Devil You Hate (The Diavolo Crime Family 1)

“I brought you here for one reason only,” I say. “Watch and keep your mouth shut. If you’re lucky, you won’t be next.”

She shudders in my hold, but says nothing.

“Good girl,” I whisper only for her before I shove her toward Soo. He grabs hold of her arm, but keeps a few inches between his body and hers.

Turning my attention back to Marco, I stalk forward, towering over him. “Tell her about our deal, Gardello.”

He shakes his head, his eyes frantic, his neck scraping on the concrete. My patience is wearing thin. I don’t have time for games. I’m going to teach both of them a lesson. Lifting my gun, I shoot him in the other leg.

Celia lets out a whimper and presses a hand to her mouth. Tears pool around the edges of her big brown eyes. I expect to find fear in them, but surprisingly, I only see sadness and disappointment.

“Let’s try this again. Tell her about our deal,” I encourage as I point the gun at his right bicep.

A loud groan escapes his mouth, and he flops around for a couple of seconds before the words rush out of his mouth, “I drugged you at dinner and sold you to Diavolo to pay some of my gambling debts.”

For half a second, Celia just stares at him. A single tear slips down her cheek. “Why?” she whispers, like his fucking response means shit.

Still, I want her to know the kind of man he is. I want her to know everything—all the lies, secrets, the pain, and blood that’s been shed. I want her to know the truth.

“Answer her.” When he hesitates to answer, I crouch over him and shove the barrel of the gun into his bicep. “Answer. Her,” I grit out, my anger flaring.

Marco’s beady eyes refuse to meet hers. “Once we married, I planned to kill your father and take over as leader of the five families,” he says in one long exhale.

I glance over at Celia. She’s now dropped her hand and completely wiped the emotion from her face. A mask I appreciate since it resembles my own overtakes her doll-like features. She drags her gaze to me now. She’s looking at me like I’m the monster in this story, but she doesn’t have the slightest clue.

Tipping her chin up, she squares her shoulders. “Why did you bring me here? Why did you want me to know?”

Instead of answering her, I dig the gun a little harder into his arm. “Tell her the rest. The part I know you’ve been holding back.”

Marco squeezes his eyes closed and huffs. “You disgust me. Once we married, I planned to pass you around to my guys. Let them break you in, turn you into a biddable wife. Once they did, we’d get your disgusting scar fixed, and maybe you’d be worthy of being seen in public with me.”

I expect her to cry, fall to her knees, or at least yell at him, but all Celia does is stare at Marco. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. I don’t give her time to collect herself. I don’t give her the chance to say her piece. I shoot Marco in the shoulder and enjoy the cry of pain echoing through the air.

When I turn back to face Celia, I find her gazing at the man she was supposed to marry. Her mouth is hanging open, and her eyes are wide, but again, there is no fear, no pain, no agony that I hoped to find there.

“Your presence here is no longer needed. I only had you brought so you could see what a worthless waste of space I saved you from. Now that you have, we can start working on you paying me back. That’s for another day, though.”

Soo shoves her toward one of the men, who corrals her into the car without touching her. She doesn’t fight. She doesn’t even try to say anything. They pull away, and I step over Marco’s body. He’s stopped twitching and rolling like the slug he is.

“And you,” I grit through my teeth. “I don’t care how much money you owe me. I’m collecting now with your life.”

Marco stays silent. He doesn’t even flinch. Part of me had hoped he would at the very least beg for his life. Pathetic.

I position the barrel against his forehead. “By the way. Celia is still a virgin, even now. How else am I going to auction her off to make up for the money you owe? Fucking idiot.”

Marco blinks, and I pull the trigger. My question needs no answer. I don’t feel a single sliver of remorse for killing the fucker. I haven’t felt remorse in a long time. What I do feel is anger. Anger at the way Celia reacted. I wanted her to cry, suffer, feel ashamed. Instead, she just stood there with her head held high, like she didn’t give a fuck. My need to rip her apart and put her back together again means I need to find another way to hurt her.