Delinquent: Cavalieri Della Morte Read online

  Delinquent

  Cavalieri Della Morte

  Ally Vance

  Copyright © 2018 by Ally Vance

  Cover Design: Jay Aheer, Simply Defined Art

  Formatting: Raven Designs

  Cover Photo: Depositphotos

  Editor: Sheena Taylor

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in the work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Contents

  The Cavalieri Della Morte

  The Authors

  Seth

  Seth

  Leeann

  Leeann

  Leeann

  Leeann

  Seth

  Seth

  Leeann

  Seth

  Leeann

  Seth

  Leeann

  Seth

  Leeann

  Seth

  Leeann

  Seth

  Leeann

  Seth

  Leeann

  Seth

  Seth

  Leeann

  Leeann

  Seth

  Leeann

  Seth

  Epilogue

  The Cavalieri Della Morte Series

  A Sneak Peek at Redemption

  Prologue

  Acknowledgments

  Playlist

  About the Author

  Also By Ally Vance

  Follow Ally Vance

  Seth

  Brandishing my favorite knife, I wave it in his face. I relish how his eyes have widened and turned glassy, reflecting the silvery sheen from my blade. Nearly four years I’ve been doing this, and it never gets old. I mull over the past few years and the amount of times I’ve been in this exact same position, holding down a stupid fucker like this one in front of me.

  Blood drips from the tip, the crimson drops staining his skin when they fall onto his pallid flesh. I’m not supposed to kill him, but my boss knows full well that when he sends me out to collect, I’ll come home with payment in my pocket or blood on my hands.

  “Do you have what you owe?” I hiss between my teeth, digging the point of the knife into the delicate skin of his throat.

  My mouth twitches with a barely restrained smile when a bead of blood blossoms on his skin where it’s pierced him. He quivers beneath me: weak, useless, and fucking pitiful. When he shakes his head, I let out a heavy breath of frustration.

  “That’s not what you want to be telling me. People like you never fucking learn,” I say, knowing full well I’ll get the same damn lecture I always do when I check in empty handed.

  This is my favorite part, getting to spill blood and making both a mess and a statement. Pay what you owe in cash or pay it in blood. It’s as simple as that although some days it seems to be anything but. This bastard is the latest in a line of feeble men and women with unpaid debts I’ve been sent to collect payment from. Whether they owe Arthur money or have bartered something even more precious, so far nearly all of the debtors whose names I’ve been given haven’t coughed up. But I’m not complaining, it’s more fun when they don’t pay. The appeal of watching people bleed out from wounds I’ve inflicted never loses its luster.

  Sighing dramatically, I quirk an eyebrow while I wait for this guy to plead for his life like the rest of the sad fucks. I’m somewhat pleased when he doesn’t because it’s not often I see someone face their demise head on. Got to hand it to this guy for not pissing in his pants either. No longer interested in drawing this out, I plunge the knife downward through his throat and yank it to the side, severing the spinal cord and jugular in one fluid motion. Bravery doesn’t save anyone, but it does earn some respect, followed by a quick death.

  Pulling the bloody knife out, the spray from the dead fucker I’m straddling hits me full force in the chest. I wipe the blade clean on his clothes and get to my feet. Looking down, I straighten out my clothing and take note of the darker, wet patches on my shirt. There’s blood everywhere. I’m glad I don’t wear white to these ‘meetings’.

  I’m not even twenty years old, and I’ve already got more blood on my hands than most guys twice my age, but I don’t give a shit. I fucking live for the rush of this job. It took nearly two years of training to hone my natural skill into something more deadly and precise, earning me my place at the Tabella. Then a further two years to get to where I am today. However, my skills are still just a mere drop in the ocean compared to those of the other men in the organization who’ve been doing this for much longer than I have…the Cavalieri men of the Tabella Della Morte

  Sheathing my blade, I pull off my leather gloves before stuffing them into my back pocket. I draw out my phone, and swiping across to unlock it, I bring up the camera app. Then crouching down, I snap a few photos of the dead guy’s face and send them to Arthur.

  I’m careful not to touch anything while I’m there; I don’t want to leave any fingerprints that can be traced back to me. Shrugging, I pull my gloves back on, turn on my heels, and leave the house, careful not to be spotted as I exit through the front door. It’s pure luck I’m not already in the system, considering the petty shit that got me kicked out of school when I was sixteen. Somehow my mom managed to talk the principal out of calling the cops on my delinquent ass, which left them no other alternative but to expel me.

  My expulsion from school resulted in the biggest fight me and my mom ever had, and I walked out of her house, choosing to stay with a friend for a few days. By the time I came home to apologize, it was too late. I found her dead body on the kitchen floor with a photo of me clutched in her lifeless hand. Whoever had done it was an vicious and evil bastard; he’d disemboweled her before leaving her to bleed out in a pool of her own fucking guts.

  I made a silent promise that day to avenge her, and walking out, I swore I would never look back. I’ve carried very little from my old life into this new one except for my name, a vague knowledge of my family history, a house I can’t seem to let go of, and an anger that has festered inside me. It’s been nearly four years, yet I still feel the loss as keenly as I did back then, but I’ve since harnessed the anger into something I can use. I’m willing and eager to do whatever is required to ensure a payment is exacted from every fool who has managed to secure a place on Arthur’s ledger.

  Every single one of them will be held accountable for the debt they owe. Each layer of death that coats my hands and blade brings me one step closer to satisfying the vengeance that runs rampant inside me. I’m bound by an oath and my blood to see this through to the end, and I will. I have nothing left but this life and my Cavalieri brother
s.

  Seth

  Shortly after completing my latest job, I received a call summoning me to the New Orleans headquarters for further instructions. So here I am, standing at the end of the driveway and staring at the huge mansion in front of me. I lived here for a brief time while training, and I’ve been here a few times since and yet it never ceases to amaze me. Growing up, my mom and I lived in a small house in a somewhat rundown area. This is so much bigger and grander.

  The mansion while impressive is also unassuming and blends in with the others in the surrounding neighborhood. No one would ever suspect the darkness residing within its walls. This is more than simply a mansion though: this is the heart of the Tabella Della Morte, and it holds secrets I’ve barely scratched the surface of.

  I dislike rigid structure but this is the one place I always follow the rules. When I’m away from here, all bets are off. I live by my own damn rules. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do the jobs I’m assigned, however, I’ll also add my own flair to the way I handle them. Arthur hasn’t disposed of me yet, so I must be doing something right. Fuck knows what he likes about my work methods, but while I keep being given the jobs, I’ll continue to do them my way.

  Strutting up the stone steps, I push my way in through the front door. I barely pay attention to the décor as I make my way through the house. I’m not interested in boring shit like that. All I care about is the next assignment and what fun I can have in between jobs if there is any to be had.

  I make my way to Arthur’s office, following the route from memory until I’m standing outside the closed door. I steel myself because even though I’m not afraid of anyone, something about Arthur Calthorpe sets me on edge. His presence commands respect, and to a certain degree, fear.

  After knocking on the office door, I wait, impatiently tapping my foot. In spite of the expansive estate and space within, I feel boxed in, which puts me even further on edge the longer I’m here. I’m not used to feeling like this, and I doubt I ever will. For the sake of my standing in the organization combined with the wealth and power this position brings me, I tamper down the burning itch to turn on my heels and leave.

  “Enter.” The deep, rich voice of Arthur sounds. Twisting the cold handle of the door, I open it, and with measured steps I walk into the office. I force myself to keep my outward appearance professional around my employer even though we both know I’m anything but calm inside. Arthur is sitting behind his desk, and he gestures to a chair facing him, which I slowly sink into. I’m alert and already wanting this to be over with. The man opposite me holds all the cards and the power, and he exudes it with every breath and minuscule movement he makes.

  “Galahad,” he greets me by my surname, leaning forward and steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

  I have my mother’s surname, which she gave me when I was born. Although I know very little about her family who abandoned us, the name inspired the tattoo I have spreading down my back: a huge black and red cross. I know nothing about my father, not even his name, but it’s of little concern to me because I’m a Galahad through and through.

  “Arthur,” I reply, inclining my head in a respectful nod while I wait for him to continue.

  * * *

  After what feels like an eternity, I finally leave Arthur’s office. The fresh orders have my internal demons clawing to get out and wreak some destruction on the next person I’ve been assigned to confront. I’m going to head straight out to complete the new job.

  Swinging a leg over the seat to straddle my motorbike, a sleek black Honda Shadow, I insert the keys into the ignition and start it up. The heavy rumble of the engine vibrating beneath me makes me smile. I’m eager to get out of here and play.

  Kicking into first, the engine revs angrily as I twist the throttle and slowly release the clutch. The sound matches the roaring inside my head, urging me to cause as much mayhem as I can.

  It’s only recently I’ve started working alone and I prefer it. Even spending as much time here with the guys as I have, I’ve still mostly kept to myself. The one man I’ve grown close to is Lance.

  He’s like the annoying big brother I never had growing up. Most of the time he actually seems to understand me, and my total disregard for playing by the rules. It also drives him crazy on occasions, and it can be fun fucking with him. Lance knows I don’t mean anything by it though, and if one of us had a serious problem with the other, we’d deal with it like grown-ass men and move on.

  I’ve always looked up to him, especially when he took me under his wing, guiding and overseeing my training, shortly after Arthur found me and brought me here. He said he saw something in me that reminded him of himself. I’ve never asked what it was; he doesn’t like to talk about the past.

  Leeann

  Arron is late getting home again. I’ve already tried calling him several times, but he’s not answering. When he asked me to come and live with him after I finished college, I jumped at the chance, not realizing just how difficult it was going to be. I love him, but his continued absences are a cause for concern, especially when more often than not it’s impossible to reach him.

  Arron finally staggers through the front door at 2AM stinking of whiskey and cigarettes. I jolt upright on the couch, and when he lifts his head up to meet my gaze, I have to cover my mouth to stifle the sound of surprise that threatens to escape. Arron’s face is a mess: his left eye is swelling shut, his cheekbone is oozing blood from a cut, his lip has been split, and his nose looks as though it might have been broken.

  “Arron!” I gasp, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the living room.

  He doesn’t say anything but allows me to lead him to our ratty two-seater couch that’s seen better days. Arron slumps down into the seat; the old cushions sag beneath his weight, and he leans his head backward over the headrest with his eyes closed. I dart into our small kitchen, grab a clean cloth, and run it under some cool water. After squeezing out the excess, I make my way back over to my battered brother and proceed to gently clean his face.

  Biting back on the anger at whoever has done this, I focus on tending to Arron, and once his face is clean, I assess the damage. Although swollen, thankfully his nose isn’t broken. I can already see he has the beginnings of two shiners as well as some puffiness on the left side of his face. Arron is in bad shape and probably needs to see a doctor.

  “Arron, we need to call the police,” I tell him, reaching to grab my phone from the table next to where he’s sitting.

  I’ve barely moved when his hand grasps my wrist, halting my progress. Surprised, I look up to see his gaze is fixed on me.

  “No police,” he murmurs as a drop of blood rolls down his chin from the split in his bottom lip.

  I stare at him in confusion, waiting for him to elaborate…waiting for him to give me one damn good reason why I shouldn’t make the call.

  “Arron, you’ve been attacked, we need to get help,” I say slowly.

  His grip on my wrist tightens until I’m wincing at the pressure he’s applying. I don’t back down, and I don’t pull away. Finally, he releases my wrist and snatches up my phone. Then before I can grab it out of his hand, he hurls it at the wall. I can do nothing but stand there bewildered as the pieces fall to the floor.

  “Arron?” I whisper, uncertainty flooding my brain as I try to understand why he would have done that.

  “I’ve done something bad. You’re not going to like it, but I didn’t have a choice, Lee-Lee,” he says.

  The use of Arron’s old nickname for me sends chills running up and down my spine because he hasn’t called me by that name in years. I’m frozen to the spot, unable to look away from him while I wait for the other shoe to drop and for him to come clean. A thrill of foreboding shudders through me. I almost want to cover my ears, so I don’t have to hear what he’s about to say.

  “I went to the club again, Leeann,” he begins, and I suddenly rediscover my ability to move.

  Before I can stop myself, my hand is flying th
rough the air and the sound of a smack rings through the otherwise silent apartment as my palm connects with Arron’s unhurt cheek. Angry tears fall from my eyes and hurt makes my heart ache.

  “Why would you go back to that place, Arron?! I thought you’d quit? What’s the point in going to those meetings if you’re not going to take the advice they give you?!” I’m shouting now, and I can’t keep the hysteria out of my voice as the anger rages through me.

  I’m so fucking sick of him doing this. When I first discovered where he went on those long nights out, I gave him hell for it. We’d already been struggling to pay all the bills without him gambling away what little money we did have, making it even harder for us to stay afloat. The silence following my outburst does nothing to alleviate the heat in my blood or the desperate fear of what will happen if we miss another month’s rent. We’re still playing catch up from last time.

  “What did you do that’s so fucking terrible you won’t even let me call the police?” I demand.

  “I placed a bet…a big one, and I lost,” Arron says, his voice low with regret.

  I kneel down in front of him, placing my hands on his knees, but he won’t meet my eyes. Forcing myself to remain calm, I press him for more information. “What did you bet?”