Sociopath's Revenge (18 page)

It wasn't the first time I traveled abroad on business. In fact, I'd seen half the world. Earth was beautiful, but I found planes exhausting. All the unsettling thoughts and feelings jumping through me had to do with Damian and Rosa.

I hope you are ready to see me, brother. We'll get our revenge. But before that, I need to find my girl.

The massive doors opened, and I walked in, ignoring the cold stares of guards on either side.

Simply put, the office of the head of the Italian Mafia in the States was luxurious.

Expensive carpets, velvet walls with attached crystals, antique artwork, which he probably got on the black market. Many museums would kill to have those exhibits in their hands, and truthfully, it was a shame they belonged to a private collection. The massive, square, brown desk was filled with small golden statues of wolves, pumas, and other wild creatures. There was also a round poker table, and that was where the action happened. Three middle-aged men sat with their suits on, expensive watches on their wrists, as they played poker along with smoking their cigars. To an outsider, the scene would mean nothing beyond rich men wanting to play and unwind.

But for me, a sociopath who inflicted pain on his victims and paid attention to every gesture and small detail, I didn't miss the paralyzing fear in their eyes, the nervous laughs, and the constant wiping of their foreheads with tissues.

This hand ended as Don slapped his palm on the table, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and spoke. "Let's check the cards, gentlemen." The men glanced among themselves but did as he asked.

Of course, each of them lost to Don. No one could win a poker game with a master. Don's mouth widened in a predatory smile. "Ah, unfortunately the game is over."

"Don, please," one of the players pleaded. "It was an honest mistake." Two other men nodded at his words, although they didn't dare speak. Don raised his brow, scratched his chin, and pointed his hand with the cigar at the so-called brave man.

"So you call losing eleven million over a deal in a market you and your men recommended a simple mistake?"

The man wiped his forehead once again and gestured wildly with his hands. "We'll get all this back. Once Ricardo gets us the deal with the Mexican Cartel, we'll have twice if not triple the income. Just a few months. We need a few months."

Don watched the man closely, all the while finishing his cigar. He placed the butt in the ashtray and motioned to his bodyguard on the left. "Get me a glass of scotch." Then he returned his attention to the man. "If you really mean what you're saying, you're more stupid than I thought." Then in a flash, he grabbed the man by his neck, squeezing the breath out of him as the man's face turned red. "Going against my orders never ends well. Your chance was with the game. Had any of you ended up with better cards than mine, your life would have been spared." He let go of the man, took out his gun, and one by one shot the men in the head.

He wiped his hands with the cloth from the table and snapped his fingers. In an instant, two guards rushed inside, picked up the bodies, and left the room, leaving him and me alone. Finally, Don turned his cold-as-ice blue eyes on me, raising a brow. "Still here, boy? Surprised you aren't puking your guts out." So, was the show timing purposely for me to walk in on? The old man tested my resolve. I almost laughed at this. If he only knew how my victims looked after encounters with me. Unlike him, I did the cleanup better after a crime than the "cleaners" they had in the mafia.

Amateurs.

"I've seen worse things."

He chuckled, grabbed his glass, and with a few steps, sat on his chair facing me. He sipped his drink and then pointed to a chair. I settled on it and waited for him to start the conversation.

"Rarely anything surprises me anymore," he began. "But a call from Damian Scott, the heir of an empire and owner of the exclusive club everyone wants to get into, surprised me." He finished his drink and put the glass aside. He leaned on the table as his eyes focused on mine in an unbreakable hold. "I trust my instincts, so I granted you permission. You asked for five minutes of my time."

"I did."

He pointed at the golden clock on the wall. "Your five minutes started two minutes ago. You have three." He leaned back on his chair, waiting for my next move. I found the folder on my phone and pushed it toward him. With a frown, he swiped picture after picture while his face darkened with rage and anger. He raised his eyes to me, as his fists clenched and he snarled. "You have my baby girl?" He threw away the phone and pointed his gun at me.

My face showed no emotion, no movement from my body as I relaxed in the chair completely. What kind of fuckers did this man deal with, if he thought fear could be accomplished by pointing a gun at someone? "Kill me and you'll never find her."

His jaw ticked. "You think you can dictate to me, boy? I can torture you to no end, and you'll give in."

His words brought humorless laughter from within me. "I doubt it."

Something flashed through his eyes; they narrowed on me and studied me more closely, as though I reminded him of someone. "If I didn't know better—" But then he shook his head and whatever he wanted to share with me wasn't spoken. "What do you want for my daughter?"

"Help," I said simply.

"Help?" he asked, confused. "So you're one of those men who wrote to me. When you kidnapped her two years ago, you wanted money and power over the New York business. You wanted to go into human trafficking," he spat, disgusted. "I may be a bad man, but even I don't touch children or rape women. Not if it can be helped."

A chill ran down my body as familiar rage rushed through me, accelerating the adrenaline inside me, and the dark Sociopath tendencies started to awaken. I hadn't felt the conflicted desires to inflict pain on those who deserved it because I'd killed almost all of them two years ago. The only people left were Richard and S, but they were left for the grand finale.

I destroyed their prostitution ring. During the time I did my research, they were the only ones involved in that business in New York, which meant the people who kidnapped Rosa…

Fucking hell!

Until I heard the cracking of the wood under my hands, it hadn't registered that I broke the arms of the chair. My chest rose up and down as I breathed heavily.

"They wanted what?" I clenched my teeth, trying to keep my focus on the conversation instead of the red fog that threatened to consume me.

Emmanuelle frowned. "Who do you work for, boy? I'll pay you double if you give me information on Rosalinda willingly. I love my child, and because I love my child, I can't allow other people to victimize children."

I growled dangerously. "No one should fucking touch kids." Before he continued this nonsense, I elaborated. "Your daughter saved my life. I'm in her debt. She was in danger, and she ran away from the people who made those demands. She is safe now. I wanted to give her back to you." Relief flashed over his face, but I wasn't finished. "But what you said changes everything. If you had her, they would target her."

"I can damn well protect my—"

"You didn't the first time."

He hit the table with his fist. "She was in a Catholic school. I didn't have control there. I'd lock her in the house now."

But the boy in me who suffered all those years ago didn't see a good reason to return Rosa. Danger and protection. I understood only this.

"No, I need to destroy them. I know who did it. That's the reason I came here. You'll help me."

We faced each other for a few minutes, and then he placed the gun back on the table and sat down. "I'll be damned. You're Sociopath," he declared, and my body stilled. He chuckled. "Only you'd be crazy enough not to even twitch at what happened today, and have the balls to dictate to me the rules about my daughter." Any traces of humor left him. "I thought she was dead. Every day, my people searched for her." Anguish filled his voice. "You've got yourself a deal. I'll wait, but I need to hear her voice, even though you only killed fuckers who deserved it." My eyebrows rose in surprise at his words. "Yeah, I did my research after your death."

I took out another phone from my pocket since him destroying mine was predictable. I pressed the call button. I put the phone on loudspeaker, and in a second, Rosa's voice spoke from the other end of the line. "Damian?" Don's hands trembled when he snatched the phone from me.

"Rosalinda?" he said in a shaky voice.

A beat passed, and then, "Daddy?"

Don's eyes watered; he palmed his neck. "Yes, Belinda."

I zoned out of their conversation as another thought occurred to me. One of the most ruthless men in the States, a crime lord, lost control and cried in front of me. He wasn't ashamed of his tears, and for the first time, his eyes lit up with emotion.

He wasn't Don, the death warrant, anymore. He was simply a father who spoke with his daughter.

Connor was fucking right. I couldn't endanger my little angel like that. What if my enemies took her away?

I couldn't bring them into this world until each one of my enemies was dead.

Emmanuelle cleared his throat, snapping me out of my thoughts. "What do you need from me?"

And just like that, the crime lord was on our side.

Sapphire

The bright sun blinded me as I opened my eyes from the best sleep I'd had in years. My body ached in all the right places, and I couldn't keep the happy smile from spreading over my face when I remembered the events of last night. I sat on the bed and stretched my arms, groaning from the relief it brought to my muscles. Holding the sheet to my front, I stood up and looked around the room critically. I hadn't had the chance to pay attention to the design or interior of Damian's house. In the bright light, I could see everything clearly, and I didn't like it. The room had nothing but a bed in it; I kid you not. Blank white walls and lots of empty space. Thank God, he at least had curtains, or someone could have seen what we did last night.

The flush spread through my body as my toes curled from all the memories. Even though it wasn't our first time together after our reunion, it was the first time in a proper setting with both of us ready to move forward. No misunderstandings, holding back, or angry sex.

Just us and out-of-this-world pleasure.

I went to the bathroom to freshen myself up, although I winced at the idea of wearing the nightgown, and huffed in annoyance when my eyes connected with the mirror and my reflection. Swollen red lips, messy hair, hickeys all over my neck.

Completely unpresentable and outrageous.

Completely ravished by the man I loved.

A woman in love.

I missed seeing that reflection in my mirror every day, so I winked at myself and stepped inside the shower. I enjoyed the hot water, allowing it to soothe my aches. When I grabbed the bottle of shampoo, I realized it was mine. Removing hair from my eyes, I noticed all the same bathroom necessities I used in my house were here. But should it really have surprised me, considering the obsessive nature of my man?

I couldn't wait to see him again and jump his bones as my hands would…

Kristina!

God, how could I forget about my baby in all this lustful haze and sleep late? I quickly rinsed my hair, toweled myself, and noticed my blue sundress with lingerie. I put them on, dried my hair, and ran barefoot downstairs, all while calling myself a bunch of hateful names.

I stopped abruptly once I reached the kitchen, my eyes widening in shock from the picture presented before me.

Kristina was sitting at the table, eating chocolate chip pancakes, and the strawberry syrup she used was smeared all over her smiling face. Her hair was braided in the back in some exotic design I wasn't familiar with, and she wore a jean dress. She wiggled her bare feet as Lucky kept jumping, while curiously watching Rosa, who stood by the stove. The girl had headphones on and danced as she broke one more egg to add to the pan she was holding.