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There was no fear in his eyes, only acceptance. He had to have known this would be his end the moment he pulled that trigger, but the drive for revenge regardless of consequence…well, that was something I understood right then.
I dragged the blade across his neck, opening his throat from ear to ear. It gushed, spattering the concrete as he choked. And I looked him in the eye, watching his life dull and fade to nothing. Until he simply ceased to exist.
“Send him to Patrick O’Hara.”
When I turned around, Emilia was standing in the doorway of the warehouse, slim arms folded over her chest, brow furrowed. I could barely look at her as I approached. She already thought I was a monster, but the truth was, she had no idea what I was capable of. This was the tip of the iceberg.
“Get in the car.”
20
Emilia
I couldn’t sleep. My mind was full of nightmares waiting to creep up on me the second I closed my eyes. Tommy in that hospital bed, holding onto life, just like Chiara had, after... He was kind and good, just like her. Why did horrible things always seem to happen to the best people? Meanwhile, men like Sergio and Matteo seemed to just survive, despite their chosen profession. It wasn’t fair.
The moment we arrived back, Gio had left me and gone to meet my uncle at his hotel. They were on the war path, it seemed.
He said nothing about what happened in that warehouse, and I knew Gio hadn’t wanted me to see that—the violence, the blood. It didn’t bother me like I thought it would, like it probably should have. There was a certain beauty in his retribution, a morbid form of justice. Tommy deserved justice, and Gio had delivered it for him. Just like that. Because he had the power, with a click of his fingers, he could make someone pay and end their life. And in the face of such brutal violence, all I could think was that no one had ever done that for Chiara. There was no Gio to avenge her. Maybe he’d keep his word. Maybe one day he would kill Matteo for me, for her.
I glanced at the spot where he should be, and a horrible empty feeling settled in my gut. He was hurting, grieving for his friend, and I wanted to help him. I just didn’t know how. I’d been where he was, but my story didn’t have a happy ending, no glimmer of hope I could offer him. I found myself wanting to shoulder his grief nonetheless because though he may not have known he was doing it, over the last few days, he’d shouldered plenty of mine.
I got out of bed and padded down the hall before stopping in the open doorway of his office. He sat behind his desk, back to me and whiskey glass in hand as he stared out over the glittering lights of the city.
The floorboard creaked under my foot, and he turned to me, his gaze even cooler than usual. Moonlight spilled around him, washing him in tones of silver. He looked so untouchable, a cold king on a throne, lording over his city. Like this, he intimidated me, scared me even, and I had the urge to turn around and run away. I knew that was what he wanted, though, to scare me off, so he could suffer and wallow in his own despair. He blamed himself for Tommy, but I’d also seen the look on his face after he cut that man’s throat. He hid it well, but he was ashamed. That he’d done it, or just that I’d seen it, I wasn’t sure.
Stealing myself, I stepped into the room and approached him. He didn’t move a muscle, and my heart thrummed an anxious beat as I forced myself to crawl into his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. There was a single tense moment where I thought he might reject me, but then he cracked, arms slowly coming around me, his chin resting on top of my head. A staggered breath rattled his chest, and for long minutes, we just stayed like that. I took comfort in him as much as he did me. Sometimes we felt like two broken halves of the whole, and the only time I felt truly together was here, in his arms, whole.
“I’m sorry, Gio.” I squeezed tighter. “I’m sorry your friend is hurt.”
“We need to talk,” he murmured, and I instantly felt sick because those words sounded so ominous.
I knew I didn’t want to hear what he had to say, knew what was coming. Panic fluttered in my chest like the rapid beat of a hummingbird’s wings.
I grabbed his face, pressing my lips to his. Kissing him felt so right, like coming home when I’d never really belonged before. That kiss was a silent plea, and I wanted him to hear the words I couldn’t bring myself to say. His fingers threaded through my hair, holding me to him as if I were his lifeline, as if he would never let go.
