Club Forbidden Book 3 by DB Canavan

𝐶𝐿𝑈𝐵 𝑉𝐼𝐸𝑇𝐴𝑇𝑂 (𝐶𝑙𝑢𝑏 𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝐵𝑜𝑜𝑘 3) by DB Canavan releases on October 13th

BLURB

How long can your soul twist before irreparable damage occurs?

How much pain can beauty endure before it morphs into something hideous? How much abuse can a person take before kindness is snuffed out and replaced with something ugly and heinous?

How long can love live in darkness before it becomes evil?

It’s irrational to think anyone can win a mob war. The only thing you can do when the streets run red with blood, is try to stay alive.

Can the DeSantis family survive the hell that’s about to be inflicted on them?

Is the bond between Lucas, Vincent, and Abbigail strong enough to survive death?

Finally, the explosive conclusion to Vincent’s, Lucas’s, and Abbigail’s story!

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Excerpt

(Keep in mind it's unedited!)

Señor Santino Mérida

Taking my seat at the front of the table, my eyes survey the room. Most of my men are indulging in our product, a woman, or both. My two new bodyguards Mateo, José’s brother, and Hugo, Manuel’s brother are not interested in partying. They both have a look of revenge on their faces. They feel the same way I do, you don’t take out a Mérida cartel member and then expect to live long.

Reaching for the small basket of fruit in front of me, I pluck out an apple. I take time to polish it to a beautiful shine while I allow my men a few more minutes to indulge before the fun ends and revenge begins.

Reaching into my breast pocket my fingers slide along my old friend. Long, slender, and cold, my trusted switchblade. Its helped me to obtain my well earned nickname ‘El Doctor.’

Sliding it out of my pocket and flicking my wrist, I watch the silver blade flash and lock into place. Eyeing the finely sharpened edge, I can hardly wait to try it out on Abbigail Summers and the De Santis brothers.

As I skim the blade softly across the surface of the apple, a hit of adrenaline surges through my body as it punctures its red skin and juices start to bubble and ooze from its wound, much like blood does when a person is being skinned alive. Slicing a paper-thin piece of apple and eyeing my handy work, my lips twitch. I haven’t lost my touch yet.

I nod to Mateo, who is standing against the wall. He nods back as I secure the thinly cut apple to my knife with my thumb, rotating my wrist and bringing the fruit to my mouth. I devore it in one bite. I have an appetite, and it’s not just for fruit, it’s for revenge. Revenge for the death of my two right hand men, and revenge on the De Santis organization for trying to double cross me.

Vincent De Santis, the two-faced asshole, can be glad he’s dead, but that’s not enough payback for the betrayal he was trying to parade as friendship. He was working with his brother Luca, the DEA agent. That meeting at their so-called charity benefit was nothing but a ruse to bring me down and turn me over to the U.S. Federales.

Well, I don’t take kindly to betrayal. I remember betrayal, hang onto it, let it fester, and I bide my time until I can strike and inflict my form of revenge. Another hit of adrenaline surges through my system, payback and revenge. I hold a mean grudge, and my payback will be twofold.

“Señor Mérida would like to get started.” Mateo’s voice booms over the party.

I watch as Juan, one of my best men, grabs the hair of the woman sucking him off and thrusts his hips forward, his face contorting into a pleasured orgasmic expression.

“I don’t like to wait, gentlemen.” I voice my impatience, not looking up from the apple that I’m systematically, and carefully taking another well executed slice off.

The room quiets and my inner circle straighten themselves, pull their chairs to the table, ready for the meeting.

My eyes roam the room, this time finding all my men focusing their attention in my direction.

“Good. Let’s get started. I think we all know why we’re here.” I arch an eyebrow as my eyes roam their faces.

“Fucking revenge.” Sergio scowls.

“Si, the De Santis scum need to pay.” Leo’s angry voice echoes through the room.

“I want that bitch, Summers. She took out my brother.” Hugo snarls angerly.

“Enough!” My voice echoes through the room making each of my men snap to attention and sit a little straighter. “Speaking of De Santis scum,” my eyes roam the table until they fall upon Jorge. Jorge has been a trusted member of the team for years. “Jorge, glad to see you made it back from Sicily in one piece.” I had sent him to Sicily to attend Vincent De Santis funeral and bring me back any and all information he could on the family and their compound. I wanted proof that the lying bastard was in fact dead, in a coffin, and six feet underground.

Too bad he died that night. I would have liked to watch him suffer as I fucked his precious Abbigail Summers, tortured her, than killed her. No, Vincent De Santis can be glad he’s dead, or he would have watched each member of his family die at my hand.

“Si. I made it back.” Jorge’s eyes shift around the room. “Shit I had to take a shower after spending so much time with all those garlic smelling Sicilians.” I watch as he fakes horror, which pulls laughter and comments from the crowd.

“How were the Sicilian bitches?” A low voice filters from the back.

“Ripe for the fucking.” Jorge licks his lips in anticipation.

“Enough! You can compare stories later.” My voice is laced with impatience.

The room drops silent. I lean forward rolling my wrist and depositing another slice of apple on my tongue. “You get what I asked for?”

“Si.” Jorge answers quickly.

Jorge hands a folder to Mateo standing against the wall, who in turn hands it to me.

“Good.” Flipping it open, “let’s see what we have here.” I flip open the folder spreading the pictures out in front of me. I’m greeted with the sad faces of the De Santis organization. Tullio wiping his eyes, parading around Sicily like the fool he is. “I see Tullio is alive and doing well, the Sicilian scum.” He has insulted me and my organization with every chance he gets. Calling us barbarian drug scum, refusing to let us run our product through his territories. I should have known better than to believe his two-faced son.

When Vincent came to me with a deal to join forces in the gun trade, allowing us to run drugs through the De Santis territory in exchange for the precious names of the snitches that were trying to take over his family’s territories, I should have known it was a setup. He was working with his DEA brother. Vincent wanted the names, then he was going to let his brother swoop in and arrest me, turning me over to the American FBI. Too bad for them I got wind of their little double cross a half hour before our little meeting.

My eyes scan the pictures seeing the parade of people. Everything looks like a normal Sicilian funeral.

Picking up one photo I set it aside, “Very beautiful. Carlotta De Santis will feel good around my cock then she will pay for being a De Santis.”

Reaching for another, I take a bit longer eyeing this person. Nico Caffaro, Vincent De Santis' right hand man. He’s standing next to Tullio and Enzo. My eyes roam the other pictures, flicking over them. In every picture Nico has sunglasses on, so I can’t get a good read of his true emotions. My eyes roam through the pictures again searching for the one piece of information I specifically sent Jorge to Sicily to get. But I don’t see it.

“There’s something missing.” My eyes slowly rise from the table making their way to Jorge.

Within seconds of my gaze landing on him he starts to sweat and squirm in his chair. Leading me to believe he didn’t come back with what I asked him to. “You see the body?”

“Señor Mérida, I….”

“Stop. I asked a question.” My eyes watch as Hugo slowly makes his way along the wall coming to a stop behind Jorge. No one notices his repositioning, but I do because I trained him to anticipate what I need.

Slowly, letting the tension in the room thicken, I craftly carve another piece of apple. “Did you get a picture of that lying asshole's dead corpse?”

“No – I’m sorry, Señor Mérida. I tried…”

“I don’t want to hear fucking excuses. I sent you there for one reason, and that was to bring me back proof, to confirm that Vincent De Santis was dead and buried. Si?”

“Si. Señor Mérida, I tried to get close, they just had too much….”

My hand hits the table, making it shake with the thunder of an earthquake. “I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses.” I flick my wrist, watching the blade of my knife flicker brilliantly in the light before it tucks itself into its safe cover. “Did you at least see the fucking body?”

There’s a long pause. Nothing. I watch as Jorge takes a hanky from his breast pocket, nervously wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

“Are you fucking deaf? I ask you a question. Did you see Vincent De Santis' dead corpse or not? It’s a fucking simple question requires a simple answer.”

“I saw the coffin just as they closed the lid. There was a body in it, I couldn’t get close enough to it to take a picture, it would have blown my cover, they would have killed me.”

“Then you at least saw the body in the coffin and can swear to me that Vincent De Santis is in fact dead and buried six feet under Sicilian soil?”

Again, there’s a nervous silence. His eyes shift nervously, looking for help.

“Si. He’s dead.”

He’s fucking lying. I hate liars. “Really?!” I nod my head. In a flash Hugo has wrapped his enormous arm around Jorge’s neck, locking him in a headlock.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” I slowly stalk around the table stopping next to Jorge, grabbing his wrist and tearing his fingers from Hugo’s arm.

I slam his hand to the table, pinning it down at the wrist. I whisper my deadly threat into his ear. “I hate liars, you should know this. Now I’m going to ask one more time. If you lie to me, I will start cutting your fingers off, knuckle by knuckle.”

In one swift move, I retrieve my switch blade, flicking my wrist and locking the blade in place. With my other hand, I keep his hand pinned to the table, forcefully spreading his fingers, separating his pinky finger.

Jorge openly struggles, and loudly begs – he knows I don’t forgive anything.

“Please Señor Mérida! Please! Oh god no.” His eyes bug out as they follow my blade until it hovers over the first knuckle of his pinky finger.

Resting the tip against the table, I line up the blade preparing to deliver my punishment. I’m making an example of him to the rest of my cartel sitting at the table.

“Now I’m going to ask one last time. Did you see that bastard De Santis cold and dead in his coffin?”

Out of the corner of my eye I see everyone at the table slowly remove their hands from the tabletop. Good, then I’m making my point.

The tension at the table thickens, waiting to see how stupid this asshole is actually going to be.

Everyone sitting at this table knows he’s lied.

“I’m not a very patient man.” I lower my blade, breaking the skin.

“NO! Ah God – No. I didn’t see the body up close. I didn’t get any pictures because I couldn’t get close enough. I’m sorry I lied; I didn’t want to disappoint you Señor Mérida. Plea-s-e…

I hate fucking liars. I thrust my blade down, feeling the blade catch a little as it breaks through the bone.

“AH FUCK! I’m TELLING YOU THE TRUTH PLEASE!” Jorge’s body jolts in pain.

With no avail, he struggles to get out of Hugo’s hold.

I line up the next joint and thrust downward. Jorge’s screams of pain and terror ricocheting through the room, slapping each member of my cartel in the face with the sting of a warning.

“You lied to me fucking twice! I take two cuts.”

“AH GOD NO! PLEASE.” Jorge’s screams, thrashing abruptly.

I release his hand, pulling my handkerchief from my pocket and wiping the blood of his deception from my blade. Tossing the handkerchief into the center of the table, I want them all to see what I do to liars, to betrayal.

“Get him the fuck out of here. Get rid of him.” I nod to Hugo, who releases his choke hold.

Grabbing Jorge by the hair, he’s dragged through the door, his screams muffled as the door clicks shut.

Flicking my wrist, the blade slides smoothly back into its jacket. I’ll have to remember to clean and sharpen it tonight.

Sliding back into my chair, I look around the room. “I hope the rest of you don’t disappoint me like our former friend Jorge did."

Each member at the table shifts nervously.