Page 11 of Wicked Villain

Sadly, this fucker is my best chance of getting to Moretti.

Corrado has everyone fooled into thinking he built his empire on his own blood and sweat. But apart from the wealth he accumulated from his wife’s family, he’s been quietly getting rich off fucked-up schemes with Moretti.

That’s bad enough. What’s worse is that Corrado and my father were in business right up until five years ago when they fell out. That means this sniveling fucker was stabbing us in the back all along. The whole fucking time he knew us.

1685 was the code he used to hack our systems to get Moretti in. 1685 was the code he used to condemn my mother and sister to death.

For the last sixteen years, he’s lied, taken us all for fools, and rubbed shoulders with the enemy we were so desperate to find. All the while acting like his hands weren’t dirty.

I don’t know what pisses me off more—that we never suspected him, even after the fall-out, or that he’s gotten away with his deception for so damn long.

“You have to believe me.” Corrado steps closer, as if he can reason with me. He should fucking know better. You can’t reason with a psycho. Especially one like me who can’t see past the thirst for vengeance. “I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”

When he shakes his head and his stare deepens with what’s supposed to be remorse, I cut Cassian a glance. He rolls his eyes with the same disgust I feel and smirks.

Without warning, I turn back to Corrado and throw a jaw-cracking punch smack right in the side of his face. He’s a big guy like me, but I hit hard.

Motherfucker. He goes flying backward into his desk, crashing into his computer and a stack of documents, which land on the floor in a sprawling mess at the same time as him.

I stalk up to him, taking in his shocked expression and bleeding nose.

Did he really think I’d accept that shitty excuse of an apology? Or any, for that matter?

He didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.

What the fuck does he think this is? And who the fuck does he think I am?

One thing I’m not is an idiot.

Corrado attempts to speak again. I stop whatever shit is about to fly out of his mouth with a hand to his throat and shove him against the wall. Then I get right up in his face.

“Micah Moretti!” I bark, squeezing his throat. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Yeah. I thought he’d say something like that. I hit him again, and Cassian joins me, knowing exactly what I want him to do. He takes out his gun and holds it at Corrado’s temple, rubbing the side of the gun along Corrado’s cheek.

“Haven’t killed anyone today yet.” My youngest brother smiles like a shark who just got handed his next meal. “You’d make a good kill, Corrado. A worthy collectible to add to my ever-growing list. Might even display your head in my front yard on a pike.”

Cassian is my senior enforcer. He enjoys a good kill, especially when he has a personal stake in the target.

“Now, now, brother. Don’t be so hasty.” I throw Cassian a crude smile. Corrado watches me closely, shuddering in my grasp. The vein on the side of his throat pulses, thick, blue, fragile. I could snap his neck right now, and he wouldn’t be able to stop me. No one would. “This one is for me.”

“Lev, I don’t know where Moretti is.” The words splutter out of his mouth like vomit. “It’s been years since I was in contact.”

“Don’t lie to me. You had a job six months ago.” Ironically, just before Father died.

“I was given the job by his associates,” he attempts, but I press my thumb into his windpipe, crushing it. He coughs violently and tries to gasp for air. “I never… spoke to Moretti. Never spoke…”

Another round of coughs sputters from his lips.

“You must know how to reach him.” Cassian slaps Corrado’s cheek with the back of his gun, cracking the skin. Deep red blood breaks through the surface, sliding down to the base of his neck to join the sweat pooling there. “You’re practically his pet, eager to please him in whatever ways he wishes. From all the work you’ve done for him, you must have him on speed dial.” Cassian lets out a cold chuckle.

“No.” Corrado attempts to shake his head, but my grip around his neck stops him. “That’s not how it works.”

“Then tell us how it works,” I grate out.

He starts coughing again. Damn it. He’s no good to me coughing like this.