Page 37 of The Beast Who Broke Me
Vito can’t have heard anything we’ve been saying. But it wouldn’t take an empath to feel the tension between Damiano and me, thick and murderous. Vito looks at Damiano and points to himself, then the house.
Damiano raises a hand, obviously trying to hold his temper in check. “Stay here,” he says shortly. “Make sure no one jacks the car.”
I walk up the cracked driveway with Damiano at my back, the cage shifting against me with every step—a maddening reminder of who thinks he’s in charge. I pause at the door to take a breath.
Then I knock.
I have to knock again before we hear shuffling feet in the hallway. “Not interested,” mutters a voice from behind it.
“Mr. Ferraro?” I say to the closed door. “My name is Caligula Clemenza. I heard you might be looking for me.”
The door flings open, revealing a man north of sixty, with thick silver hair and eyes so dark brown they look almost black. His face is weathered, with deep lines carved between his nose and mouth, between his brows, around his eyes.
Those eyes go wide at the sight of me. He looks me head to toe and back again as though he’s not sure he can believe what he’s seeing, and then he grabs me by the arm and yanks me forward.
“Get in here,” he snarls, “before someone sees you.”
But Damiano has grabbed my other arm and pulls me back with a casual tug, causing the other man to overbalance.
“Hey!” he snaps at Dami. “You can stay the hell out of this, Orsini. Yeah, I know who you are.”
Dami looks at me with a cocked eyebrow, waiting.
“He’s a friend of mine,” I tell Strike. “My protection. I don’t go anywhere without him.”
“Oh, kid,” Strike breathes, “you got no fucking clue what this guy will do to you.”
I most certainly do. But before I can calm the situation, Strike pulls a gun from the back of his waistband and trains it on Damiano’s face.
CHAPTER 14
DAMIANO
“Wait!”the Clemenza shouts as I push him out of the way.
But I’m not going to wait while someone’s waving a gun in my face, for fuck’s sake. I shove the old man’s arm sideways, slamming his wrist into the doorframe. The revolver clatters to the ground. I scoop it up, pop the cylinder, and shake out six rounds into my palm. The whole thing takes a few seconds.
“Don’t hurt him,” Caligula snaps. “Dami,stop.”
I’ve already fucking stopped. The old man is cradling his wrist and glaring at me with a look that probably scared people thirty years ago. “He’s fine,” I say. “You’re fine. Right?”
“Fuck you,” he grumbles.
“I apologize for Mr. Orsini’s actions,” the Clemenza says with a cold stare at me. “He’s very protective of me.”
Ferraro squints at me. “Hard to believe that,” he says. “This guy’s had a problem with the Clemenzas for decades.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Caligula says vaguely, but Ferraro seems to accept that. “Mr. Ferraro, I came here because I hoped to get some information. Do you think?—”
“You can have more than information,” the old man says at once. “Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you, sir?”
Sir, he says, with automatic deference. Oh, the Clemenza is going to love this guy.
“I’ve only recently become aware of your group,” Caligula says. “And I’d appreciate a chance to sit down and talk about…well, everything.”
Ferraro is staring at Caligula Clemenza again now, staring like he’s the second fucking coming. I think his damn eyes are glistening with tears.
This is ridiculous.
