Bloodied Hands (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 1)

"You've got it. I'll call Don, get him on it too." I gave a last nod, calling the one other man I wanted at my side. The one man I could trust to make sure Adrian suffered a very slow, painful death while I tended to my angel.

As much as I wanted to deliver his punishment personally, I knew Ryker would be a far worse punishment than I could ever dream to be.

And that would have to be enough.

“Yeah?” he asked when he answered the phone. Simon stood at the front door and nodded to me as I made my way back to the car, hopping in the driver’s seat to be ready to go with me wherever I went.

“Adrian Ricci took Ivory. I need you to give him the worst death imaginable,” I hissed into the phone as I made my way back inside her mostly empty house.

“When and where?”

“Get your ass to her house,” I said, rattling off her address. “We’re mobilizing now.” I kicked one of his men’s bodies for good measure, wanting to make even their corpses suffer for the part they played in taking Ivory from me. The number of them was a sign of just how hard Scar had fought to protect her, taking out half a dozen men on his own before they took him down.

“On my way.”

Thirty-Three

Ivory

I woke up.

Slowly.

Disoriented.

The pillow beneath my face wasn't mine. It didn't smell like Matteo, and the fabric of the pillowcase was far too luxurious to be the cheap set I'd picked up at the store with Scar. My face throbbed as I moved, and my head swam the moment I peeled myself off the pillow.

Deep wood-paneled walls stared back at me from the edges of the room, a navy comforter draped over me. I touched the side of my head, wincing at the pain radiating from there and the dried blood that seemed so coarse against my fingers.

I ignored my swimming head, shoving the comforter off me and got to my feet slowly. I swallowed my nausea as my stomach rolled once I was standing, determined not to vomit until I figured out where I was.

The first door I came to was a bathroom, and I stared into the mirror at the huge, mottled bruise at my temple that covered my brow bone and the top of my cheekbone. The blood seemed to be from a minor cut, and I ignored it in favor of finding my way out of the bedroom.

Seeing the bruise, I knew without a doubt Adrian must have knocked me out. Everything came back to me in a rush of panic.

Scar was dead.

I swallowed back my tears, knowing I needed to find a way out of that sadistic fuck's home. That was what Scar would want. I could mourn him once I was safe, could tell him how sorry I was that my stupid decisions had gotten him killed.

I liked to think he would forgive me.

But I didn't think I'd ever forgive myself.

The door opened quietly, and I slipped out into the hall. For once, I was pleased my feet were bare. It let me slip through the house silently. The hall was an endless parade of closed doors, and I found my way to the staircase easily. I sprinted down it, the front door in sight.

I did not understand what might wait for me outside. I couldn't imagine Adrian would lock me somewhere and leave me unguarded.

All I knew was that I had to try.

My hand was only an inch from the front door when Adrian's voice made my skin crawl. "Going somewhere, my love?" he asked, and I froze in place. I spun to face him, noting that he looked more manic, more crazed than normal. His normally slicked black hair was a mess, sticking up at all angles like he couldn't keep from taking his frustrations out on it. "Ah, sweetheart. Your beautiful face," he whispered, stepping toward me with an expression of concern. Like he hadn't been the one to hurt me. "I wish I hadn't needed to hurt you. I never want to hurt you, Ivory."

"Matteo told me you like to hurt women." I stepped away, retreating until my back hit the door, and I was trapped.

Reaching out a hand to run his fingers over the bruise, his brow furrowed when I whimpered at the pain it sent shooting through my skull. "Whores. I like to hurt whores. You are not a whore, my little doll. You are pure. Innocent in a world of filth."

"I'm not innocent," I argued, shrinking further into the door. "I'm not some virgin—"

"You are loyal. Loving. Warm. All the things that made Bellandi choose you as his wife, yes?"