Beautifully Brutal ( Cavalieri Della 1)

I’m not afraid of killing. I bask in the bloodshed I leave in my wake. I want to see the fear in their eyes when they realize who I am and what I’m there to do.

With each name I notch on my kill list, I can’t help wondering if my life would’ve turned out differently had my father not killed himself. Perhaps I would’ve been a better man if my mother didn’t turn into a whore junkie.

I’m not sorry Arthur found me. In his home, I not only found a newfound freedom, an existence I’m proud of, but I found love. And that’s what’s put me on Arthur’s kill list. Even though I know he’ll never do it himself, deep down his rage for me burns and flickers like a candle.

I fell in love with the only thing he loves. The only person he loves.

His daughter.

Giuliana Calthorpe.

* * *

Another day

, another job. Leaning back in my seat, I watch my mark who’s about to drink his last beer. He’s nothing like the other targets. This one is practically on the road to death with the amount of shit he’s shot into his veins. When I saw his name in the folder last night, I knew it would be an easy kill.

Sadly, I could’ve been him if Arthur hadn’t taken me in. I notice the track marks on his arms and the way his eyes flit left to right. He’s looking to score his next fix. It’s the second kill I’m making in NOLA this week, which means Arthur will be sending me out of state for a while.

Generally, we don’t stay in one place for too long. The risk of shit going down is too high, so we only complete one or two jobs in a city or state, then move on. Arthur has been running the Tabella Della Morte since before I was out of diapers, and his rules are concrete.

Even though I’ve never been one for rules, I obey his. Well, most of them anyway. Three years ago, I broke the most important one of all, and to this day, I’ll never forgive myself.

The piece of shit is on the move, and I need to be as well. Downing my beer in one big gulp, I take the last drag of my smoke before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the bar. The place is a sty, but they have a pretty barmaid who perks up the place somewhat. She reminds me of the one girl I lost.

Her big blue eyes, those sleek, golden strands, and her slight build are what make me think of Giuliana. After the kill I’m going to make tonight, I’m tempted to take this beautiful stranger and make her scream my name.

Perhaps I will.

Maybe I should bend her over the counter when she’s locked up for the night and see how tight her cunt is. My dick throbs at the thought, reminding me it’s been weeks since I last had a really good fuck.

The whore who practically paid me to fuck her last night was a disappointment. I never usually do this shit when I’m home, but for some reason, I’m feeling antsy tonight. As if there’s a storm coming and I’m not prepared. It has unease coiling in my gut. I can’t put a finger on it, but I know trouble is about to pounce.

I should head out of the city tonight after taking Mr. Holland out over there. Staying out of the boss’s way is my number-one priority right now.

My phone vibrates. Pulling it out, I press it to my ear. “Yeah?”

“Lance, next mark has been emailed to you. I want this one to suffer. Photos are welcome. Video would be even better,” Arthur’s rumble comes over the line.

“Sure.”

“You’ll leave tonight,” he tells me, and I’m thankful the order has come. If it didn’t, I would’ve done something stupid, like been balls-deep in this pretty bitch on the other side of the bar.

“Will do.”

“Let me know when you leave.” He hangs up without a goodbye or even waiting for my response. Asshole.

Arthur Calthorpe. The old man is getting on in age, but he still acts like he’s one of us, young and virile. Sadly, as time ticks on, I wonder when he’ll finally step down from his throne.

“Another one?” Blondie smiles at me. Her vivid blue eyes shine with a welcome in them, and I know she’s squeezing her tits out of the tiny tank top for my benefit. I can read any woman like a book. They see my rugged exterior, they notice the tattoos that adorn my arms, and they think they’ve hit the jackpot.

They have.

I just don’t make it obvious.

I love when they’re unsure, nervous, and fidgety. Those are the ones who fuck the best. I love pinning them down beneath me and giving them what they need — a good, rough fuck. Those tiny whimpers and mewls are like gasoline to a fire.

“Nope, got something to do, sweetheart, but I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Be here, and I might give you what you need.” Smirking, I rise, shrugging on my leather jacket.