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I’m about to express my sarcastic condolences to Matteo since now it seems he has a long life of relentless torture ahead of him. Before I can, Aspen marches back into the room, and this time she’s holding one of the guns left in the office.
She raises her arm, brandishing the pistol. “Look at me,” she grits out, teeth clenched. “I said look at me, you cowardly bastard.”
“I would do as she says,” I murmur, backing away from him, one eye always on Aspen.
Matteo raises his head, meeting her gaze. She’s breathing hard, eyes bright. “Did you have fun that night? Was it a good time? Was it worth this?”
“No. It wasn’t,” Matteo rasps out.
“But you did it. And you’ve deserved everything they’ve done to you. You deserve to know your family is all dead because of what you did. You destroyed all of them.”
His chin quivers, but he says nothing.
“I should let you live in filth, all alone.” A tear rolls down her cheek, but she ignores it in favor of glaring at Matteo. “While I live an incredible life. Happy. Loved. I’m going to live a long life surrounded by family and in love with my husband. While all you’ll have to look forward to is forgetting all the things you used to love since remembering them only hurts. I should do that to you.”
She draws a deep breath. “Instead, I’m going to be merciful.”
Something like a grin begins to spread over those peeling lips, and it almost seems his pasty skin regains some of its color. “Do it,” he begs in a soft voice. “Please, finally, do it.”
“Stand up,” Aspen orders. “Stand up so I can end your life face-to-face.” I’m not sure what she is doing, but I’m not about to interfere with her wishes.
It takes Matteo a moment to gather enough strength to stand. Bruises, cuts, and welts cover most of his body. His legs shake as he pushes himself to his feet. Pointing the gun at him, Aspen waits patiently, not bothered by Matteo’s slow movement.
When he finally stands in front of Aspen, a smile spreads across her face. “This is for what you did to me that night.” She lowers the gun, pointing it toward his crotch, and fires the first shot. Everything happens so fast that I don’t realize what she is doing until the bullet hits Matteo’s dick.
He falls to his knees with a blood-curdling scream, his hands covering what’s left of his balls. Blood pours from between his fingers, forming a puddle around his legs.
“And this is for my child.” Another shot cracks through the air an instant before Matteo’s head snaps back, hitting the wall behind him, where blood and brains have splashed.
The room goes eerily silent for a moment as we both watch the life drain from Matteo’s body.
I go to her, taking the pistol from her hands and throwing it on the ground before wrapping her in my arms. “He’s finished. You took care of him.” I couldn’t be prouder of how far she’s come.
“I don’t even feel bad about it.”
“You have no reason to. You’ve taken control of your life.” I’m gentle as I ease her away from me, taking her by the chin and tipping her head back to look her in the eye. “You did well.”
“Did you say there’s someone else here, too?”
“Yes. Wait here.” Now, I’m almost giddy with anticipation. Nothing in the world could keep me from going to Delilah’s cell and unlocking the door. Rather than attempt to attack me this time, she’s sitting at the foot of her cot, trembling. It’s clear she heard the shots despite the thick walls.
“Come on. There’s something I want to show you.” I take her by the arm and drag her from the cell before dumping her on the floor at Aspen’s feet.
“Look at him.” When Delilah refuses to lift her head, I take her by the hair and pull her head back, crouching beside her. “I said look. Look at what’s been done to him. This could be you. And it will be.”
“Who is this?” Aspen asks.
“This is Delilah Wallace. Delilah has ties to Matteo and Nash, but she refuses to say exactly how they’re connected. Were connected, I should say. When speaking of Matteo, one needs to use past tense from now on.” I’m almost enjoying this too much.
“What do you think, Delilah?” I ask. “Does this convince you I mean business? This isn’t a game. Who was he to you? What did you have to do with his family?”
“He was my brother.” She lifts her eyes, but there doesn’t seem to be much feeling in them. “Satisfied?”
“Your brother is dead now.”
“No kidding. I thought that was paint on the wall behind him.” I snarl and shove her away, standing. “You have more spirit than he did, that’s for sure. So you’re a Valentine?”
