Page 162 of Tempting My Mafia Monster

He paused when he saw me, our eyes meeting for a moment before he rampaged back to the mansion without a word. I’d watched that happy-go-lucky boy become a vengeful man overnight. His family had to restrict him to going to the cellar only once a day and always supervise him because… if it were up to him, McKenna would already be dead.

Santino emerged a few seconds later, looking half the man he was. Dark circles beneath tired, sunken eyes stared back at me. He made his way over, wiping the blood from his hands with a rag and pulling himself up on the wall. I offered him a cigarette, even though I knew he only smoked cigars. He took one.

We smoked in silence, listening to the birds chirping and the tree leaves above us rustling in the breeze. I gave him a sideways glance as he stared at the gravel, that hollow look in his eyes telling me he was either lost in his own head or completely numb.

Letting out a deep exhale, I moved my gaze back to the steel door.

“No more,” I said, putting an end to this family’s vengeance. “McKenna’s mine now.”

He said nothing, just gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. The silence stretched once again.

“Do you believe in karma?” he asked eventually, his voice low.

I frowned, taking another drag on my cigarette. “I don’t believe in shite.”

“I killed your brother.”

My shoulders tensed. It was the first time he’d acknowledged what had happened with Connor. We’d planned to have the chat when we got back from Belgium, but… after everything that had gone down, it never happened.

He lifted his head and looked at me, pure guilt and torment in his bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t pull the trigger, but I led him to it. Callum—Connor—died because of me. Your brother.” His throat worked. “Karma took mine.”

“No.” I blew smoke into the sky and watched it come apart beneath the clouds. “McKenna did.” I turned to face him. “Just like McKenna sent my brother to Italy to fuck with you, he wanted us to tear each other’s throats out instead of his. I’m done givin’ him that power.”

Santino’s lips trembled, and he glanced away, rubbing his hand across his mouth to hide his emotion. He nodded. “I’ll never ask for your forgiveness, but I am sorry.”

I swallowed, clicking my neck to the side. “I know.”

For the first time, the air didn’t hang heavy with hatred. It simply settled. We were two brothers who had both lost one, yet somehow gained each other.

“Don’t let McKenna get in your head,” he said, sliding off the wall and grinding out his cigarette under his boot.

“I’ll let him try.”

Santino gave me a weak smile. “You’re a strong man, Maddox Moriarty. It will be over soon. Then you can start living for yourself.”

“Already am.” I flicked ash from my knee. “Tell Raya where I am. I know she likes to watch, but I need to do this alone.”

He nodded and walked away. I threw my cigarette over the wall and jumped down. The gravel crunched beneath my boots with each step towards a moment I had waited for my entire life.

The faces of my family flashed through my mind. My da’s words: May he rise up and send you back to the hell you came from.

All the cells were empty except for one. The cold air and damp stone reminded me of the bunker, but this place was tainted by the stench of blood, decay and piss. My boots sounded loudly with each slow step. I took my time; there was no need to rush.

The Buccini soldier outside his cell unlocked it when he saw me coming and pushed the door open wide. I stopped at the threshold, staring at the battered, bloody and bruised body hanging from chains around his wrists. His head dangled to his chest, and what was left of the signature three-piece suit was in shreds. He was barefoot, and his broken toes barely scraped the floor.

“You can go,” I said to the soldier, then stepped inside. The sound of my voice made McKenna try to lift his head. I grabbed a metal chair from the corner, dragged it a few metres away from him, and took a seat.

I stared. I took him in, one injury at a time.

His swollen face was a mess. One eye sealed shut, the other bloodshot and glassy. Some of his teeth were missing, and his cheeks were sliced with deep cuts and reopened wounds. I didn’t need to guess who gave him those. The fingers he had left were bent unnaturally in all different directions, and something had been done to his knees that had made them triple in size. His skin was branded with burns, cuts and bruises.

Basically, he was nothing more than a broken bag of meat, swinging from a chain.

He finally found enough strength to rest his head against one of his biceps and look me in the eyes. He gave me a revolting, bloodstained smile.

And I felt… nothing. I expected more. Seeing the man who had tormented, abused and manipulated me for nearly my entire life reduced to this… was anticlimactic at best.

I braced my elbows on my knees and leaned closer to him. I stared.