Seventy-Three

AYDEMs POV...

I watch as my sassy wife exits the barn with a bounce to her step, and her perky ass swaying side to side.

Gods!

She has no idea of the internal frustration and hunger I battle with on the inside for her on a daily.

Releasing a sigh that is heavy with animosity, I turn around to look at the work of art she's left behind on Castello's chest. I can't help but scrunch my nose, rubbing a hand over my own chest, as I can presently feel his agony.

His head lulls side to side, and I step forward, kicking his leg with the tip of my shoe. "Oh, no you piece of bok! [shit!]. You can not pass out before the party has begun." I sneer, drawing my arm back, I drive it forward and slap him across the face with my open hand.

The beautiful sound of flesh, hitting flesh, sweeps throughout the brightly lit barn.

Internally, I grimace at the realisation that it is weirdly more gratifying to listen to, rather than the sound of me smacking my wife's ass as I take her from behind.

He groans, spitting out blood, "Is that all you got, your wife has a better hand than you do." He mutters incoherently.

I run my fingers through his hair which is drenched in sweat, yanking his head back, and I force him to meet my gaze, "You know, Castello Esposito. The wildest gimmick the Devil likes to play isn't him making you accept that he doesn't exist. It's him making you believe that you are on friendly terms. Acquainted." I growl, lowering my head, and getting right in his face. "So that when you finally did meet me for the first time, unhinged. You'd finally realise indisputably, that you truly fucked up and have met the Devil for the very first time..." I chuckle, releasing his hair and I shove his head to the side.

"I can't believe the Turkish Mafiya truly believe they are a family to fear. Even on your own turf, you like to talk a big game." He sneers, spitting out blood as he aims for my shoe.

I snort, placing the tip of my shoe over his toes, twisting my foot until I hear the sound of bones crunching. Watching him as his eyes widen, and grunting in pain brings me an abundant amount of joy.

His hands curl into tight balls on his thighs, turning his pink knuckles white as spit foams in the corners of his mouth.

I smirk, twisting my foot back the other way and he finally roars with suffering and absolute misery.

"Neriman?"

[Yes,] "Evet, cousin," She coo's softly, and stands at my side.

"Did you retrieve the bullets from Mr Esposito's legs?"

[Yes,] "Evet, they are on the trolley in a silver tray. He squirmed like a little girl, it was quite entertaining to watch."

"You scream like a little girl and dare to tell me that we aren't worth fearing?" I chuckle. "I suppose you were right in a sense. We do like to keep a low profile until our women and children get involved. And you, involved both, my woman and child!" I shout, pulling out my gun and I shove it down his fucking throat.

My nostrils flare as my chest fiercely rises and falls, and I see that my hand slightly quivers as sweat beads on my brows.

I'm not a trigger happy type of man, but, in his presence, he makes me want to do the unthinkable.

Neriman takes the gun out of my hand, "Not like this cousin." She says, pointing the gun at his foot, and she pulls the trigger.

"Voi cazzo di sborra tracannando puttana!!! [You fucking cum guzzling whore!!!]" He shouts at the top of his lungs.

Neriman stabs the heel of her stiletto inside his bullet wound in his shoe, "I'm sorry, I don't speak Italiano. Only Turkish, English, Russian and Cantonese."

"No, but his fucking puttana [whore] he's married to does." He snarls, flinching whenever Neriman moves slightly. "Why don't you call her back so she can translate for you?"

"You're a sick fuck, Castello!" I pivot, swiping the bottle of vodka from the table with the surgical instruments, and ripping the top off with my teeth. "I will make an example out of you since the pleasure to do so to Trent, was yanked from my hands. You will pay the price for his sins that he cast upon my wife, by raping her..." I slowly pour the Vodka over his chest, watching as he howls in pure agony and suffering, twisting his torso side to side. "Exploiting her. Beating her. Making her kill. Steal, and try to financially cripple me, as well as holding our son as ransom." I pour the rest of the bottle over his head, dousing his clothes in the clear liquid.

Neriman removes her stiletto heel out of his shoe, "You are a cruel man, my dear cousin," She titters with amusement. "You didn't bother to offer him a sip before we remove all of his teeth." She stares at me with raised brows.

"And, you can be too kind-hearted." I shake my head with disapproval as we speak over Castello howling, still.

"Get the guards to drag him to the table, I want to be home in time to be able to feed Sandro his first bottle of the day," I mutter, taking off my shirt to avoid getting blood on it. "Also, get them to knock his ass out with a gun. It will be quicker if he's not squirming all over the damn table and fighting us at every point."

She sighs, lurching forward and uppercuts Castello, knocking him out cold. "You underestimate my strength," patting my shoulder, she grumbles as she brushes past me.

I chuckle, rubbing the side of my jaw as I stare at Castello's limp body.

He's a fucking mess.

I almost, and I emphasize the word almost, feel sorry for him.

He's a strong son of a bitch, I'll give him that.

I will always choose Mila and Sandro. Even if they'll be my damnation for eternity.

For many years, I avoided my destiny. Living in Sedar's shadow refusing to stand at his side, and run our family empire together.

Yet, here I stand.

A master of devastation, a civil man, who's willing to burn cities to the ground until all that remains is ash.

A menacing dark prince with nothing to lose, and so much to offer.

I am a lion to be feared, and everyone will hear me roar when a single hair on one of my loved ones is touched...