He looks at me with pain-laced eyes. “Your woman. Zoe Hart.”
The woman I’ve paraded for the world to see. The woman I’ve made a target by showing everyone how much she means to me. My cousin, Jerome, warned me the night I paid a million euros for her in the charity auction, but I was too dead set on showing everyone she belonged to me to care.
I move the barrel down his scrotum and wiggle it under his butt until it rests snugly over his asshole. “Why?”
“Because she’s your weakness,” he says on a rush, trying to lift his filthy ass away from the gun.
“You thought killing her would weaken me,” I say with a cold laugh.
Sweat beads on his face. “Yes.”
Fucking wrong. It would’ve crushed me. “Why are they targeting me?” They should’ve targeted my father if they wanted the organization to crumble.
“You’re the backbone of the family.”
I’m the brain. My father is a loose cannon, getting more unstable in his business decisions by the day. The only one who keeps him in line is me. They were hoping on avoiding a war and taking over by weakening the pillar that’s keeping the house of cards from toppling.
Gripping his hair in my free hand, I pull back his head. “Who paid you?”
“Stefanu Mariani.”
The Corsican underboss. I grin. “That wasn’t so difficult now, was it?” I stare into the eyes of the man who was going to snuff out Zoe’s life. “Tell me something, how did it feel to pull that trigger?”
He blinks. “What?”
“When you aimed at my woman, how did it feel?”
I relive the moment in stark fucking monstrous detail, the moment I realized they were going to shoot, the moment I felt nothing, not for me or my family or the business, but only for the woman at my side. The moment my heart beat only for her. The moment Gautier threw his body in front of us and took the bullets, three. One in the chest, one in the stomach, and one in the head.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Dominic.”
“What did you feel, Dominic?”
He frowns, incomprehension marring his ugly features. “Nothing.”
Wrong fucking answer.
I pull the trigger.
Chapter 7
Maxime
On the way home, I call my father. What happened calls for retaliation. The Corsicans need to be shown who runs this city. No one puts a hit on my woman and lives to see daylight.
“You erred,” my father says when I’ve filled him in. “Alexis had reason. We should’ve wiped out those Corsican bastards the minute they landed on our shore.”
I hate to admit for once he’s right. I gave them the benefit of the doubt because the Belshaws don’t start wars. However, taking a hit at my woman is a fucking cowardice, honorless move, and it just started a genocide.
My fingers curl around the gearstick, my nails cutting into the leather. “I’m taking them all out.”
“I’m calling in the Italians.”
“I don’t need the fucking Italians.”
My father’s voice rises. “We need them now more than ever. This is exactly why we secured the deal.”
“I’ll do my own cleanup in my backyard, thank you fucking very much.”
“Son.” My father sighs. “You can’t pretend it’s not happening forever.”
I clench my jaw. “I’m not pretending.”
“Is that why you’re avoiding Leonardo?”
I shift gears so violently the gearbox screeches. “I’m not avoiding him. I’m just not in the mood for dragging a tail along.”
“I know why you’re doing it.”
“Do not say her name to me. Not now.” I’m too explosive.
Wisely, my father keeps his mouth shut.
“I’ll let you know when it’s done,” I say before ending the call.
My father will summon more men and make sure their house is protected. He’ll warn Alexis and do what he must. I dial our most effective muscle, one of the men I sent to torture the other motherfucker mercenaries. By now he should have the information I want.
“Where are the Corsicans?” I ask when he answers.
“Meeting as we speak.”
Probably weaponing up, knowing their murder attempt failed and we’re coming after them.
“They’re gathered in a warehouse in the industrial area.”
“Blow it up.”
“Yes, sir.”
By sunrise, no Brise de Mer will be left in our territory. Our message will have been delivered. Crystal fucking clear.
My first stop is at Gautier’s mother’s house. She’s a widow, living alone. Fuck. He was her only child, but he knew the risks. He took the bullets knowing she’d want for nothing. We take care of our own, especially of the relatives of those who sacrifice their lives.
I ring the bell.
Her face crumples when she opens the door and sees my face. She knows what this visit means.
“I’m sorry.” I grip her shoulder. “He died bravely.”
“How?” she asks, her wrinkled eyes dry but sorrow drifting in their depths.
“Drive-by shooting. The men who did this paid. They died slowly.”
Her body wilts under my hold, her shoulders folding inward and her spine curling.