Page 5 of Vicious Devotion
And yet, remembering that moment when Bella ran into me in the hallway, that first moment that I met her, disheveled and tear-stained, I can’t regret any of it. Not when so many memories followed of her happy, thriving, healing from her past even before we became more than just a boss and his employee.
That day, she was running away from her father. Away from his demands and his insistence that she be the daughter he expected her to be, whether or not it was what was best for her.
I helped save her from that. And now, Masseo D’Amelio is going to repay that by helping me save his daughter again.
He’s in his office, as expected. I stride down the hall, pushing open the heavy wooden door, and find him sitting behind his mahogany desk, mulling over several sheets of paper. From this distance, it looks like a contract. Probably some business arrangement, but right now, I couldn’t care less what’s written on it.
“Masseo.” My voice cuts across the room as I let the door slam shut, and he looks up abruptly.
“Mr. Esposito.” After our last encounter, the formal address doesn’t surprise me. Nor does the frosty tone of his voice. We’re still business partners, but only that. Whatever friendship we had has long since eroded in the wake of my gradual discoveries about his treatment of his daughter. His lack of care for her. “I’m very sure that we don’t have an appointment. And as you recently said to me, I’d prefer you not visit without one?—”
“Bella’s been taken,” I say flatly, approaching his desk and not bothering to sit down. “Igor Lasilov stormed my house earlier today, threatened my family, and took her with him.”
To his credit, Masseo’s face goes pale a little. He sits back in his chair, regarding me warily. “I appreciate you coming to inform me of my daughter’s whereabouts?—”
“I’m here to make a plan to get her back. And to find out how many of your men you can spare to do it.”
As many as I need should be the answer. But Masseo has always been willing to sell Bella to the highest bidder. What I’m not certain of is what he’s willing to risk to get her back. To keep her safe.
Masseo’s eyes widen a fraction. “You think either of us can go up against Igor Lasilov, and live to tell the tale?”
Nothing.
That’s what he’s willing to risk. Rage flares in my veins, and I can feel my hands closing into fists. “She’s your daughter,” I growl. “You know as well as I do what he will do to her. You’re willing to leave her in his hands—for what? Your assured safety?”
Masseo’s lips thin. It’s clear he’s displeased that I’m continuing to argue the point. “You have a family, Mr. Esposito. I believe you hired my daughter to help care for that family. At least—that was your pretense for hiring her. But considering the fact that I’ve seen no recent deposits into my accounts for her work, and considering your reaction to my coming to see her in your home—it’s occurred to me that perhaps my daughter is more to you than just a nanny for your children.” His mouth twitches, his hands folding tightly together on his desk. “In which case, Mr. Esposito, I feel I need to inquire after my daughter’s—innocence, shall we say. Because it seems to me that rather than encouraging her to fill the role that she’s meant to, as you first indicated you thought this job might accomplish, you’ve been instead undermining me.”
The rage I feel as I look at him is concerning.
Overwhelming.
Until today, the only time I’ve truly wanted to do violence to a man was when Bella told me about what Pyotr Lasilov and his men did to her. But today, I’ve felt that same compulsion again and again.
Towards Igor.
Towards the men holding guns on my children, and Bella, and Agnes.
And now, towards Bella’s father.
I lunge forward before I can stop myself, across the desk, my hand fisting in the front of his shirt. I feel a button give way as I yank him up, out of his chair and into his desk, my fist pressing against the meat of his throat.
“Bella is your daughter,” I growl, my face an inch from his. “What my relationship to her was, or is, or might be, doesn’t fucking matter. What matters is that the pakhan of the fucking Bratva took her away with him, blatantly saying out-fucking-loud that he was there to take her for retribution over what happened to his son. An occurrence that happened because you agreed to sell her to them as a bride?—”
“They paid for her,” Masseo wheezes. “Or rather, Salvatore paid what they should have, before the wedding. So as I see it?—”
I flex my arm, jerking him across the desk, ignoring his cry of pain. Masseo tries to fight, but I’m stronger than he is, and I yank him over the desk and fling him to the floor, one foot settling atop his hand.
“Scream for your guards if you want,” I tell him flatly. “But I’ll break your hand before they get here. Who knows what else I can do in that amount of time? We can find out together.”
I settle some of my weight onto that foot, grinding my shoe down into the bones of his hand, and Masseo lets out a choked sound.
“The way I see it,” I continue, “is that you’re a worthless piece of shit, Masseo. Under my shoe, in this moment, as you should be. Your daughter is in danger. The best thing that will happen to her, under Igor’s roof, is death.” It takes effort to keep my voice even, flat, with only anger showing through. The thought of Bella being harmed, tortured, killed makes me want to come unraveled. But I can’t help her like that.
“No one goes up against Igor Lasilov,” Masseo starts to say, and I snort.
“Please. The don went up against him, and murdered two dozen of his men, and his son. That’s how you got Bella back in the first place. And he won’t expect this, because he knows I don’t have the men for it, and he knows you’re a coward. But what he doesn’t know is that I’m willing to kill for the people who mean something to me. I’ve kept that under lock and key all these years, so that men like Igor wouldn’t see me as a threat. Just someone to do business with, to trade gems and drugs and arms for cash. But I will. And unless you help me get your daughter back, I’ll start with you.”
I can feel the bones of his hand starting to give way under my foot. Masseo lets out a helpless whimper, and he nods, his eyes glossy with pain.