Trapped (Sinners of Boston #5)

13. Santino

THIRTEEN

SANTINO

My soldier blocked the only exit.

An unnecessary precaution since the man at my feet couldn’t walk. Ivan writhed on the concrete floor, moaning, his jeans soaked with piss and blood. Crimson smeared the aluminum baseball bat that I’d cracked over his legs. His arms. His screaming echoed in the warehouse. So loud. I should’ve gagged him.

Ivan tried to prop himself up but slipped on his blood. Pleas spilled from his split lip. Stop. Don’t do this. I’m sorry. He’d apologized a hundred times, crawled on his hands, begged.

I’d spent an hour making an example out of him, and my brain still felt like it was on fire. I kept seeing what he’d done to her.

I tossed the bat aside.

One of my soldiers picked it up.

Then I stalked to Ivan and grabbed his hair. I forced him to his knees and pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead, feeling his skin twitch under the metal.

I motioned toward Vitale, who handed me my phone. I flipped it open to the surveillance footage. “A civilian recorded you attacking my girlfriend. Right outside their business, two days ago.”

Ivans trembled, and his eyes darted away.

Fucking coward . “You hit her, so I thought I’d return the favor.”

“I meant no disrespect.”

“You attacked my girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was anything to you.” Ivan’s voice cracked, the stench of fear as pungent as the piss. “Everybody said she was your whore.”

That word flashed through me like lightning.

I pistol whipped his face.

Blood burst over Ivan’s eye socket as he rolled on his back. I kicked him, slamming my leather shoes into his ribcage. I seized his hair and put the gun back to his skull.

“I swear, all we did was talk!” he cried, tears mixing with blood. “Dimitri’s been on our asses to find her. He told us to check Boston.”

I already knew about her ex’s frantic search. Hard to miss it, the way Dimitri clawed through the city’s underbelly to locate the woman who’d slipped through his fingers.

I leaned in closer, whispering. “Well, now you know. And you’re gonna send a message to Dimitri for me. If he even thinks about coming near her, I’ll destroy his family. His sisters. His brothers. Their husbands and wives. Every single one of you Russian pricks.”

Ivan nodded frantically. “I will, I promise. Please, just let me go.”

“Another question, and I’ll set you free.”

“Sure,” he bleated. “Anything.”

I smiled. “Does he know she’s with me?”

Ivan’s breathing hitched. “No.”

Too bad . “You sure?”

“He doesn’t know. I swear to Christ.”

I lifted the gun, aiming at him.

Ivan sat up, wincing. “Hey—whoa, whoa, whoa . I’ll do what you asked! W-what about the mess?—”

I shot him in the chest.

One, two, three, four—the bangs didn’t even make me flinch. I emptied the whole clip, and Ivan fell to the grimy floor with a gurgling sigh. Blood leaked around him. I stood over him, tempted to accompany my soldiers when they dumped his body in Providence. They dragged him over a plastic tarp.

I needed some air.

I walked outside, my head throbbing. Why the hell didn’t she tell me a man assaulted her in broad daylight? He yanked her into his car. He could’ve killed her.

My throat tightened. I’d never let her out of my sight again.

A muscle car rolled into the parking lot. My brother’s Dodge. Kill spilled out of the car and strolled toward me.

“Your comare is safe.”

“You sure?

“Yeah. She’s fine. Christian is watching her.”

I nodded. “Good.”

He frowned. “Sonny, why go through all this for a Romanov?”

“Because she’s mine.”

His mouth twitched, and a dimple flashed. “You own her? Or is it the other way around?”

“Fuck off.”

Kill grinned, crossing his arms. “How much money have you given her?”

I glared at him. “None of your business.”

He cocked his head. “Fifty grand?”

I wish.

“Huh,” he murmured, his tone growing more amused. “More than fifty?”

“Eighty.”

His chest shook with a low chuckle. “I’m impressed. You’re usually the one doing the hustling.”

“Shut up. I’m not some lovesick fool.”

He held up his hands. “I’m just breaking your balls a little.”

I couldn’t blame him.

This woman bled me dry. My bank account could take it but not my pride. She spent cash like someone desperate to get rid of it. She was a gold digger through and through.

“I let her think she’s hustling me. She’s part of a bigger plan.”

Kill leaned against his car, smirking. “Last I checked, you don’t keep pawns in your bed.”

I shrugged and turned away, staring out at the darkening sky. The lingering traces of sunset had slipped below the horizon. This fixation on Delilah was problematic. Dating led to feelings, and feelings led to love.

And love?

Well, it made people do stupid things.

My old man, a degenerate gambler and a drunk, hammered that lesson into me early. We grew up dirt poor because he couldn’t keep his hands off the cards. He’d stagger home after losing everything at the track, reeking of booze and ready to pick a fight. I hated him. We all did except for Julia, the baby of the family, and Mom. She clung to him like a life raft, believing he’d change. He never did. Her loyalty brought us nothing but misery.

Love had chained her to a man who hurt her repeatedly. I swore I’d never fall into that trap. So I chased quick flings and one-night stands, girls who didn’t mean a damn thing to me. Delilah was supposed to be a distraction.

Two months in, still hooked.

This girl was different. Felt different . Fucking her wasn’t enough of a release. Around her, I acted like a drug addict, hitting my dealer for a fix. I needed more, but the closer I tried to get, the more she danced out of reach. It made me want her even more.

Delilah only wanted my money.

I was turning into the type of guy I preyed on. The sad, delusional men lining up at stripper bars, throwing cash to women who’d never reciprocate their feelings. I thought I was better than them. That it could never happen to me.

Bullshit .

Delilah had “borrowed” an obscene amount of money, and I kept giving her more. I’d lost my damned mind. Nothing she did stopped me from imagining things I had no business imagining.

I had no clue where this obsession came from or why it had chosen Delilah Romanov, but it was real. Like a beast living under my skin, gnawing at my rib cage, inflaming my brain with jealousy. She had to be mine. It ate away at me and consumed my thoughts, every waking moment filled with her image, her voice, her taste.

I’d given her my keys. She’d handed them back like I’d offered her loose change. I’d thought we were beyond this transactional bullshit. She didn’t want for anything. I’d given her more than enough to make sure she didn’t have to worry. Maybe that was the problem. In her mind, this was still an arrangement. No strings attached.

I needed more.

I’d given her everything, and she’d taken it all. Money, protection, a lavish lifestyle. But the keys? Too much for her. Giving them back to me proved she wasn’t ready.

Maybe she didn’t want anything deeper.

No. I couldn’t accept that.

Kill raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. “The closer you keep her, the more attention you draw. The Romanovs won’t let her go.”

“They’ll never take her from me.”

His gaze drifted to the door behind me. “And what about her ex? What if he finds her first?”

“He won’t. I’m keeping tabs on him.”

He’d come for her. Who wouldn’t?

And when he did, I’d kill him.