Catching Bianca: A Dark Mafia Romance (Shadows of Obsession Book 4)
Catching Bianca: Chapter 22

Broadway vibrates with excitement, evident by the subtle shake of his hands. He stands beside me, his dark eyes on Vincent. The grab-and-go only took three hours. I located Vincent at a hotel in Pittsburgh where he’d most likely traveled for another one of Noretto’s auctions.

He shouldn’t have left whatever hole he’s been hiding in for the last few months.

Broadway said he didn’t trust himself not to torture the man on sight. Since that wouldn’t go down well in a five-star hotel, he stayed in the car with Carter while Koby and I fetched Vincent.

Once we’d dealt with his bodyguards, dragging him to the underground parking lot and locking him in the boot of Broadway’s G Wagon was a piece of cake. Gagged and tied, he spent an hour there while Broadway broke every traffic law burning rubber back to Columbus.

“What’s the plan?” I ask, itching for the show to start.

Vincent is last on Broadway’s list. Once he’s dead, the crazy murders stop. My best friend might actually regain his sanity. Watching that ruthless, vengeful part of him was fun for a while… then it got scary.

I’m also itching for the end of this show so I can get back to Bianca. The haunted look in her eyes when she came out of her bedroom earlier, still in the dark about our sudden trip, plays on the backs of my eyelids every time I blink. I should’ve explained sooner, saved her the stress, but I wasn’t fucking thinking, too excited about locating Broadway’s most wanted.

I run a heavy hand down my face, my insides knotting painfully. Bianca and I haven’t been apart for this long since day one and I don’t like how the distance makes me feel.

“I’ll have fun with this one,” Broadway says, cracking his neck and knuckles. “I’ll need a saw,” he adds, glancing at Koby. “Preferably a power saw.”

“I like the sound of that. Are we cutting his hands off?”

Vincent thrashes against the restraints binding him firmly to the torture chair Carter brought from Lakeside. I love that contraption. It adds a unique, gruesome flavor to the show. The leather restraints bite into Vincent’s already raw flesh, the first beads of blood staining the armrests.

He’s gagged, but the bag that covered his head on the ride here lies at his feet. Broadway took it off as soon as we strapped Vincent in. I bet he wants him to witness every moment of sick pleasure dancing in Broadway’s eyes as he watches him die.

“Be my guest,” Broadway says. “Hands, legs, have fun with it, but don’t touch his head. That’s mine. Once I’m convinced he’s suffered all the pain he deserves, and then some, I’ll saw off his ugly head and give it to Violet.”

“That’s a little bigger than Cassio’s heart,” Carter says.

“I never gave her that heart.” Broadway stomps closer to Vincent, grasps a fistful of hair, and forces the man to look at him. “But she’s getting your head.”

“Okay, a saw…” Koby muses, heading for the exit. This warehouse—as well as the buildings scattered close by—was part of a watch factory back in the day. There’s still a shitload of old tools and machinery lying around. “I’ll see what I can replace. Don’t kill him before I’m back, alright? Cutting his hands off once he’s dead won’t be any fun.”

Broadway starts executing his plan while Carter and I move to the metal table Koby’s graciously lined with an array of tools: knives, pliers, bolt cutters, various bats, wires, and even an electric cattle prod. If Broadway hopes to use everything, we won’t leave the warehouse until Sunday.

Carter fishes out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one up as if in celebration of the final kill on the list.

Pulling my phone out, I access the camera feeds from his living room, checking on the girls. Arthur sent me a text about Hailey organizing a spa day inside half an hour, and now my blood fucking boils as I stare at the screen.

The girls are getting back massages, which would be nothing out of the ordinary were Bianca not being rubbed all over by a male masseur.

At least Hailey and Violet are being touched by women. Thank God. This whole endeavor would be put on hold while Carter and Broadway sped across town to disembowel any man touching their women.

I have half a mind to do just that, my fist balling at my side until I realize Bianca’s not mine. That possessive beast inside me shouldn’t exist. I don’t have a say.

“What’s wrong?” Carter asks, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

Fuck. Even her vocabulary is rubbing off on me.

I can’t even think that word without it being accompanied by her beautiful face, and a burst of annoyance.

“You don’t look fine, Ryder. You look like a ticking time bomb. What are you looking at?” The trace amount of unease in his voice tells me he’s got the wrong idea.

I bet he thinks something’s wrong with Hailey.

Explaining won’t calm him down, so I show him the screen and the muscles in his shoulders relax on cue. The man needs constant reassurance that his girl’s safe.

A knowing smirk curls his lips. “That explains it. Developed a soft spot for Bianca, have you?”

“No, I—”

“Don’t deny it,” Carter tuts, clicking his tongue. “Your bitter speech last week about how fine she is gave you away.”

Broadway’s head whips toward us, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I fucking knew it. Fun, isn’t it?”

His shirt is spattered with blood, and his eyes sparkle, adding a few insanity points to his look. He’s landed a few punches on Vincent’s face already. By the looks of it, he’s either knocked out—or at least loosened—his front teeth.

“What is?” I ask, rolling my shoulders as if that will unwind the tension cementing me in place.

“Feeling like your bones will cave in on themselves whenever your girl’s out of reach,” Broadway clarifies.

“She’s not mine.”

“Who isn’t?” Koby asks, returning with a mean-looking, rusty-toothed power saw. “Bianca?”

“She’s cold, calculated, and rude,” I point out, pushing the words past clenched teeth.

“Oh please.” He drops the saw on the metal table with a clang. “The sexual tension between you gets me hard.”

“All we do is argue, Koby.”

He bounces his eyebrows. “Sounds like a good hate-fuck is on the books.”

That already happened…

Every second since, I’ve been dying to bend Bianca over any given surface for a repeat performance.

“I can think of at least one person who’d be royally annoyed if you fuck her sister,” Broadway pipes in. “Careful, Ryder. Hailey will expect you to commit.”

“Hailey’s a big girl,” Carter cuts him off, glaring at his right-hand man. “She keeps her nose out of other people’s business.”

“As entertaining as this conversation is, it’s pointless,” I mutter, eager to nip the topic before it escalates further. “Trust me, she might be pretty, but she’s not likable.”

“I like her,” Koby sing-songs. “In a she’s-fun kind of way, not in an I’d-like-to-fuck-her kind of way, so stop glaring.”

“She kneed you in the balls, Koby,” Broadway reminds him, winding his elbow back.

One more powerful punch that turns Vincent’s head sideways and Broadway moves along with whatever tick-list he prepared for this occasion. Grasping his pinky, he bends it as far back as it’ll go, snapping Vincent’s digit and earning a blood-curdling scream. He’s gagged, his screams muffled but still audible enough to make me cringe. My head’s killing me.

“That’s why I like her,” Koby chuckles. “She’s tough.”

“Funny,” I clip. “That’s what I hate about her most. She’s capable, independent, so fucking fine it makes my teeth itch.”

He pats my shoulder. “You know what? I think you need to let off some steam.” He hands me the saw, nudging me forward. “Know my good heart. Have at it.”

Shit, I must be in bad shape if Koby’s sacrificing his fun for my benefit. While Broadway might’ve stolen the show the past few months, torturing these men in the most elaborate ways, Koby is and will always remain the true torture master.

He’s not as theatrical as Broadway, but he’s methodical. He can keep going for hours, pulling one fingernail after another, never once losing patience. Something Broadway lacks. He has fun until his balls turn blue, and then he pulls the trigger, eager to get home and make Violet scream his name.

“You know I don’t get much pleasure out of maiming people,” I tell Koby, dropping the saw on the table. “You have fun, though.”

Once Broadway’s quenched his initial bloodthirst with another rain of punches, the three of us help him strip Vincent. Twenty minutes later, he’s hanging from a small crane one of the soldiers delivered while we were on the road. Ropes carve long lines into his skin and blood drips down his body, creating a macabre painting.

Broadway said this was what Vincent did to Violet and he’s returning the favor. His set-up bears little resemblance to shibari. The rope placement is random, our knots not as elaborate and tied much tighter than required.

“How’s that, V?” Broadway asks. “Enjoying yourself?”

Vincent mumbles something incomprehensible around the tennis ball Carter’s shoved in his mouth, while Broadway circles him, holding a large knife.

“I think we’ll start with your balls.” With a whoosh he sticks the blade into Vincent’s sack.

I’m an observer, I can’t feel his pain, but my balls scramble, seeking refuge in my abdomen. And it only gets worse…

***

Two hours later, Broadway’s blood-soaked shoes make a squelching noise as he abandons his post. With a jerk of his head, he summons Koby and the saw.

The rest of the show doesn’t last long. Koby removes Vincent’s hands, then legs while the man floats in and out of consciousness as he bleeds out.

His head falls last, the light leaving his eyes as Broadway slowly pushes the oxidized teeth of the old saw through the vertebrae in Vincent’s neck, severing his spinal cord.

The relief that rattles through him is so potent I can fucking taste it in the air. His eyes water, shoulders sag, and the silence that ensues rings louder than words.

He did it. He killed every man who raped his girl.

God help anyone who tries to hurt her in the future.