Devil You Know (The Diavolo Crime Family 2)

While Lucas is scary, he’s not Nicolo. No one can match the raw intensity his brother exudes, and having been on the receiving end several times, Lucas just isn’t cutting it. “I understand you want answers, but I can’t tell you something I don’t know. And threatening me into what, making shit up? How is that going to help either of us?”

He goes from stillness to motion as fast as Nicolo does, sending a glass against his kitchen wall in one smooth swat. It shatters, and I duck my face to ensure none of the shards reach me. Where Nicolo is in control, Lucas is an F-5 tornado headed for a city. As I expected, he’s not finished. He stalks around the counter and drags my stool to face him. My entire body shudders beneath his dark eyes.

“Where are the guards housed on your property?”

It’s a simple question, one I actually know the answer to, and yet, I still want to lie and throw it back in his face. But I don’t. The faster he ends this, the faster he might release me. “They are mostly housed in the underground garage. There’s a sort of barracks down there, and the security team lives and works out of it.”

If he’s happy I can finally answer something, he doesn’t show it. Oh. It was a test. He’s throwing in control questions to see if I’m lying.

He grips the stool, and I lift my chin, determined not to cower to him.

“And where do your parents sleep in the house?”

It’s cute how he thinks my parents share a living space. “My father is on the ground floor near his study. My mother sleeps on the third floor near her library. Why does that matter? You’ll have a shit time getting through security to reach them.”

He leans in to growl in my face. “No one had trouble getting in to retrieve you, did they?”

I still and consider this. No, but they got help from fucking Marco to get me out of there. However, someone in security should have noticed the goons who carried me out of the house. The image of the dead men’s blood all over Nicolo floats to the surface of my mind, but I shove it back down. Now is not the time to let my emotional trauma take over.

“Did you help kidnap me that first time?” I counter with a question.

He shoves away from me and heads back into the kitchen to gulp down some water. On the outside, he might look calmer, but he’s pacing back and forth, running his hands through his already mussed hair. He’s a caged, starved lion, and I’m the dangling steak.

“No, I didn’t help, but I would have if Nic asked me to. I would have kidnapped you and gotten my revenge that first night.”

Something in me snaps, and I jump off the stool and launch myself at him. I’m done being the docile woman, being kidnapped, and tossed around. “I’m not some fucking Barbie doll to be snatched out of her house and passed around to everyone who god damn thinks I have some kind of value!” I scream, and without thinking, I pound my fists into his very firm chest.

I don’t get far with my assault. His huge hands grip onto my wrists, and he drags my arms back down to my sides, leaning into my face with a vindictive smile on his lips.

“You do that again, and you’ll regret it. Just because we’re blood-related doesn’t mean I care about you. I won’t think twice about hurting you.”

“Then hurt me because I have no information for you.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “Why are you protecting him when you already know how much of a monster he is?”

I shake in his hold, trying to pry myself loose. “I’m not protecting him. I’m protecting myself.”

Lucas snaps, his features darken, and the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Stop fucking lying to me!” he roars, shaking me until my head lolls around. “You know he killed your sister, right? Our fucking sister. She’s dead, Celia, because she didn’t want to marry the man he decided she should. He would have done the same to you.”

My chest seizes up, refusing to gather air, refusing to let me speak.

His grip loosens, and his hands fall away from my skin. “He shot her in the fucking head himself and then told everyone she committed suicide.”

All the pain from my sister’s death comes rushing back. It’s like trying to breathe around a balloon as I hear my mother’s voice growling at me to keep my chin up and stop blubbering. I see the pale, cold skin of my sister’s eyelids closed forever. I taste the salt of my tears, which never seem to stop rolling down my cheeks.