Devil’s Lily: Chapter 17

“What do you have for me?” I snap as I stalk into the basement, skin crawling with frustration. Three days. Three fucking days since I took my wife, and she’s been a constant tick in my brain. I want more, need more, but Ethan said I’ll have to wait three days for the implant to really kick in, so I’ve kept my distance; allowed her to avoid me.

But nothing distracts me from her. When I work, I’m wholly aware of her presence in my home, charming my men with her baked pastries—pastries I’m yet to try. By the time I get home, those idiots have inhaled every crumb.

I was supposed to go meet Carlisle, the Queens DA, but he’s rescheduled on me again. That’s twice now—which is worrying because now I realize he might be avoiding me. In my world, that’s not just unprofessional, it’s dangerous. And yet I can’t stop my thoughts from drifting to Elira.

So, to distract myself from rushing home and fucking my pretty wife against the nearest surface, I’m down here.

Last night, our search led us to the port’s former logistic and distribution manager, Heath Davis, who, according to new intel, was the one that approved the rerouting of my shipment before conveniently vanishing, leaving nothing but a resignation letter behind. By sheer luck, one of my men ran into him trying to sneak out of the country via boat.

I glance at Dante, who just shakes his head, confirming Davis hasn’t talked. My eyes narrow on the sorry bastard strapped to the chair. His face is a masterpiece of violence—split lips, broken nose, skin painted in shades of purple and blue, courtesy of my men’s…enthusiastic questioning.

“Well, Heath,” I say casually as I stroll towards the table filled with various tools. “What’s motivating you to keep quiet, huh? Is it money? Threat to your life? Maybe family?” My fingers trail over the cold steel until they settle on a pair of cutting pliers. I lift them slowly, letting him take a good, long look. “Because you know who I am, don’t you? Whoever’s got something on you, they’re small fry compared to me—I’m the monster that haunts their nightmares. Whatever they’ve promised you, I’ll return tenfold.”

The man whimpers, eyes blown wide with terror as I close the distance, crouching down in front of him with the cutting pliers raised, letting him see their jagged edge. “You know these are actually quite sharp? Sharp enough to slice through industrial cable without a hitch.” I scoot in, adjust the grip on his bound hand, then lift his ring finger up. “Want to test just how quickly they’ll chew through bone?”

I don’t wait for his answer before I clamp the pliers down at the root of his finger. His high-pitched scream grates against my nerves, and I throw him an annoyed glance as I press down harder and harder, feeling his phalanges give way under the pressure.

The pliers bite deep into his skin, and I twist back and forth, grinding through the joint until his finger finally pops out of the socket. For a moment, there’s nothing but his scream reaching a new pitch—then a gush of warm blood spurts out, splattering across my cheek and clothes.

His scream fizzles out, and I barely step back in time as he doubles over, retching before promptly passing out.

Pathetic.

I scowl in disgust, flicking blood off my hands as I nod at one of my men. “You. Wrap up his finger.” I don’t want him dying from blood loss before he spills his secrets, after all. “And you,” I glance at another, “bring me some icy water.” Heath doesn’t get to be unconscious for too long.

As my men scramble to follow my orders, Dante steps forward. “You have an urgent call.”

I give him a look, tapping my finger against the pliers, barely holding back my annoyance. “I’m a little busy right now, Dante. If they can’t speak to you, they can fuck right off.”

“It’s your father–in–law,” he says, holding out the phone.

Now that gets my attention.

My eyes narrow on the device. Why is Afrim Përmeti suddenly calling me? Did he finally figure out that I have his precious daughter in my clutches? No… If he knew, he wouldn’t be this calm. He’d be kicking down my door with an army.

I snatch the phone and unmute it. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I want to see you. At a neutral ground,” Afrim says without preamble. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Neutral ground?” I growl. “Nowhere in my city is neutral ground, Përmeti. That’s where you’re mistaken. Every inch belongs to me.”

“I’ll text you the address,” he repeats, then cuts the call.

The phone creaks in my grip. He dares to hang up on me? To call anywhere in my city neutral ground? His life is literally in the palm of my hands, and the only reason I haven’t ended his existence is because he hasn’t crossed a line yet.

“What is it?” Dante asks, frowning at my expression.

“Get the SUV ready. We’re meeting my father-in-law.”

As we cruise down the clean, quiet streets of Old Howard Beach, I look around, half-irritated, half-amused. This is the ‘neutral ground’ Afrim picked? A small, tucked-away waterfront neighborhood where the Italians, Irish, and a few other ethnic groups have flocked to over the years.

A tight-knit community filled with mostly old, retired folks who like the slow pace, and married couples with young children who prefer to avoid apartment life.

I suppose that’s why Afrim thought it would be neutral. With so many old-timers and children, I’ve mostly stayed away, and my men don’t have much presence here.

One code my brothers and I stick to that the old families never gave a damn about is sparing women, the very old, and the very young.

I keep a loose pulse on the ground, making sure the town remains relatively crime-free, but beyond that, Old Howard Beach is a mostly forgotten spot.

A scoff escapes me as Dante steers us along the waterfront, where a handful of fishermen are busy cleaning up their boats and inspecting their day’s haul. Does Afrim really think he’ll be safe here? If he tries something, he thinks I won’t retaliate? I already have three men stationed in strategic spots around the coffee shop he wants to meet. He’s not as clever as he thinks.

As we get closer to our destination, we garner some attention. Some people recognize me; others just look baffled by a Cadillac SUV rolling into this sleepy corner of the city.

Dante finally squeezes us into a cramped space by the docks—a shitty excuse for parking, but it’ll have to do—and cuts the ignition. Perro is already out, opening my door like clockwork. I adjust my lapels as I get out, and a punch of salty air immediately hits my nostrils, sharp with the scent of fish, sweat, and brine. Not exactly my ideal meeting ground.

My gaze sweeps the surroundings, cataloging everything before settling on my target. The coffee shop sits there all pretty and quaint, with umbrellas and chairs dotting the waterside. All empty except for one, where my father-in-law lounges with three armed men at his back trying to look intimidating as we approach. Adorable.

Afrim doesn’t even bother standing when I’m in front of him. Fine, I’ll play this his way. I sink into the opposite chair, raising a brow as if to say, ‘This how we’re doing it?’.

For a man in his late sixties, he carries himself well—solid looking, more dark hair than silver, and sharp green eyes that could probably still make most men squirm. My wife gets her red hair from her mother; the steel, though, that came from him.

Neither of us speaks, and I’m not about to break the silence first. So I just settle back, crossing my ankle over my knee and studying the bored barista in the coffee shop who’s pretending not to watch the potential bloodbath brewing on her patio.

Finally, Afrim clears his throat, lifting his coffee cup. He takes a fortifying sip before speaking. “You might know why I’m here,” he begins. “My daughter has gone missing. Someone stole her from my compound.”

My brows fly up as I study the old man. “Didn’t she walk out on her own?”

The tips of his ears go red, and he tightens his grip on the coffee mug. “That may be so. But she was… cajoled. She’s a young, impressionable girl, my Elira, and quite fascinated by the world beyond our walls. I’m afraid someone must have found out and used that to lure her out—and then kidnapped her.”

So, it’s a guessing game. Either he genuinely has no clue she’s with me and is hoping I’ll ‘help’ track her down, or he knows exactly where she is and is trying to feel me out. Either way, I don’t have time for this. I have more pressing things to deal with.

“And what does this have to do with me?” I ask impatiently.

“I suspect one of your people took her. It was her birthday a few days before she went missing, and my men told me she chose a restaurant of yours to celebrate the happy occasion.” He tilts his head, studying my reaction.

Ah, so he’s trying to bait me. He knows I was at the restaurant and that I offered her gifts. He probably suspects I have her but doesn’t want to outright accuse me in case he’s wrong. Still being so diplomatic.

I smirk, as I tell him with relish. “Let me save you the trouble, Afrim. I took her. She was ripe for the plucking and fell right into my clutches. If you didn’t want to lose her, you should have kept a closer watch on her, locked her tighter in her cage. Elira Leonotti is my wife now, and I suggest you stop looking for her.”

For a moment, his face goes utterly still, then a deep red flush spreads up his neck to his cheeks as he explodes to his feet. “You asshole!” Behind him, his men whip out their weapons, pointing them dead at me. My own men shift, angsty, but they know the plan.

“You have a hell of a nerve showing up here and admitting you took my daughter—forced her to marry you?” His fists are clenched, shaking with barely-contained rage. “If you’ve touched her…”

I chuckle darkly. “She’s my wife, Afrim. What do you mean ‘if’? I don’t need your permission to do that. Or do you not understand how marriage works?”

The old man’s practically choking on his rage now, eyes bulging as he stares at me in astonished fury, the redness of his face deepening. “You’ll regret this,” he spits and spins towards his men. As he speaks to them in low Albanian, I lift my right hand and snap my fingers.

A soft whooshing sound pierces the air in three quick successions, and one by one, his men crumple to the ground. One even topples backwards into the water with a loud splash, sending water spilling onto the pavement.

Stunned silence holds for a heartbeat before the street bursts with panicked cries as the fishermen and waterfront workers all abandon their stations and hightail it out of the street. But I pay them no mind.

“You don’t threaten me, Afrim. Contrary to what you may believe, I have absolute control over my territory, and the only reason you’re still alive is because it’s not your time—yet. You can thank my wife for that.”

His lips twist when I mention Elira, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“Don’t tempt me, or one of my bullets might catch you one of these days. Stop looking for my wife, and I might consider letting you keep the slice of my territory you stole.” I drop my ankle from my knee and unfold myself from the chair.

“I hope we have no reason to meet like this again.” I adjust my cufflinks, turn my back on him, and walk back to the car, feeling his hate-filled gaze bore into me the entire way.

Half-expecting him to make a last, stupid move, I glance back as I shut the car door. But he’s sunk back into his seat, looking bewildered, shaken. Weak.

He really should toughen up if he wants to continue dealing with me.

“Where to? Back to the warehouse?” Dante asks, catching my eye in the rearview mirror as he revs the engine.

The warehouse, where Heath Davis is still being taken care of by my men. I should probably go there to make sure he gives us the answers we need. But meeting with Afrim suddenly has me spoiling for my wife.

“No. Take me home.”