Slowburn

Chapter 54 (Renzo's POV)

         I didn't remember kicking her door in and waiting for her in her apartment while black out drunk. I never drank to that point in my life, but it was Dante's brilliant idea to get us drunk after I had completely destroyed the office as Fuoco Lento. 

When I woke up, sprawled across Kat's mattress I knew that meant she never came home once I heard her tiny voice waking me up with the sun already shining through that bay window in the main room. 

I had completely lost it yesterday when I realized Moretti took what was mine. When I saw all the marks he had left on her body it felt like a personal 'fuck you' from that piece of shit who dared to fucking touch her. 

        Yeah, I told him he could have whatever he wanted, but she wasn't included on that list and he knew it the second he realized how furious I was in the private room. After the conversation we had with that old fuck Van Dijk, I told Moretti in Italian that he should find another doll to play with. 

That's what they are to him, and he likes to play house until that beast inside him rises and he's suddenly gag tying his toy, stringing her up somewhere to fuck her into delirium until she safe words out of it. He's all about pushing past limits, and last night he surpassed mine, and I wanted to beat his face in. 

I wanted to string him up, but by the fucking throat.

        I was so angry at him for having her, at her for letting him, and at myself for letting us get to this point of possession I've never exhibited before. Him and I have shared so many women, but Kat's a good girl. She isn't like the others, and yet we've tainted her. If she had let him have her within days of letting me then who else will she let? I can't go on a murdering spree, so somethings gotta give here. 

My body was still too tight with anger, and I knew if I didn't calm down I was going to pay Moretti a visit that would devastate our business from this day forward. 

        Opening my middle console I fished around for my pack of cigarettes and realized there was none. I cut through traffic and stopped in a convenience store. I said I was gonna quit, but it seems I've entered some stressful times as of late. 

I knew I looked like a hungover dirty mess because I'd seen all the scratches and bruising from tossing shit around the room and punching everything. My black button down was disheveled as was my hair, but I didn't give a shit. I stood in line and waited for the prick in front of me to count out coins to pay for his black and milds. 

I had no patience for it and  snapped at him to hurry the fuck up. Swiveling around he tried puffing out his chest and being a tough guy. 

        "Wait your fucking turn" his thick Charlestown accent came through. He had a shamrock tattooed in faded green on his arm and he looked like a tool. He also picked the wrong person to fuck with. I needed to hit someone and if it couldn't be Moretti it was about to be this guy.

"You've got two seconds" I gave him one warning. He didn't budge. I snapped. I gave him a right hook that sent him flying into the rack of yellowed postcards that have probably been there for a decade, and then I grabbed his muscle tee and yanked him back up to me. 

He was pissed now and tried hitting me back. I dodged his fist and then I rammed mine into his gut, making him fold over in pain. As he came down my knee went up and I heard the loud crack that told me I'd just broken his nose. 

I heard the man howl and grab his face as crimson poured like a faucet through his hands and onto the ground in a puddle, from which he'd fallen to and now lay on in the fetal position. "GET-OUT-MY-STORE. I-call-police" a heavily accented man behind the counter had been hollering the whole time.