On the screen, Isadora shifted, her thighs trembling. Her breath hitched. She whispered again.
“Dominic…”
His entire body jerked forward like the sound of her voice cracked something open inside him.
“Oh f**k,” he growled under his breath. “Oh f**k, they naked you. They f*****g laid you bare. They made you cry, baby. Look at your f*****g t**s, shaking from panic.”
His voice cracked like thunder now.
“Vaffanculo tutti quanti,” he roared, turning around slowly to face the men in the room. “Siete morti. Ve lo giuro. Siete già morti, bastardi.”
(f**k all of you. You’re dead. I swear it. You’re already f*****g dead, bastards.)
The room went still.
The one who had taunted him shifted his stance slightly, like maybe for the first time, he felt it too—the weight of Dominic’s rage. The inev
