Born in Blood Collection Volume 1 - Cora Reilly Page 0,226

figure out a way to kill them. We headed downstairs. The entrance hall was a mess. Blood and broken glass littered the floor. At least the bodies were gone, but a trail of blood led outside to a pile of dead Russians. I really hoped they didn’t treat Umberto’s body like that. My chest tightened but I fought the sadness. Umberto had chosen this life. Death was part of the game.

I blocked Lily’s view of the corpses and dragged her toward the living room, which wasn’t in much better shape. The white couches would definitely have to be replaced. I didn’t think any bleach in the world could get out the stains. Lily made a small distressed sound and I pulled her further along, already regretting that I had allowed her to come with me. A couple of men were taking a smoking break on the terrace, and glanced our way as we passed. They didn’t seem bothered by the blood. I walked faster.

“Hey,” Lily protested but I ignored her. If I’d been on my own, I wouldn’t have cared but I didn’t want to put my sister in danger.

We headed to the back of the house where the kitchen was, and almost bumped into another man. “Watch where you’re going,” he said, then paused and actually checked us out. I didn’t know him and I had no interest of finding out more about him.

I pushed Lily past him. His eyes followed us all the way to the back of the corridor. When we turned the corner, we came face-to-face with a steel door, which was left ajar. A cry of pain carried out from below and made me shiver.

Lily clutched my arm, blue eyes wide. “What was that?”

I swallowed. I had a pretty good idea what was going on but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “I don’t know.” I took a step closer to the door, then hesitated. I couldn’t take Lily with me, but I couldn’t leave her alone in the hallway when there were so many creepy fucks running around. I opened the door and peered down a long, dark staircase. Light spilled out from somewhere in the basement. Lily was almost pressed against my back, her breath hot against my neck.

“You don’t want to go down there, right?” she whispered.

“Yes, but you will stay on the stairs.”

Lily followed me a few steps down before I gave her a warning look. “Stay there. Promise me.”

Another cry sounded from below.

Lily flinched. “Okay. I promise.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant it but she looked freaked out enough that I was willing to take the risk. I crept down the remaining steps, but halted on the last step, scared of what I might see. Exhaling, I stepped down and found myself in a huge basement. Bile shot up my throat. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what the mob did to their enemies, especially if they wanted to get information out of them, but hearing stories and actually coming face-to-face with the horrendous reality of it were two very different things.

I braced my hand against the rough wall, my fingers curling around the hard edge. Two men were bound to chairs. Matteo and a tall, heavily muscled guy seemed to be in charge of pressing information out of them, while Romero stood back, but he must have had some part in their torture too because his hands were covered in blood, and so were his clothes. But it was nothing compared to the sight of Matteo. His white shirt was covered in blood, his rolled-up sleeves revealed blood-covered skin. There was red and red and red, so many different shades of it. But the worst, God the worst thing, was his face. There was no pity, no mercy, no nothing. There wasn’t excitement or eagerness either, that was what I tried to cling to. At least he didn’t get off on what he was doing. He didn’t seem to feel anything judging from his expression.

I’d always known his easygoing, playful, flirty attitude was a mask to cover up the ugly truth, but again knowing and having that knowledge confirmed in such a brutal way were two very different pair of shoes. Maybe if I’d been more naïve I could have convinced myself that Matteo was doing this because he’d had to bury his father today, because he was grief-stricken and needed an outlet for the pain, but I knew better. This was common mob business. Grief had nothing to