Craving Danger (Kings Of Mafia)
Craving Danger: Chapter 37

Taking the stairs down to the foyer, I head into the living room, where I replace Milo playing a game on his phone.

“Samantha is in the main bedroom. No one but you can go up to the third floor,” I order.

“Got it.”

“If she needs something, she’ll message me, and I’ll let you know. Just leave it outside the bedroom door and knock so she knows it’s there.”

Milo nods, then asks, “Are you going to deal with the doctor?”

“Yes. Marcello will be with me.”

He gets up and goes to sit on a different couch that gives him a view of the stairs.

I leave the living room through the sliding doors, and replaceing Marcello sitting on a chair out on the veranda, I say, “Let’s go.”

He darts up and falls in beside me as we head toward the guesthouse. As soon as I walk inside, my men straighten up.

Taking the steps down to the bulletproof door, I place my hand over the biometric scanner. The heavy door unlocks, and Marcello pushes it open.

Stepping into my armory, I stalk past the cabinets holding all my weapons and into the room I reserve for torturing whoever dares cross me.

Santo glances up, and seeing me, he climbs to his feet from where he was sitting while guarding the fucker.

My eyes lock on Todd, where my men strung him up in chains hanging from the roof.

I take in the fucker, from his gray hair to the loafers on his feet.

The rage I suppressed so I could focus on Samantha fills every corner of me until it’s all I feel.

I’m glad to see he’s conscious. I’d hate to have to wait for him to wake up.

“What do you want?” the fucker asks.

His gaze darts between Marcello and me before it lands on the gun in my hand.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to shoot you,” I mutter, then I hand the gun to Marcello.

“Santo, strip him down to his underwear,” I order.

“Why am I here? Who are you?” he makes more demands.

I walk to the seat Santo vacated and sit down. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly.

My tone is low and deadly as I say, “I’m Franco Vitale.”

Todd struggles against the restraints as Santo undresses him.

His eyes keep darting between Marcello, Santo, and me, then he mutters, “I don’t know who you are.”

I let out a sigh, then say, “Yeah, but I bet you’ve heard of the Cosa Nostra.”

Slowly, the color drains from his face. “I only know what I’ve seen on the news. I’ve never been involved with them.”

“I know.” I cross my legs, resting my ankle on my knee. “I’m one of the five heads of the Cosa Nostra.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

As Santo steps away from Todd, my eyes lock on the name carved on his side.

Sam.

“Marcello, bring me a knife,” I order, my tone grim. My eyes flick to Todd’s worried ones. “Samantha started working for me over a year ago. She’s so fucking good at her job, I promoted her to my personal assistant within eight months.”

Todd begins to realize why he’s here. Honestly, he should’ve known it involved Samantha, considering where we found him.

When he opens his mouth, I hold up a finger. “I’m still talking.”

Marcello returns to the room and holds two knives on display for me. “Which one do you prefer, boss?”

I glance between the large K-Bar and the small pairing knife.

“Maybe we should let Dr. Grant choose. After all, he’s going to get well acquainted with the blade.”

Marcello nods and walks over to Todd, then I ask, “You work with scalpels, right?”

Todd looks horrified as he stares at the blades in Marcello’s hands.

“Choose one,” I order.

While he keeps glancing between the knives and me, I continue with my story, “Over the past two and a half months, I’ve gotten to know Samantha better.” A smile curves my lips. “She so fucking strong. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He doesn’t answer me.

“Marcello, I’ve changed my mind. Bring me the K-Bar.”

“Sure, boss.”

When he hands me the knife, I climb to my feet and slowly stalk closer to Todd.

“Leave us alone,” I order my men.

“We’ll wait in the armory, boss,” Marcello says before I hear them exit the room.

When the door shuts, I glance at all the scars on Todd’s body. “Christ, you look fucked up. I heard you were in a car accident. It must’ve hurt like a bitch.”

Anger tightens his features, showing me that I’m getting to him.

My voice drops lower, and I let the rage simmer in the words as I murmur, “Samantha told me about you.”

He shakes his head. “I…”

I lift the knife and press the tip to where her name is carved into his skin, and it shuts him up.

“I hate being interrupted. Do it again, and I’ll remove one of your body parts.”

He nods frantically.

“She told me how you drugged her.” My eyes narrow on him. “How you raped her repeatedly.” I press the tip of the knife into his skin until I draw blood. “How you carved your name on her.” I push it deeper, and blood trickles down his side.

I watch as the look in his eyes changes from uncertainty to anger, and it makes me laugh.

I move closer, and when I’m face-to-face with him, I realize he’s much shorter than me.

“While you were hanging here, I made Samantha come five times,” I say, hitting him where it hurts most.

He’s obsessed with her, and to hear that another man took what he considered his property will drive him insane.

A deranged light fills his eyes.

With a chuckle, I add, “She cried my name every time she orgasmed.”

With the tip of the knife, I pull the waistband of his briefs back and glance down. “No wonder she came so hard for me. How do you satisfy a woman with such a small dick?”

“Fuck you,” he spits.

I turn around and take a couple of steps away from him. “Oh, by the way, she got a tattoo on her side. Shaded brick with a flower growing out of it and the words ‘stronger than ever.’ Your name has been erased.”

“No,” he gasps.

Immense pleasure fills me because I’ve delivered fucking hard blow to the fucker.

“Samantha is mine,” I say as I turn around to look at him again. “She loves me.”

“No,” he shouts, spittle flying from his mouth.

I take a deep breath, and after I exhale, I say, “I’m sure you can understand that I can’t have my woman’s name on another man.”

A frown forms on his forehead. “What are you going to do?

“Marcello,” I shout, and a second later, my men come back into the room. “Blindfold and gag Dr. Grant.”

“No.” The fucker begins to kick his legs, and I know from experience it puts more strain on the shackles around his wrists.

Santo does as instructed, then I order, “Hold him still.”

My men grab hold of the man, and when I’m face-to-face with him again, I press the tip of the blade into his skin. “This is what Samantha felt.

Muffled screams are wretched from him as I begin to hack through his skin. I take my sweet fucking time as I flay the skin from his body, his agonizing screams music to my ears.

Samantha couldn’t make a sound.

By the time I rip the piece of skin with her name off his body, he trembles from the pain.

I drop Todd’s skin on the floor, then say, “Remove the blindfold and gag.”

While Santo carries out the order, I glance at Marcello. “I believe he had a cane with him?”

“I’ll check with the men.”

I turn my attention back to Todd and watch as he looks in horror at the gaping area of raw flesh on his side.

“That’s got to hurt,” I say, my tone taunting.

Marcello comes back and hands me a light brown cane.

I tap the point against Todd’s raw wound, and he wiggles like a worm while letting out a cry.

“You used this to hit my woman, right?” I ask.

His terror-filled eyes dart to me. I use the cane to point at his face. “Samantha had that same look when she got to my house, but don’t worry, she’s recovered fully.”

“Hhh….hhhh,” he tries to mumble something.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” I growl before slamming the cane into the raw wound on his side.

I’m rewarded with an excruciating howl, and as I keep swinging the cane, the howls turn to whimpers.

He tried to kill the woman I love.

My rage spirals out of control, and I slam the cane against the side of his head.

Swinging around, my breaths rush over my lips as I toss the cane on the floor and order, “Leave him alone in this room. No food. No water.”

Stalking away from the fucker who will soon pray for death, I head back to the main house, where I pour myself a tumbler of whiskey. I down the burning liquid, then focus on getting my breathing under control.

“You okay, boss?” Milo asks from where he’s still sitting on the couch.

I nod my head. “I’m fine.”

I hear Milo get up. “Is he dead?”

Turning to face him, I answer, “No. I’m not done with him yet.”