Chapter 24

24

"Ilove you, too."

The way my heart swelled with happiness when Wren echoed my feelings and told me she loves me almost made me abandon tonight's activities. Almost.

My fingers drum against the steering wheel, anxious energy bubbling inside me as I drive towards the hangar. I've been waiting weeks to get my hands on Allen. Part of me wants to drag this out, while the other wants to make it quick for my own selfish gains.

I'm itching to get home to Wren and make good on my promise, at least a few times.

When I pull up, Rocco is already waiting outside the side door, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he scrolls on his phone.

Having the guys out scouting the burner cells' locations and Allen's mom's house turned up more leads than we could've hoped for, especially today. Dallas came straight to Vento Ventures after checking in with the guys sitting on the locations and, funny enough, he was familiar with one- the apartment building. Apparently that's where Wren used to live with motherfucking Trey Davis. Pair that with seeing him roll out of Belluci's car that night behind the 708 club, and it's not hard to piece together that he's also working for him.

Gabriel is clearly making moves to take over the drugs in the city, and if the dipshit thinks I'm gonna fight him for it, he's got another thing coming. I don't give a shit about the drugs. What really pisses me the fuck off, though, is that he had the damn audacity to steal from me. That's a debt I can't wait to collect on.

Volkov and his second caught wind of the bad batches in the city, which made it a lot easier for Rocco and I to secure a meeting with them. I was prepared to pay a stipend from my own pockets to tide them over until they found a new pipeline, but now they just seem more willing to accept a one-time payoff and a quick dissociation between their product and the stepped-on junk being passed around Chicago.

Once I take care of Allen, I'll feel a whole hell of a lot better about leaving Wren here while I head to New York for that meeting.

"Perfect timing, cousin," Rocco smirks as I pace towards him. "Rhodes is stringing up your pi?ata now."

"Did he put up a fight?"

"A little," Rocco shrugs. "Took an elbow to the nuts when we were loading him up."

I wince in commiseration. "You good?"

He stubs out the cigarette on the heel of his shoe before tossing it aside. "I'll let you know after I get home and make sure they still work."

"C'mon," I laugh, tilting my head toward the door. "I'll let you have the first punch."

We walk inside, where everything is already set up for me. Plastic sheets line the floor behind my jet, and in the center, Allen is chained by his hands from a rafter, feet barely scraping the floor.

His eyes go wide when he sees me, muffled cries coming out from behind his gag as the chains rattle with his thrashing.

I unbutton my cuffs, rolling my sleeves up past my elbows as I make my way to the workbench where various tools for this brand of fun are spread out.

"Take the gag out," I order Rhodes. "I want to hear every last sound the miserable fuck has to offer."

Rhodes roughly tugs the black fabric from Allen's mouth, leaving it hanging loosely around his neck as he steps back. Allen doesn't waste a single second before he's spitting out a string of curses and baseless threats.

"Rocco," I say, testing the weight of a ball peen hammer in my hand as I turn around and offer him the handle. "Take your shot."

My cousin's face lights up like a kid on Christmas as he grips the handle and positions himself in front of Allen. I roll the cigar cutter in my palm as I watch Rocco crank back his hand, swinging the hammer up between Allen's legs with so much force my own balls retreat into my stomach. Allen lets out a blood-curdling scream before his head drops to his chest, evidently passing out from the pain. Grabbing the bucket from beside my feet, I take a step, chucking the cold water on him and snapping him back to consciousness.

"You don't want to sleep now," I chuckle. "You'll miss all the fun."

"I-I di-didn't," he stutters with strangled grasps.

"Didn't what?" I ask, reaching up to see if his hands still have feeling in them.

He cries out in answer as the bone in his thumb snaps.

"Didn't think I'd catch onto you stealing from me to pay your debts to Belluci?" I ask, pacing around him. "Or didn't think I wouldn't come for the pathetic sack of flesh that attacked my girl in the streets?"

His mouth hinges open as he pants in pain. "She cost me everything."

"Don't you ever fucking blame her for the tribulations you brought on yourself," I growl, rearing back my fist and landing a jab square to his nose. The cartilage shatters beneath my knuckles as bright crimson blood pours down his face. I continue my intimidation, drowning out his wails.

"I was willing to let you walk away, wash my hands of you. But no, you had to come back and touch something that wasn't yours!"

With one hand, I yank his wrist towards me, fucking ecstatic that this man is short enough I can move forward with my fantasy without releasing him from his binds. I slide the cigar cutter over his mangled thumb and squeeze. He shrieks in agony as blood squirts out, trailing down his arm, and the digit falls to the plastic beneath us with a thud.

"You're lucky, you know." I crouch down, plucking his thumb from the ground, eyeing it as I straighten and stand. "If she'd lost the baby, I'd be peeling your skin off with acid and rolling you in salt instead."

Allen pales at my words, though I'm not stupid enough to think that he's feeling an ounce of remorse for beating a pregnant woman. No, he's feeling the full weight of how royally he fucked up.

I grab his face roughly, pressing my thumb into one side of his jaw and four fingers into the other until his mouth pops open. I shove his mangled thumb to the back of his throat until his gag reflex kicks in. Forcing his mouth shut and holding it closed, I pinch his nose to cut off his oxygen. Bringing my face just an inch from his, I grit out, "Swallow."

He whimpers, face reddening as he tries to resist, but his body fights for air and his throat bobs, giving him no other choice but to do as he's told.

The moment I release my grip, he starts to retch, and judging by the beads of sweat blossoming on his forehead and the sallowness of his skin, I'll need to work faster if I really want him to feel the pain.

I reach for his hands again, sliding the cigar cutter down his forefinger. As the blade bites into his flesh, he tries to bargain with me.

"Stop! Stop!" he shouts. "I'll tell you anything you want to know!"

I scoff. "What information of value could you possibly have?"

"He sells drugs!"

Allen wails in pain as his severed forefinger falls to the ground. "Try again."

"H-he, uh," he stutters. "He's coming for you."

Now that gives me pause. "What do you mean?"

"I overheard him!" He sucks in a greedy gasp of air, trying to still the shaking in his voice. "He wants everything you have."

The news is no surprise to me- Gabriel has always mimicked my actions in his own organization. My old man said his father was the same way; so blinded by the thrill and power that nothing was ever off limits. I witnessed it firsthand the night I killed Frankie Fracassi, when Mario Belluci came charging into the mansion after me looking for any female staff he could take to sell.

My father put two bullets into the back of Mario's head as he was dragging a woman from her bed. That night solidified the animosity between the Belluci family and our own. I was sent away to tell my old man's second while he swept the mansion for any other loose ends. We all went underground after that, working in the shadows to preserve our own families. But apparently through all these years of fake pleasantries, Gabriel has been biding his time waiting for me to have a weakness he can exploit.

"Unfortunately for you, I already knew that." Letting out a chuckle, I clip off his middle and ring fingers knuckle by knuckle. He passes out after the pinky, so before waking him, I have Rhodes cauterize what's left of his hand.

Water splashes over him, his body sagging before me as he lifts his head groggily. "P-please," he begs.

"Let him down," I instruct, tossing the cigar cutter to the floor.

Rhodes abides, Allen's body falling to the plastic sheeting below him. "Thank you," he mumbles, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes.

Taking a step closer, I raise my leg, slamming my foot down on his face and earning me a body-wracking sob that reminds me of the way Wren's body shook in the hospital bed the night she was attacked.

I press my foot onto his throat, drawing my Glock from the back of my waistband and clicking off the safety. Aiming at his foot, I pull the trigger and in rapid succession, I puncture his paunchy body full of holes. His fingers claw at my ankle, body surging as each bullet lodges itself inside him. His strangled cries lessen after each one, slowly losing his fight as blood pools on the plastic beneath him. His face is drained of all color when I finally point the barrel between his eyes.

"You're welcome," I say, pulling the trigger. Blood and brain matter splatter around his head, the pants of my gray slacks staining a signature crimson color that confirms his mortality is at an end.

Tucking away my piece, I lift my chin at Rhodes. "Get Leo to help you with clean up."

He turns on his heel, heading towards the security office.

Rocco steps forward, nudging Allens body with the toe of his shoe. "That went quicker than expected. Why'd you cut it short?"

"He never once said sorry," I deadpan, stalking off to the bathroom to clean up and change.

"So, what's this I hear about you coming to family dinner on Sunday?" Rocco asks, climbing out of his Land Rover Defender in the Monarch's parking garage.

Grunting in response, I click the lock on the keypad, my BMW honking behind me as I pocket the key. Even before my old man gave me an ultimatum, I'd been avoiding family dinners for months. My mother was constantly harping about her friends' daughters and wanting to set me up with them.

"I take it Wren is coming with you?" he asks, rounding the hood of his car.

"Yeah," I say with an exhale. "They know I'm bringing a girl, but they don't know about the baby yet."

Rocco whistles. "Your mom is going to go insane when she finds out." He nudges me with an elbow as we fall in step toward the elevator. "Hopefully Wren is a hugger."

"Yeah," I chuckle. "I think it'll be-" I pause, clocking a taillight dangling from the back of Dallas' Range Rover.

The sound of my heels clipping against the concrete reverberates around the cement structure as I march over to take a closer look. Heat courses through my veins, my stomach twisting as I shout, "What the fuck!"

"Oh shit," Rocco murmurs, eyeing the damage with me.

The back hatch is dented in, the bumper's missing, the back window is shattered out, and the only taillight left is the one hanging. It doesn't appear that the airbags went off, and deep down, I know that if something really bad happened, Dallas would have called instead of backing his car into the corner stall to try to conceal the damage. But that doesn't ease the tension in my jaw as I stomp back toward the elevator.

Swiping my keycard, I mash the button for the penthouse. Even though it's a quick ride up, it's plenty of time to fan the flames of my anger.

When I arrive, I shove open the door, eyes quickly scanning the interior of the penthouse as my hands ball into fists at my sides.

Wren is sitting on the couch barefaced in her faded purple Northwestern t-shirt and gray snowman sleep shorts as Doctor Marino packs away his things. Dallas is in the chair next to them, a butterfly bandage on his left brow and dried blood splotches on the front of his white button-down.

"Bowie," Wren starts, pushing to her feet.

I hear her, but my eyes are trained on Dallas- a man who reports to me but didn't fucking report this.

My quick strides erase the distance between us, but before I can get my hands on him, Wren steps in front of me. She places her palm in the middle of my chest, stopping me in my tracks as she assures me she's okay.

I pull her against me, her arms instinctively wrapping around my waist as I level Dallas with a seething glare.

Doctor Marino quickly reads the room, jumping in to reinforce Wren's words and then some. "Wren and baby are great. She's got some minor bruising on her shoulder and hips from the seat belt, but no cause for concern."

Wren squeezes me tighter as she tilts her face up to rest her chin on my chest, gazing up at me with the beautiful baby blues that make my pulse quicken. "You're okay, Passerotta?" I murmur, pushing back a few rogue tendrils of hair from her face.

"Perfectly fine," she smiles.

I study her features for the slightest shadow of a doubt. But with each soft flutter of her lashes and caress of her hands on my back, she coaxes my monster back into his cage.

Leaning down, I place a kiss on her forehead before asking, "Did you get dinner?"

Her forehead crinkles, corners of her mouth dipping into a soft frown. "Oh shit, no, I totally spaced and forgot."

My knuckles follow the soft curve of her cheek down to trace her bottom lip. "Why don't you show Doctor Marino out and order something for delivery? I need to have a word with Dallas."

Her brows dip and she purses her lips as she lowers her voice. "Don't you dare hurt him, Bowie Sorrentino."

She's so damn cute when she's feisty.

"Hmm," I chuckle. "Should I be worried about your affinity towards one of my men?"

"Not in the slightest," she says, taking a step back and grabbing her phone from the coffee table. "But you'll answer to Drea if Dallas up and disappears."

Not giving me an inch to argue, she turns to Doctor Marino and motions for him to follow. Dallas is already standing as the door snicks shut behind them. Aside from the two inches I've got on him in height, we're evenly matched in build. I've always liked Dallas, he owns his shit and doesn't give half-assed excuses when confronted. Even now, he's standing here stoic as ever awaiting my wrath.

"Explain," I order, folding my arms across my chest.

He nods, his voice not wavering in the slightest as he walks me through everything from the moment Belluci's men rear-ended him, to the special delivery he was handed. And how Wren refused to go to the hospital, and he thought arguing with her would only bring her more stress in the moment.

I grind my molars at the thought of one of my men's eyeballs being served up like a goddamn engagement ring. I make a mental note to return the favor the next time one of Belluci's stronzos tread too close to my areas. Maybe I'll reuse the fucking box. I'll let Rocco deal with this, though- I need to focus on Wren right now, and luckily, the last of Dallas' words do well to temper any lingering embers I had. Sticking my hand out between us, Dallas raises a brow at the gesture before slapping his palm into mine, giving it a firm shake.

"I appreciate you looking out for her," I say, releasing his hand. "Now go tell Rocco what you told me, find out who it was and take care of him and his family."

Dallas' agrees, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair.

"Ya know, it'd also be a lot easier to keep my girl to myself this weekend if that friend of hers was preoccupied, no?" I suggest slyly.

Dallas' lips curl into a smirk. "You've got it, Boss."

Dallas heads for the door right as Wren opens it, stepping back inside the apartment.

"Good to see you're still breathing," she quips in passing.

With a shake of his head, he slips into the hall and I take a seat on the couch.

"Come here, Passerotta," I beckon, lifting my chin and patting my thigh.

Wren gives me a coy smile as she steps between my legs. After today, my patience is nonexistent, and at this point I just want to hold my damn girl. She squeals as I tug her down onto my lap, burying my nose in her hair. The sweet scent of jasmine and warm vanilla from her shampoo floods my nostrils; centering me, grounding me, reminding me I'm home.

"Allen?" she asks softly, her fingers toying with my collar. "Is he…?"

"In pieces, on his way to a pig farm in Dyer, Indiana."

"Oh, okay," she replies, her breath hitching slightly as she shifts around.

And for a split second, I'm worried that what I've done, no matter how right it was for me to give the fucker the end he deserved, is too much for her. But then she slams her lips onto mine, taking me by surprise.

Deepening the kiss, I grip her hips, sliding her over my thickening cock. She wiggles around, grinding herself against me in a way so desperate, it'd be cruel not to give her what she wants.

I let out a groan as my hand slides between her thighs and beneath her sleep shorts only to be met with the warm, slick heat of her bare pussy.

My fingers trace circles over her clit and she throws her head back with a gasp as I pinch it.

Her hands reach for my belt, eagerly working to unclasp it and slide my zipper down. Lithe fingers wrap around my shaft as she begins to stroke me.

"Cazzo," I hiss as she lifts up, directing me between her slick folds. "What are you doing to me?"

"Thanking you," she murmurs against my lips as my tip nudges inside.

"One," she moans, as she starts sinking down.

Raising a fist, my teeth clench around my knuckles as she starts counting. It's torture of the sweetest kind to let her have this control, but when my eyes drop to where our bodies connect, I'm mesmerized as each inch of my girth disappears inside her clenching cunt as she counts the rungs of my Jacob's Ladder.

Wren's hands grip my shoulders as she starts to ride me like a goddamn show pony. After a few minutes, I can't take it any longer. Banding my arms around her, I hold her to my chest and punch my hips up, hammering into her like my life depends on it. And maybe it does, because I've never felt more alive than when I'm buried inside her.