The Ultimate Sin (Sins of the Past Duet Book 2) Page 2

I moved my head to the side to dodge him, my hands still balled into fists. In his own way, Pete was looking out for me. But I was beyond saving. No one but Gia could pull me out of this dark hole I’d climbed into.

  “Walk away,” Pete warned.

  He knew me well enough to know I was about two seconds away from knocking him out.

  Marco pulled me to the side, wrapping both of his hands around my bicep. “Let it go, Angelo. We will find Gia.”

  I shook him off me. “Alive?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on who took her, and how long it takes us to track her down.”

  “Whoever has Gia is using her for leverage,” Pete added. “She’s alive. Stop acting like a fucking girl and clean up the mess you’ve made.”

  He was talking about Carlo’s body.

  We were at the same construction site we’d used plenty of times to dump our victims. For a second, I thought of the look in Gia’s eyes, when I’d turned and saw her gasping for air, as the men I had killed alongside my brothers dropped into the ground. She was frightened but turned on. My girl never batted an eyelash at the things I did.

  I could still feel Gia’s lips when they wrapped around my cock that night. Knew just how her curls felt between my fingers when she took every inch of me in her mouth. Violence brought out a different side of me. Because of it, Gia had become my addiction. My salvation. She was the only person who could cure me. I had to find her.

  Doing as Pete asked, I walked over to Carlo’s body and gave him a good kick in the ribs to roll him over, and into the grave I made him dig before I beat him to death. I had his blood on my shoes and clothes, some of it on my face. If I could have killed him again, I would have. But it wouldn’t bring Gia back to me.

  One day at a time, I was becoming more like my brothers. I cared about nothing other than Gia. Not even myself. Hope was a wasted emotion, or at least I’d thought so before Gia had disappeared. Every day, I held out hope I would see her again. I hated not knowing if she was okay. The longest Gia and I had ever been apart in fifteen years was after her mother’s death. I thought that was hell. But not knowing if Gia was okay was pure torture.

  “Fig is next,” I told Marco.

  He nodded.

  My brothers had agreed to help me torture every last one of them. Michael Figone, who everyone knew as Fig, was one of the men on the list that was texted to Sonny the night of the fake fire at Vitale’s. With Carlo dead, I had four more left in my pursuit of revenge—Sonny included.

  Chapter Four

  Gia

  My captor held my chin back with his hand, forcing me to look at the camera. I tried to bite his fingers, but he kept me pinned to the chair with his strong hands. No matter how much I thrashed and pleaded for him to let me go, he laughed. It was more of a wicked cackle that made my blood run cold. He enjoyed tormenting me. This was fun for him.

  “Get your hands off me, you sick fuck. Angelo will slit your fucking throat for this. Mark my words, you pig.”

  As his hands roamed down my shoulders and to my breasts, he lifted me up from the chair. He pushed it aside with his dress shoe, my back slamming into his chest with violent force. Using my left foot, I tried to push off from his leg to knee him in the balls and missed.

  “You’re only making this harder on yourself,” he growled against the shell of my ear. “Keep fighting me. It’s a turn-on.”

  Perfect. Another sicko who was into rough sex and torture. No one had ever had me but Angelo, and if I could help it, things would stay that way. This motherfucker wasn’t going to bend me over and stake his claim. Nope, not without losing his manhood.

  He cupped my breast in his hand and pinched my nipple so hard I thought he’d ripped it off. My eyes shut from the pain that shot down my arm, the sensation so intense I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

  “I can see why everyone wants you,” he hissed close to my ear. “It’s time to get you ready. Stop fighting, or it will only get worse for you. Some men like the challenge. The men who are interested in you will pay more for it.”

  I turned my body from side to side, attempting to land an elbow. He was too fast, my body too weak to properly fight him.

  “No,” I screamed. “I’m no one’s property.”

  He laughed so loud it pierced my eardrum. “Think again, princess. You have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

  “No, why don’t you tell me?”

  He shook his head, still amused by the entire situation. “You’re worth more than gold. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Like what? What are you talking about?”

  He held his other hand over my mouth to silence me. “That’s enough out of you.”

  Attempting to peel his fingers from my lips, I grabbed hold of his ring. It was thick, made of solid gold, and had diamond chips surrounding what looked like a bull. My blood ran cold at the thought of the Sicilian Bull—what was once used as a torture device in Ancient Greece.

  I’d talked Angelo into taking a mythology class with me for our undergraduate degrees. My skin had dotted with tiny bumps when the professor explained to the class that criminals were trapped inside a hollow bull made from bronze, a fire lit underneath until they’d burned to death. They said the people’s screams sounded like those of a bull.

  I was sick from the thought of killing someone in such a way. Not Angelo. He was always fascinated by new ways to torture his victims. It was apparent my captor shared Angelo’s sickness.

  Would he try the same sick shit with me?

  “Please,” I begged, my voice coming out more than desperate. “Don’t hurt me. I can give you money. I have plenty of it.”

  He laughed, releasing his hold on my breast. “It’s not about money. Not anymore.”

  I peeked up at him. “What do you want?”

  “Me? I don’t want a thing. I’m here to make sure you get from point A to point B in one piece. That’s about it. Whatever happens, once we get there is entirely up to you.”

  He slapped a handcuff on my wrist and dragged me to the bed, throwing me on the mattress as he latched the other cuff around the metal bedpost. I pulled at the cuff, even though I knew there was no way out of this room. The man stood over me and watched with his hands folded over his chest.

  Irritated by the look in his eyes, I used whatever strength I had left to lift my leg and kick him in the balls. He groaned and staggered back from the bed, holding onto his junk.

  “You will pay for that, bitch,” he choked out through gritted teeth. My captor’s face writhed in pain. He leaned against the wall and stared at me with hatred in his mocha colored eyes.

  I gave myself a mental pat on the back for getting a shot in on him until I considered his comment.

  People wanted to buy me.

  He wanted to hurt me.

  Where the fuck was he taking me?

  I could only hope that my white knight would show up in time to save me.

  “Get some sleep,” he said. “No one will pay top dollar for a whore with bags under her eyes.”

  His words sliced deep in my chest, cutting me like a machete.

  “You could at least feed me.”

  He ignored my comment, turning his back to me.

  Deflated but not yet defeated, I slumped to the mattress. At least that was the case until he flipped the light switch on the wall, leaving me in complete darkness. No matter how much I screamed or begged for mercy that was the last I saw of him for a while.

  What I’d assumed was another day had passed in that room. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure how long I’d been there. My curls were developing a thick crust from the gel I’d applied to them the night of my engagement dinner. I smelled of vomit from when I woke up from one of my many naps and puked on my shirt. The drugs they’d used to sedate me had made me sick to my stomach. Without food, my insides were ripping themselves apart, my body attacking itself to survive.

  My eyes had grown accustomed
to the darkness. There wasn’t much for me to see other than the plastic chair and the toilet in the corner. But the red light was there. It was always there, taunting me. The tiny dot was a constant reminder I was being watched. I wanted revenge so bad I could taste it. With my arm attached to the bed, my chance of getting that revenge was lessening by the day.

  Startled by a rumbling at the door, I sat up in bed, the loud noises sending my body into overdrive. Something heavy thumped, hitting the floor, followed by another. I blinked a few times to refocus my gaze. It was too dark to make out anything other than two shapes attached to dark clothing.

  Bending my knees into my stomach, I prayed it was all a dream. Paralyzed by fear, my heart pounded in my ears, each beat digging a knife further into my chest. Two men whispered to each other, their voices too low to make out any of the words. I strained to see and couldn’t view their faces. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. As much as I wanted to run, I was helpless. They closed the distance within a matter of seconds.

  Once they were on top of me, grabbing at my body, I got a better look. Both men had slicked back hair, one of them overweight with a deep smoker’s cough, the other skinny, and wearing an oversized leather jacket.

  The thin one grabbed my ankles. The two of them working in harmony as the chunky man clamped my hands together, each of them holding me in place with cable ties.

  I knew there was no point in resisting. There was nothing I could do to stop them from taking me. A blindfold slid over my eyes, followed by one that wrapped around my mouth, tied at the back of my head.

  The scent of cheap, musky cologne burned my nostrils.

  They lifted me up from the bed, and before I knew it, we were moving out of the room. Through the blindfold, I couldn’t see a thing. I listened carefully for any sound out of the ordinary, attempted to memorize every noise and commit it to memory.

  A crisp breeze smacked me in the face as a door opened and shut behind us. With my face pressed into this man’s neck, a streak of sweat and cologne slid across my cheek. A familiar scent hit my nostrils—the smell of salt water. This time, there were no crashing waves in the distance.

  I yelled in hopes the pressure would help to push the fabric from my mouth. No such luck. My lungs burned, producing a severe aching in my chest. The acrid taste from the handkerchief created the taste of vomit in the back of my throat. I wiggled my legs which were draped over one of their shoulders hoping to catch them off guard. But the man clamped down tighter, digging his fingers into my thigh. The cables were secure around my ankles and wrists, and they dug into my skin, not even allowing the slightest movement.

  By the time we stopped, I heard a door open. The man heaved my body over his shoulder, my face smacking hard against a leather bench. Reaching out in front of me, I gripped onto what felt like a seat belt buckle, the metal cold in my hand. Someone slid in next to me and pushed me to the other side of the car, closing the door behind him.

  Anger, fear, and grief hit me all at once. I had done this to myself. These men were not here by coincidence. My connection to the Morellis would be the death of me.

  Instead of the salty air outside, my nose twitched at the foul stench of cigars that forced me to choke the bile back down. My body rocked back and forth as the car pushed forward. The uncomfortable silence which followed for the next ten minutes scared me to death.

  They were going to kill me.

  I would never see my blue-eyed boy again.

  After what seemed like an hour, the car came to a stop. Strong hands gripped my wrists, and I was thrown into something hard.

  “She’s moving too much. Hand it over,” the man next to me said to the driver.

  He released my left wrist long enough to grab something from the man. Then, he jammed a needle into my neck. I’d been here before, and I was getting sick of it. My eyes grew heavy from the drugs rushing through my bloodstream before sleep washed over me.

  Chapter Five

  Angelo

  I sat in the chair in the corner of the living room of the house I shared with Sonny, with my gun on my lap and a beer in my hand. Sonny would sit in this chair for hours. Most of the time he was watching the kind of porn only twisted fucks like Pete and him could appreciate. He had interests that were nothing compared to the kink I did with Gia. That sick fucker was still my best friend. I couldn’t shake him, same as how I couldn’t get Gia out of my system.

  My mind raced at the thought of Sonny kidnapping my girl, trying out that nasty shit with her. Nothing made sense anymore.

  Why would he go against the family?

  Why would he steal my fiancé?

  Sonny had been in love with Gia for as long as I could remember. But I never thought he’d stoop so low to have her.

  I took a sip of my beer, pushed the curtain back, and peeked out the front window. Gia was taken almost a week ago, and I had no idea where to begin. Sonny seemed the most likely source. I checked all of his usual hiding places. He hadn’t packed a single gun or taken a cent, all of it still tucked safely away.

  He wouldn’t have made it far without money.

  Samuel Bonfiglio was the first friend I’d ever had. I was the one who gave him the nickname Sonny. He always stayed the course, did what he was told, and watched my back. The first time I met Sonny we were maybe four or five years old. We were young, the memory so faint in my mind. But the day we’d met wasn’t important. My first good memory was of the time I found him behind the bakery. The day I knew Sonny would be my friend for life.

  After being awake for close to sixty hours, my eyelids grew heavy. I tried to fight the exhaustion that rocked through my body, hitting me all at once. Sleep was imminent. But Gia needed me. I pried my eyes open with my fingers, doing my best to stay awake.

  Nothing worked. My tired body won, as I dozen off in the chair.

  Ma pulled me through the front door when I got home from school and took the backpack from my shoulder. She dropped it on the floor and held me at arm’s length. “How was school, cucciolo?”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  She pinched my cheek and smiled. “Such a good boy, my Angelo. Can you do your mother a favor?”

  I nodded.

  She shoved her hand into her pocket and gave me a ten dollar bill. “I didn’t have time to make Pietro the cannoli he wanted for dessert. Run to the bakery for me.”

  Ma never called my older brother Pete. She said it wasn’t the name she’d given him, even though Pete was the English translation. I couldn’t stand my brother, even from an early age. He was always selfish and rude, never the older brother I could look up to.

  I stuffed the money in my pocket, promising to return within the next twenty minutes, and strolled out the door. On my way to the bakery, I heard a loud crack, followed by a few grunts. I stopped at the corner, looked down the long alleyway, and spotted Samuel Bonfiglio kicking a boy on the ground.

  I couldn’t avoid trouble. There was something broken and fucked-up inside me that was drawn to violence. Maybe it was in my blood. Maybe I just liked it.

  I cupped my hand around my mouth and walked toward him. “What did he do to you?”

  Sonny peeked up at me, a mess of dark hair in his eyes. He looked like a demon, possessed by the hunger that had overtaken him. “He took something that didn’t belong to him.”

  I stood at his side, staring down at the blond haired boy on the ground. Upon better inspection, I realized it was Connor O’Shea, the youngest son of the man who ran the Irish Mob. He was five years older than us but much smaller back then. “What did he steal?”

  “My PlayStation,” he said.

  I looked down at Connor. “Anyone ever tell you to keep your hands off other people’s shit?”

  Connor spat blood at me, the loogie landing on my brand new basketball sneakers. “Fuck you, Morelli.”

  That was all it took for the rage that was always there to bubble up in my chest. I looked at Sonny and shook my head. “Can you believe this kid?”r />
  An evil smirk tugged at the corner of Sonny’s mouth. Then, he refocused his gaze on Connor, his leg already mid-air, raised to kick Connor in the face. “Think you can steal from me, O’Shea? Think again, motherfucker.”

  Following Sonny’s lead, my foot collided with Connor’s stomach, drawing a loud groan from him. He covered his face with one hand and his balls with the other. We kept kicking until he was gasping for air and our energy was spent. Connor rolled on his side and sobbed with his hand over his face.

  Out of breath, Sonny bent over and laughed. He howled with each cry that escaped Connor’s chest. “If you ever touch my shit again, I will put a bullet between your eyes, O’Shea.”

  We were thirteen years old and already polluted by our father’s lifestyles. Sonny’s dad was in and out of prison. He was a loyal soldier, one of the men who took the fall for a big job that had gone wrong. My father kept his hands clean. He always had a fall guy in place.

  “Where’s your PlayStation?” I asked him.

  Sonny looked at me confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t that why we just beat the shit out of O’Shea?”

  Sonny laughed. “Nah, I got that back last week.” He stared down at Connor and growled, “O’Shea needed another reminder not to fuck with me.”

  “I like your style,” I admitted. “You could work for us someday.”

  He knew that meant my father’s organization. His wicked smirk told me he understood.

  We left Connor in the alley to lick his wounds and nurture his bruised ego. Sonny walked with me to the bakery and held the door open for me.

  “Thanks for helping me out,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Nothing to it, Sammy.”

  Everyone in the neighborhood called him Sammy back then, but it was meant as more of a dig.

  His face scrunched in disgust. “I hate that name. Don’t call me that.”

  “It sounds like a girl’s name,” I told him. “You need a new one. How about a nickname?”