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The knife clatters to the pavement.

I hit him again, and this one lands clean. His head snaps sideways, and I don’t let him recover. I grab the front of his coat and drive him backward into a stack of crates hard enough the whole pile shifts behind him.

He tries to swing, but I catch him by the throat first.

Then I tackle him down.

We hit the pavement hard, sliding through dirty water, broken glass, and blood. Dante claws at my face, thumb dragging dangerously close to my eye, so I slam my elbow into his jaw.

Again. Again and again.

Until his grip loosens and his body stops fighting for half a second.

That’s all I need.

I drag him up by the collar and force him onto his knees. He sways there, blood pouring from his mouth, one eye already swelling, breath rattling wet through his broken nose.

The king of Severance Point.

On his fucking knees.

I stand over him with my gun pressed to the center of his forehead.

Finally.

Dante looks up at me through blood and dock light.

Then smiles.

Of course he fucking smiles.

“You should’ve left them both alone,” I snarl. “Brynn. Blair. You should’ve never touched either one of them.”

Dante laughs, wet and ruined, but still too amused. “Still trying to save dead girls, Dagger?”

I press the barrel harder into his skull.

“Careful.”

His smile widens.

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” He coughs blood onto the pavement between my boots. “Bit late for threats, isn’t it?”

My finger tightens against the trigger.

“Say hi to your little rat for me when you get to hell,” I mutter. “Mikey got there first tonight, but I’m sure he’ll be waiting for you.”

Dante goes still.

Only for half a second.

Then he laughs like I’ve just told him the funniest thing he’s heard all night.

My stomach twists.

“Oh, Dagger,” he says, lifting his eyes to mine, bright with cruel amusement. “You stupid fucking boy.”

I shove the barrel harder against his forehead.