Theirs to Protect (Mafia Menage Trilogy 3)

Rafael’s eyes swung toward me, squinting as though struggling to focus.

“You look pale,” I remarked, gesturing at the rickety wooden chair that lay on its side by the dirty table. “Sit down, and we’ll talk.”

Marco took another step toward him, and Rafael stumbled back. He lost his balance and cried out when he hit the dusty floor. A fresh blotch of bright red soaked through his shirt.

I stepped around him, my expression bland. Not cold and murderous like Marco’s; my face was relaxed into bored, vaguely polite lines. My volatile emotions had receded along with most of my humanity. It was far easier to shut everything out in order to do what was necessary to protect my family.

I picked up the chair, righting it and gesturing for Rafael to sit. When he didn’t move right away, Marco leaned down and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him into place.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he babbled. “I won’t bother you ever again. I won’t come near you.”

I allowed his panicked words to slide over my consciousness, listening for anything that might be useful while tuning out his fear. Marco kept the gun aimed between his eyes, but I would need to get in closer if I had to persuade him to answer my questions. I needed something to bind him in place while I convinced him to talk.

My eyes skipped over the filthy clothes, rejecting the idea of rummaging through them for a tie. I spotted a dented, aged toaster on the tiny kitchen counter. I grabbed it and ripped the plug out of the wall. Wrapping the cord around my fist, I tore the wires free from the appliance with a vicious jerk of my arms.

Rafael was still babbling when I returned to him. The threat of Marco’s gun rendered him immobile. He didn’t fight me when I grabbed his hands and secured them behind the chair, using the cord to tie an expert knot that would hold him in place.

Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, I moved to stand before him. Marco shifted to one side, giving me space to work. I felt his dark eyes on me, assessing and cautious. I ignored his intense stare and focused on my enemy.

I moved with a suddenness that would’ve shocked me if I’d been in my right mind. My hand locked over his mouth, smothering his pleas. The other fisted his short black hair, yanking his head back and utterly immobilizing him.

“Don’t scream,” I warned, calm and cool. “Answer our questions, and this doesn’t have to hurt.”

His bloodshot eyes glistened with a sheen of tears, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His fear was a living thing, a cowering dog beneath my merciless hands. Nausea turned my stomach, but I inhaled a deep breath of fetid air and shoved it down.

“You threatened my family,” I said, my tone roughening slightly as rage licked my veins like a flame. I welcomed the burn, allowing it to sear away the human instinct that told me to release the terrified man. “Tell me why.”

Keeping my grip on his hair, I released his face and allowed him to talk. His jaw worked for a few seconds, as though he was fighting to remember how to form words. A dark stain slowly spread over his lap, and the scent of piss layered over the apartment’s stench.

“I…” He licked his dry lips. “I wanted to impress Ciro. He’s been talking about killing you fa—” His teeth snapped shut, and a bead of blood bloomed on his mouth.

“Go ahead,” I urged. “Say it.”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t care if you’re gay. I don’t!” he insisted, words pouring out of his bloody lips. “I just wanted to help Ciro. He’s making a name for himself. I just wanted to get an in with him.”

I remained firmly in his personal space, but I didn’t torment him further. Merely the threat of my nearness was enough to make him talk.

“So targeting us was your idea? You decided to do it to impress Ciro?”

“No!” he gasped, his eyes cutting left and right, as though searching for an exit from this interrogation. “I mean, yes. I mean, it was his idea! I was just helping.”

I leaned in closer, and he shuddered. “Why? Why does Ciro care about us?”

“C-Ciro’s old-school,” he stammered. “He thinks we’re going soft. He left his brother, Elio, behind in Calabria because of it. He got out of prison, and everything was different. Elio’s son came out, and Elio accepted it. He told all his people that it’s okay to be with another man. All that woke bullshit.” He couldn’t quite hold back a sneer. “Ciro almost killed his brother, and he was forced out. Now, he’s come here to fix shit. No more of this soft, feelings crap. Feelings are bad for business. Weakness is bad for business. No one respects—” His mouth snapped shut again, his glassy eyes regaining some of their clarity. The alcohol and drugs swirling through his system had made him lose focus and go off on a familiar rant. For a few, dangerous seconds, he’d forgotten where he was and who he was talking to.