Chapter 31 Echoes from the Past
Trigger Warning- Kidnapping and SA
Naples, Italy. Georgio Calvetti
“Capo, credo di aver visto un fantasma.”
(Boss, I think I’ve seen a ghost.)
My man’s voice rattles through the line, thick with tension. I lean forward in my chair, every nerve suddenly on edge.
“Di che cazzo stai parlando?”
(What the fuck are you talking about?) My words come out as a growl.
He hesitates, then, voice barely above a whisper:
“Penso di aver visto Rosalinda Tagliani. E forse la sua sorellina, Caterina.”
(I think I saw Rosalinda Tagliani, and maybe her little sister Caterina.)
The name hits me like a shot of adrenaline, cold and electric. I straighten, heart pounding against my ribs. Twelve years-twelve fucking years since I last heard that cursed name.
“Quanto sei sicuro?”
(How sure are you?)
“Abbastanza sicuro, Capo.”
(Pretty sure, Boss.)
I force my breathing to slow, mind racing. “In New York?” The city tastes foreign now, soured by old betrayals. That bastard Riccardo… All these years, I have dreamt of revenge.
“Sì, erano con alcuni motociclisti. Avevano The Steel Furies sul retro dei loro giubbotti di pelle. Credi che sia lì che si è nascosto quel bastardo di Riccardo per tutto questo tempo?”
(Yeah, they were with some bikers. The Steel Furies on their vests. You think that’s where that son of a bitch Riccardo’s been hiding all this time?)
I sneer, disgust crawling through me. “Non c’è modo. Riccardo Tagliani non avrebbe mai frequentato una feccia del genere. Non hai visto Riccardo da nessuna parte?”
(No way. Riccardo Tagliani would never lower himself to hang out with scum like that. You didn’t see Riccardo, did you?)
“No, cosa volete che faccia?”
(No, what do you want me to do?)
My voice drops to a venomous whisper:
“Trova la clubhouse dei motociclisti. Tieni d’occhio le ragazze. Riccardo non li avrebbe mai lasciati soli. Ti condurranno da lui.”
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(Find the bikers’ clubhouse. Watch the girls. Riccardo would never abandon them. They’ll lead you right to him.)
“Si, Capo.”
(Yes, Boss.)
The call ends. Silence thickens in my office. Old ghosts rise, demanding blood. I sit back, eyes cold as winter rain. Looks like it’s time for a return to the United States. If those girls are alive, Riccardo must be near.
When I find that traitorous bastard, I will make him watch as I skin his daughters before I end his miserable life. The betrayals of the past will be repaid-every last drop.
Finally, after all these years, I will have my revenge.
Ramsey’s POV
The vial sits in my palm, its contents deceptively clear-no scent, no color, no hint of what’s hidden ins ide. It’s almost laughable, how something so harmless could give me such control. I turn it over b etween my fingers, watching the light catch, and imagine how Killian’s resistance will dissolve. All it takes is a drink. All it takes is him away from that woman and alone with me. Tonight, I will finally h ave what I want-what I deserve.
My phone is cold in my hand as I dial his number, rehearsing the sweetness in my voice, the careful lilt of innocence.
He answers on the second ring, suspicion already thick in his tone. “Hello?”
I make myself sound small, breathless, fragile. “Killian, don’t hang up-it’s Ramsey. Please, I need you to hear me out. I’ve got something important. I-I was assaulted tonight, went to the police, and when I was in the detective’s office, I saw a file on his desk with your Old Lady’s name on it. When he left the room, I grabbed it and hid it in my dress. There’s a lot in here you’ll want to see.”
There’s a pause, like he’s measuring every syllable. “Bring it to the club,” he says, voice flat and cold as steel.
“No. I’m not stepping foot in that place. Do you think I want your woman coming after me again?” I let my fear shake the words, feigning anxiety. “Meet me at the sports bar on Hamilton and 5th. Alone. Please, Killian, this is serious.”
He gives in, as I knew he would. “I’ll be there in thirty.”
I end the call with a slow, satisfied smile. There is no file-never was. Men are so easy, especially when their pride or their secrets are at stake. I have everything planned. I arrive at the bar early, securing a table with a view of the entrance. I order a beer for him and a cocktail for myself. When the bartender looks away, I slip the vial from my purse, watching the liquid pour into his glass, vanishing as if it were never there.
My heart hammers, but it’s excitement, not nerves. I have him right where I want him.
Ten minutes pass. Then Killian appears, alone, exactly on time, his presence a force that makes the air heavier. Even irritated, he’s magnetic-dangerous, untouchable, and all I want. I wave him over, forcing
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< Chapter 31 Echoes from the Past
a welcoming smile.
He barely sits before demanding, “Give me the file, Ramsey.”
Get 5 >
= Menu
“Don’t you want a drink first?” I push the beer to him, meeting his eyes. “I ordered your favorite.”
He barely hesitates before grabbing the glass, downing it in one, refusing to break my gaze. Good. My fingers twitch with anticipation.
He sets the glass down, eyes colder than before. “File. Now.”
I lean in, lowering my voice, letting it soften with practiced hurt. “Before I do, I just want to say… I think you’re making a mistake. She’s not right for you, Killian. We’ve known each other so much longer. We had something real.”
He scoffs, the look he gives me pure disdain. “I’m not interested. We fucked once. I was drunk. And you’ve been with half my brothers. You’re not what I want. Not now, not ever.”
A flash of anger claws through me, but I school my face. The words don’t matter-he’s already sweating, eyelids heavy, his hands trembling. The drug is doing its work.
“You okay?” I feign concern, lips barely hiding a smirk. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” he grinds out, forcing himself upright. “File. Now.”
“There’s no file,” I say quietly, watching the comprehension dawn in his eyes. “I just needed to see you again.”
Rage twists his face. “You fucking bitch.” He stands, but his balance wavers-he’s slow, confused, trying to fight through molasses. I slip under his arm, guiding his dead weight to the door.
He tries to shake me off, but he’s weak. “Let me help you, baby. You’ve had too much,” I say, loud enough for the bartender to hear.
“My boyfriend had a little too much to drink,” I add as we pass. The bartender shrugs, unconcerned, as if he’s seen it a hundred times before.
Outside, I spot his bike and grin-no trackers, no club watching. I all but drag him to my car, wrestling his bulk into the passenger seat. He mumbles, eyes rolling, before going completely limp.
The drive north is silent except for the steady, uneven sound of his breathing. In Branford, I stop at a hardware store, buying what I need-zip ties, rope, duct tape-my heart racing with every minute that passes. At the bed and breakfast, I tip the night clerk heavily to help me get Killian to our room, making up some story about a drunken wedding celebration.
It takes forever to get him undressed, his body heavy, limbs unwieldy. Sweat beads on my forehead as I finally get his wrists bound tight, zip ties digging into his skin. I spread him wide, tying each ankle to the bedposts. The headboard is metal-perfect for what I want.
I undress slowly, savoring the sight of him completely vulnerable, completely mine. I straddle his hips, slap his cheek until his head lolls and his eyes flicker open. I watch the confusion turn to terror, then
rage.
“Killian. Killian!” My voice is a taunt, a lullaby.
He tries to thrash, but the ropes hold. “What the fuck, Ramsey!” His voice is raw, hoarse.
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<Chapter 31 Echoes from the Past
Get 5 >
Menu
I laugh, grinding down on him, feeling the slow surge of his body betraying him. “You feel that? I knew you’d want me.”
He curses, body tense with fury. “I don’t want you. You’re nothing.”
But his cock hardens, pressing against me. I moan, losing myself in the moment, feeling the power, the certainty that I own him now.
“Stop!” he shouts, but I silence him with my panties, stuffing them into his mouth, taping them in
place.
I stroke and suck, working him until he’s hard and helpless, until he comes despite everything-rage and humiliation twisting his face. I swallow him, triumphant, grinning as I pull away.
“You’ll love the next part,” I purr, kneeling between his legs. He turns away, tears streaming down his face, refusing to look at me.
I find his phone in his pants, unlock it with his slack, defeated face. I take a picture-evidence, victory, checkmate. I type a message-Checkmate, bitch-and hit send, imagining the look on her face when she sees what I’ve done.
Tonight, he’s mine. And she’ll never forget it.
