The man’s lip curled into a bitter sneer. “Isn’t it? You claim to care now, but where was your pity then? You never saw her as a person but rather a case to close. But you didn’t just ruin her life. You ruined mine.”
The man’s expression darkened as he continued. “And now,” he said, “you’re going to learn what that feels like.”
Dominic heard it before he saw it—the cold, metallic click of a pistol being cocked behind him. He tensed, then slowly turned his head.
Blackthorn stood at the mouth of the alley, his pistol raised and aimed squarely at him. “Lower the pistol, Stevens. You won’t be needing that anymore since dead men can’t shoot.”
16
Dominic kept his gaze fixed on both men, his tone even. “Why are you doing this?” he asked Blackthorn, lowering the pistol.
Blackthorn’s eyes glinted with something far darker than amusement—hatred. “Because I’ve been waiting for the chance to kill you for years,” he said. “And Whitmore here has handed me the perfect excuse.”
“What did I ever do to you?” Dominic asked.
Blackthorn’s expression twisted. “You took the love of my life,” he stated. “You may not have struck the final blow, but you condemned her all the same. So when Whitmore came to me, whispering about revenge for his dead sister, I knew this was my chance to make you pay.”
Dominic’s brow furrowed. “Whitmore’s sister… she was your lover?”
Blackthorn nodded once, his jaw clenched. “Yes. She was everything to me. And you took her from me.”
“I had no idea,” Dominic said.
Blackthorn’s nostrils flared. “Of course you didn’t. Because to you, she was just another thief. But to me… she was my future.”
“She stole from half the households in Mayfair,” Dominic pointed out.
Whitmore scoffed from the side, still holding his weapon steady. “Can we kill him now?”
“Not yet,” Blackthorn murmured. “I think it would be far more satisfying to keep him alive long enough to see us kill his precious wife.”
Dominic’s entire body went rigid. “You will not go anywhere near Dorothea.”
“Oh?” Blackthorn sneered. “And what exactly do you plan to do about it? You’ve no allies here. No army. You’re just a man that is cornered and outnumbered.”
Dominic’s eyes flicked towards Whitmore. “You’d murder a defenseless woman? That’s your grand revenge?”
Whitmore didn’t flinch. “And you didn’t? My sister was left to rot on a floating coffin because of you. What’s the difference?”
“She made a choice,” Dominic growled. “She knew the risks when she stole what she did. She wasn’t some innocent flower caught up in a misunderstanding.”
“She stole from people who wouldn’t even miss what she took,” Whitmore spat. “People with more wealth than sense. You should have let her go.”
“The law doesn’t work like that.”
“The law,” Blackthorn drawled, “was always a cudgel in your hand, wasn’t it? You used it to crush people like her—like us. And now you want to cry foul because the tables have turned?”
Blackthorn took a step closer as he continued. “I must say, I was surprised when I heard you were given a title. The king must’ve been scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
Dominic tilted his head. “It was for valor and service to the Crown. Something you wouldn't understand.”
Blackthorn gave a humorless laugh. “Oh, I understand sacrifice, Dominic. I just never got a medal for mine.”
Dominic’s grip tightened around the pistol in his hand. “I must say that the most insulting part of all this is that you believe I came here alone.”
Blackthorn’s confident sneer faltered, the barest flicker of uncertainty flashing through his eyes. “You’re bluffing,” he said with a glance over his shoulder. “I see no one else.”
“I may be many things but a bluffer is not one of them. You each have one chance,” Dominic added, raising the pistol until it aligned with Blackthorn’s chest, “to lower your weapons and walk away. I won’t offer it twice.”
