to fan the flames.
2
GIOVANNI
Present Day
Darkness is the one place I know better than anywhere. I’ve used the lack of sunlight to my advantage for years. There’s a certain peacefulness in the knowledge of knowing I’m undetected, that nothing can be seen, except for the whites of my victim’s eyes when I’m in position.
Prowling in the shadows gave me the advantage. I was in control, always.
Until now.
I roll my jaw, aware of the stiffness in my face and tasting coppery blood. Beneath a warm, scratchy layer of cloth close to my face, I blink as if that would help me pinpoint the nothingness my kidnappers have thrown me into.
Hot breaths heat my skin and perspiration beads on my forehead.
Instinctively, I try to move my arms, feeling them secured at either side of me, my tense body forced upright in a seated position.
Broken memories hit me hard. The most powerful one making my insides burn––India’s scream.
Where the fuck is she?
Beneath a churning wave of panic, I mentally pick at what pieces I can remember. Blinding headlights. The force of impact. Scrambling to reach her. Voices. Grabbing hands. My fists flying. Pain splicing through my skull. And now this, a dark place—in more ways than one.
I swallow what little saliva I have left and close my eyes, even though I can’t see shit. Controlling every inhale, I slow my mental state and try to focus on the sounds around me.
Heavy footsteps thud, getting closer. Possibly two sets, maybe more. Bracing, my fists clench in defense. They might have secured my forearms, but my legs appear to be free to kick like fuck if needed. At this point I’d easily switch to feral to find her.
“Take the bag off,” a male voice instructs.
At the same time as the fabric is yanked off, a metal chair is dragged over rough concrete and set before me. Anger charges through my veins as I watch a familiar man pinch the knees of his charcoal dress pants before sitting.
Powerful light burns my now sensitive retinas, brightness streaming over me from an interrogation lamp. I glance at one wrist, then the other, noting my black Tom Ford shirt. I’m not wearing my suit jacket anymore, which means this bastard confiscated my handgun and my cell phone.
“The legendary Giovanni Souza…” Salt and pepper hairs around my captor’s mouth twitch a little when he smirks. He casually pushes black-framed glasses further up the bridge of his broad nose. “If you weren’t right here, in front of me, I wouldn’t believe it. It truly is a miracle.”
“Carlos,” I hiss his name. After my eyes adjust, I’m vigilant in my assessment of the cordoned off area I’m trapped in. Probably the corner of a warehouse or vacant distribution storehouse. There aren’t any windows to climb out of on the two solid walls, or doors to kick through. Only strips of thick opaque plastic hang like manmade curtains, the bottom of them continuing to billow out a little. “Where’s the girl?”
My father’s rival and ex-best friend stares at me quietly, fixing the knitted roll neck snug to his throat. “She’s here.”
Not liking the fact my heart is thumping too damn hard, I shake the arms of the chair I’m secured to and grind my teeth. “Show me her. Now! Or I swear to fuck, old man, you won’t walk away from me alive.”
Carlos laughs at that and runs his fingers through the thinning strands of silver-gray hair on top of his head.
“Really?” A set of hands settle on my shoulders from behind. “Let’s not argue about who would survive this improvised business meeting of ours. From where I’m sitting, you’re not in any position to threaten me. I dragged you here for a reason. So, listen. It’s up to you whether you die tonight. I’d prefer not to cut your throat.” He leans closer. “After all, you are my godson.”
