A Thousand Cuts (Underworld Kings)

Yet here she was.

Not only making it clear she was here to witness, but letting it be known she didn’t think his punishment was harsh enough.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked toward me. She was perfectly put together, hair coiled into a tight bun, makeup flawless, red pantsuit tailored to perfection. There were diamonds at her ears, neck and fingers. She enveloped me in Chanel when she came close, her eyes on the mark on my cheek.

“My darling,” she murmured, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Believe I did not raise a son to hurt women.” Her eyes flickered to the corner of the room, harsh and without an ounce of love or familiarity. “That is not my son.” She squeezed my hand once more before letting go and focusing on Cristian.

“You are being too merciful,” she accused.

I bit the inside of my lip. As strong as Sofia was, as seemingly important to him as she must be, even I understood she was crossing a line here. Openly disagreeing with his choice of punishment, in front of this many witnesses? It was directly undermining his authority.

Cristian already had a dangerous energy about him.

He considered her for a handful of moments. “Perhaps,” he admitted finally.

Despite fighting hard to maintain my features, I couldn’t help the slight quirk of my brow.

“But it is my final decision,” Cristian continued, his words sending chills down my spine.

Sofia held his gaze for another moment before she nodded once, stepping back beside me.

The air thrummed.

A couple of the younger, greener looking men moved on an invisible command, laying down clear plastic, I assumed to protect the expensive looking rug from blood stains. Then a long wooden table was brought in from outside, the smooth, varnished surface gleaming in the light. A single chair was put in front of it. One of the men, the harsh-faced older man with empty eyes, handed Cristian a machete. I gazed at the steel, seeing my warped reflection in the blade that would cut off a limb.

Cristian’s hand left my lower back as he reached to grip the handle. It didn’t shake, his hand. Not one bit.

Of course, it fucking didn’t.

I wasn’t shaking either. My heartbeat was steady, my mind clear. I watched Cristian walk toward the table, Felix grabbing Lorenzo by the collar before dragging him toward the seat, shoving him down into it.

Lorenzo didn’t try to run. Whether he was paralyzed by fear or had a scrap of self-respect, I wasn’t sure.

“Right or left?” Cristian asked when he approached.

The situation seemed like it had been cropped out of a bad movie, it seemed so surreal. An attractive man in a black suit, the villain, the boss, the soulless monster, holding a machete in front of the man who’d wronged him. Men and women in suits surrounding him. More villains. Criminals. Witnesses to what happens when you cross the Don.

And me, the hostage, the fiancé… Another villain? Or worse, a victim?

I wasn’t quite sure what my part in this story was yet. Or maybe I did, and I wasn’t ready to accept it.

“Left,” Lorenzo decided, his voice at odds with the fear on his face. His tone was stronger than I’d expected.

An older man beside him, one who was glaring at Cristian in a way that pissed me off, moved forward to put his hand on Lorenzo’s shoulder, handing him a bottle.

Lorenzo took the bottle, taking a long swig of the amber liquid. Three long swigs, actually, grimacing as he handed it back to the man beside him. He was old enough to be his father, and due to his obvious fury toward Cristian, he clearly cared about the little cretin. An uncle maybe?

Not that it mattered at this point, but I was realizing it was important for me to understand who I was surrounded by. Who were allies and who were enemies?

Cristian’s, at least.

These were all my enemies. Including Cristian.

But the men—and potentially women—who resented Cristian’s decisions might just be mad enough to do something. Hurt him. Which put me directly in the firing line.

The uncle type person was someone I needed to keep my eye on. Along with a man around the same age with dead eyes that chilled me down to my core.

Sofia was an ally as long as she believed I planned on marrying Cristian.

Felix was a wildcard.

“You’re going to lose your hand in the same room your sister lost her life,” Cristian’s words captured my attention.

Sofia tensed beside me.

“You are going to lose your hand in the same room a man succeeded where you thankfully failed,” Cristian continued. To the casual observer, he sounded cold. Robotic even. But I heard it. The slight catch in his voice. The sliver of emotion.

Lorenzo blanched when he spoke. The words landing true.

I stared at Cristian’s profile, careful to keep my expression blank but digesting what Cristian had just said about her.