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They’re my only words upon my exit. I won’t rest until I see the masterpiece that’s now my brother’s deformed face.

Until his screams fill the vast desert canyons surrounding us.

Louis didn’t exaggerate. Half of my brother’s face is blown off. On the left side of his head, where his cheek once was, is now a gaping hole, dripping blood, pus and spittle. The rest of his face is swollen from the extreme trauma of not only the gunshot but my fists bashing it in.

He’s a hideous monster. Children would scream and cry at the sight of him.

In the concrete room, he’s chained to a beam overhead. A satisfied grin starts at the corner of my mouth. Louis didn’t even give him the luxury of a chair. His arms stretch above his head, his legs weakly balancing his weight. The position leaves the rest of his body open for some fun.

How can I resist? I’ve even brought some gadgets down with me from my weapons room.

“Hello, brother,” I greet. The heavy steel door swings shut behind me. I set down my case full of tools and then step closer to better assess his injuries. “That’s a nasty hole in your face. Was it worth it? Your attempt to steal from me?”

A gurgle emits from his throat. More blood leaks out of both his mouth and the gaping hole.

“My own brother. I never would’ve guessed. I always knew you were jealous of me and my ascent to Pa’s throne, but even for you, this was crazy. You couldn’t be happy as acapoin my empire, huh? You had to go for the crown.”

His head sweeps from left to right in a sloppy nod.

“You really think it was me?” he gurgles.

Even his voice sounds deformed. The blast must’ve fucked up his ability to talk normally.

“Sure, it wasn’t you,” I say, humor in my gaze. “You just happened to benefit most from my death. You just happened to assume my position immediately after I died.”

“Pa made the call.”

“I expected a better lie. We’re going to have some fun. Something tells me you won’t be laughing so much anymore when we’re through.”

“Believe what you…” he pauses, blood and spit pooling in his mouth. Once it overflows inside, the rest dribbles down his front. “Believe what you want.”

Most people would lose their lunch at the sight of him. Instead, I’m relishing every moment. Even the putrid stench of his blood and festering wound is somehow pleasant to me. Better than any flower.

I stroll over to the black case I’ve brought and pop it open. Inside, the sharp metal objects glint up at me, each one begging to be the first. I take my time selecting.

“There’s nothing you can say to change things, brother,” I say simply. “I could have respected a direct challenge for Pa’s throne…but you couldn’t handle things respectfully. You had to go and disrespect me in every fucking way imaginable. And tonight—you really thought you’d get the last laugh by ravaging Falynn? You must not realize who I am, brother. I will decapitate you myself and put your fucking head in my trophy case.”

“You’re foolishly wrong,” he wheezes, blood bubbling from his bruised lips. His eyes are swollen almost entirely shut, though he tries his best to track my movements. “I didn’t kill you. But I did want your throne.”

“No shit! We’re way past that revelation.”

He’s not done. Apparently, in his final hours, he decides now is the time for confession.

“I wanted it. Your life. I could be just as good.”

“Your inferiority complex is no excuse. Hand saw or machete?”

“I wantedher. If she could love you, why not me?” he asks.

He’s fucking pathetic. Chained in my vault, a slumped, limp mess, drooling on himself with a hole in his face. He could’ve been so much more if he’d only not gone off the deep end.

I should’ve known it’s where he was headed—after Mom died, neither of us functioned well. But Giancarlo had always been worse. Always seemed vacant and disturbed. Even more so than when Mom was alive.

She’d been the only one who tried to understand him. She’d related to his mental struggles and how unwell he was. Pa always said it was her fault he experienced such issues; he’d gotten it from her.

“You wanted Falynn,” I repeat. A new flame of anger ignites in me. My grip encloses on the machete, weighing the weapon in my hands. “There’s just one problem. She doesn’t want you. But you didn’t give a fuck, did you? You were going to force an unwilling woman—mywoman. Big mistake.”

He scoffs. The fucking audacity pisses me off even more. It’s worse than the laughter.

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