Joey: A brother’s best friend, standalone dark mafia romance (Chicago Ruthless Book 2)
Joey: Chapter 51

Max’s hand rests on the small of my back as we walk into Dante’s study, where we replace him and Lorenzo deep in conversation.

“He’s tough as fuck,” Lorenzo says with a pleased nod that makes me think they’re talking about Ash.

“Is Ash okay?” I ask.

“He’ll be out of action for a few weeks, but yeah, he’s going to be fine,” my oldest brother confirms.

“Nothing a long vacation and some sunshine won’t fix,” Dante adds. “But how are you, kid?” He holds his arms wide open, inviting me in for a hug.

I step into his embrace. “I’m good, thanks.”

He hums his approval.

“I’m sorry I punched you in the face,” I whisper.

“Don’t be.” Stepping back, he runs two fingers over the cut on his lip and winks at me. “I deserved it. And I’m sorry about what I said.”

I shrug. “I guess it was true.” I was a bitch back then, but I hope both he and Lorenzo see how much I’ve changed.

“No,” he says with a shake of his head. “You were never a bitch, Joey. Just a survivor.”

Lorenzo wraps an arm around my shoulders and plants a brief peck on my cheek. “D says your right hook is something to be proud of.”

Dante laughs. “Those lessons with Toni are paying off.”

“Hey, I taught her how to throw a right hook,” Max interjects.

“He sure did.” I smile over at him. “It was lesson number one.”

“Well, you did a damn good job teaching her, compagno,” Dante replies, and my face flushes pink with pride.

“She’s a fucking powerhouse,” Max says matter-of-factly, and my cheeks flame brighter.

“Are you going to let me deal with Viktor then?” I ask, deflecting their attention.

“Not alone,” Max says, and my brothers nod their agreement.

“Maybe you and Max can handle him, if that’s what you want. But you don’t have to. Nobody would think any less of you if you let us deal with this. We all have plenty of blood on our hands already. There’s no need for you to get yours dirty too,” Lorenzo adds.

“I need to do this, Loz. And I’m not scared of a little blood or doing what needs to be done. I’d have killed him in that house given half the chance.”

My oldest brother gives me a subtle nod of approval. “Of course you would’ve, because you’re a Moretti to the core, Joey.”

Having their endorsement makes me feel invincible. As though they finally see me as a woman and a true member of this family rather than a little girl who needs protection.

Standing outside the room where Viktor’s being held, Max asks me if I’m okay.

I’ve always hated the basement and the way it smells of damp and decay and death. But I guess I’ve changed more than I thought because right now all I can think about is getting inside that room and making Viktor Pushkin pay for everything he did to me. Everything he did to my family, to Henry and Ash—even to Monique.

I nod and lick my lips, tasting blood in the air like a snake senses its prey. I will never be anyone’s prey ever again. I am Joey Moretti, hear me fucking roar. Adrenaline thunders through me as Max draws back the deadbolt. Reaching in, he flicks on the light before we step inside. A single bulb hangs from the ceiling in the center of the room, illuminating the cold concrete cell that’s empty except for the Russian chained to the floor.

Viktor pushes himself to his knees, groaning and blinking in the bright light as his eyes adjust after hours and hours of nothing but pitch-black darkness.

Upon hearing us enter the room, he begins cursing in Russian, spitting words full of hatred and venom.

“Now, is that any way to speak in front of a lady?” Max says.

“She is no lady,” Viktor says with a snarl, spitting at my feet. “Filthy whore.”

I roll my eyes. Yeah, I’m such a filthy whore he wanted me for himself. But Max does not appreciate his outburst and he kicks Viktor full force in the stomach, causing him to double over. He groans loudly, his forehead resting on the cold concrete floor for a few seconds before he grunts and pushes himself back up. He glares at Max, his eyes bulging in their sockets and every vein in his neck tightening as he tugs at his restraints.

“You ever call her that again and I will cut out your fucking tongue. And the only reason I’m not doing it right now is because I want to hear you beg my girl for mercy when she carves you open,” Max says with a satisfied smirk. Then he hands me the hunting knife from his pocket. “He’s all yours, baby.”

My hand trembles as I take the knife from him, but his fingertips brush mine and his touch grounds me. He winks. You got this, he mouths.

My hand closes around the handle of the blade, and my heart thumps wildly as I step closer to Viktor. “Hey, asshole.”

He lifts his head, pulling on his chains and foaming at the mouth. “Silly little girl.” He laughs loudly, showing his teeth, stained with fresh blood.

“Maybe I am, but you’re the one chained up in my basement, fuckface.”

“Chained!” he yells, pulling them taut. “You wouldn’t dare challenge me if I was not in chains. Pathetic.” He spits again and a blob of bloody saliva lands on my shoe. I feel the tension in Max even from here, but he stands back and lets me handle it, and I love him even more for it.

I circle him slowly, looking for the places he’s already injured so I can use them to my advantage. “Maybe you’re right about that,” I admit. “Although I did beat you yesterday, didn’t I?” His face turns purple with rage. “But I guess I wouldn’t stand a chance against a big guy like you if you weren’t chained to this floor.” I already know about the knife wound beneath his left arm that I gave him, and I recognize my sister-in-law’s neat stitches. I note the large purple bruises over his kidneys. The deep gash on his shoulder and the laceration to his left ear. My brothers really were gentle with him before they tossed him down here and left him for me to deal with.

I come full circle until I’m standing in front of him again. “But you are chained to my floor.” Smiling, I slice off his left ear and toss it onto the floor at his feet. He doesn’t scream or yell. Instead he clamps his lips together, breathing heavily and trying to hold all the pain inside him.

“And I seem to remember you needing to keep me tied up. Pathetic little girl that I am,” I say with a shrug.

“Bitch,” he eventually spits. “You were promised to me.”

Max growls loudly from behind me, but I remain focused on Viktor. “But I was never my father’s to give away,” I remind him, slicing through the middle of his left nipple and causing fresh blood to run down his chest.

He cries out, but the sound doesn’t affect me. I thought it would, but it doesn’t even make me flicker. I think about Monique and how he manipulated her. How scared my family and Max must have been when this piece of shit took me. Ash in the hospital. And Henry who will never get to take his own revenge. It all bubbles inside me like a tiny volcano of rage. I force the knife into the freshly stitched wound beneath his armpit, and this time he screams. “That was for Ash, you asshole.”

He lunges for me, but his chains hold him back. Max warned me about this, about how adrenaline and survival instinct kick in and can give someone an unexpected burst of energy. Asshole had that coming. Then I picture Henry’s face. Grumpy but sweeter than sugar. Henry who was killed just because he was protecting me.

“And this”—I plunge the knife into Viktor’s chest—“is for Henry, you twisted sick fuck.”

He roars with anger and pain and defeat, and I take a few steps back, bumping into Max. He wraps his arms around me, and I realize I’m trembling.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he says against my ear. “But this man has been trained to endure physical pain. I’ve got a much better way to hurt him. You think you’re up for it?”

I stare at the monster on the floor. “Yes.”