Lib Novel Page 58
Torture as a way of obtaining information or delivering a punishment is not uncommon in the criminal world. I’ve never witnessed it, but I don’t have to be there to know that’s what’s happening on the underground level at the moment. Does Rafael mete out the agony himself, or does he have someone else do it for him while he watches? Even knowing his reputation, I find it hard to imagine him doing it. The man who leaves me drawings on sticky notes wouldn’t be slaughtering people in his home, right? Maybe the stories I’ve heard about the feared Sicilian are exaggerated. Or is he just as people paint him—a ruthless, cold-blooded killer?
I crack the bedroom door open and take a peek outside. There’s no one around. Tiptoeing down the hallway, I try my best to keep my steps light so the floorboards won’t squeak, giving me away. The faint echo of whimpers and subdued screams seems to seep through the walls.
Halfway down the stairs, one of the wooden treads creaks under my bare foot. I startle, looking around, afraid someone may have heard it. But the entry hall is deserted.
Except for the vintage sconces on the walls, all lights are off, making the space feel ominous. The blood trail on the floor is gone, except for a few crimson spots here and there. Avoiding the remnants, I quickly cross the hall and turn left toward the stairway leading to the wine cellar.
I halt before the thick cellar door and stare at the knob. This is a mistake. I have zero interest in witnessing a torture session. But my fingers are itching to turn that handle. Push open the door. To see him. The real him.
The urge to get a glimpse of that other side of him is coursing through me. The side he’s never shown me. I want to know everything about Rafael. Need. I need to know the whole truth about the man who has invaded my thoughts from the moment I met him. Maybe seeing him at his beastliest will snuff out this silly attraction of mine. Maybe seeing blood on his hands will make me recoil from his touch next time, not revel in it. Maybe, just maybe, this ridiculous pull I feel toward him will finally break.
The screams coming from beyond the barrier have waned. I wrap my hand around the knob. It’s ice-cold under my fingers, freezing my skin. Holding my breath, I crack the door open.
A lone beam of light shines down from the antique wrought iron chandelier, illuminating a figure reclining on a rickety wooden chair in the middle of the otherwise dark room. His back is turned toward the door, but I know it’s Rafael. There’s no one else here. Except for . . . the bodies.
Five men, their clothes torn and bloody, are lying on the floor throughout the room. The stench of blood and bodily fluids is intermixed with the smell of smoke, making me gag.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, vespetta.” Rafael’s voice breaks the silence. He still has his back to me.
“How did you know it was me?” I choke out.
“You’re the only one who would dare intrude on my meeting.”
He takes a lengthy drag on his cigarette, then tosses it at the face of a dead man, where it lands with a disturbing muted sizzle. Then, in a blink-of-an-eye fluid motion, he slams his hand against the front leg of the chair, leaving a knife lodged in the wood. Right next to a glass jar filled with bloody lumps of . . . something. Something that looks like . . . severed human tongues.
Rafael slowly rises from the chair and turns to face me. The front of his shirt and sleeves are saturated with so much blood the fabric clings to his body.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I mumble, still gaping at the crimson stains on his button-down. It’s the only thing that pops into my stunned mind to say.
“A nasty old habit I still indulge in from time to time.” He covers the distance between us in a few long strides and stops right in front of me. “Why are you here?”
“I . . . I’m not sure.” I swallow and meet his gaze. “Aren’t you going to yell at me for coming down?”
“Why would I?”
“Because . . . I don’t know. You didn’t want me to see this? If I would have walked in on my father doing anything like this, he would have tanned my hide.”
“Shielding someone you care about from harm is one thing.” He braces his hand on the doorframe and bends until our faces are at the same level. There are blood stains on his left cheek, as well. “Shielding them from reality is a completely different thing. Because, in our world, it could lead to death.”
I nod, my eyes wandering to one of the corpses. “Who are they?”
“Cosa Nostra. They came to Catania to find out what happened to the drugs they tried to smuggle through my port.”
“Did you have to kill them?”
“What would Bratva do if they found members of a rival organization dealing on their turf?”
Exactly the same thing. My eyes find Rafael’s again. “Is any of that blood yours?”
“Would it bother you if it was?”
“Maybe.” My voice is barely a whisper, as if I find that realization hard to process.
The corner of Rafael’s lips curls upward. Slowly, his bloody fingers pinch my chin, tilting my head up. “None of it is mine, Vasilisa.”
His mouth seizes mine in an instant. There is no softness in his kiss. Just ferocious claiming. I manage to gulp a breath as I grab a handful of his shirt for support and kiss him back. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t fight his spellbinding pull. I bite his lower lip, sucking it into my mouth. He growls, and his tongue invades me, too.
The fabric under my touch is wet and sticky, but I can’t make myself care. My mind is drifting, unable to process anything but the taste of him. His scent. His heat. The only skin-to-skin contact is our lips, but my entire body is buzzing like a live wire. No other man has ever made me feel like this.