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“I don’t want to. Don’t make me.”
“What if I tell you he’s been using you all along? That he’s on the side of your parents’ murderer.”
My hand falters on the gun as his words sink to the bottom of my stomach. “W-what?”
“Here’s your truth, Lia. Adrian is only with you because he’s an ally to your father. The same father who ordered a hit on your parents in Italy.”
“You’re…just saying that because I refuse to help you anymore.”
“I’m saying that so you’ll wake the fuck up. Adrian is not on your side—never was, never will be. He’s merely serving his and the Bratva’s agenda, and keeping you as a trump card for being Lazlo Luciano’s illegitimate daughter.”
My head spins and the hand holding the gun trembles.
No. Luca is being spiteful. None of this is true. Itcan’tbe.
“I’m out of here.” The scarred man’s voice is like nails scratching against my brain. “I’ll kill Volkov next time.”
“You fucking better,” Luca mutters.
My mind is trapped in a maze and a blow of undecipherable emotions bursts through me. Only one remains, though, as I aim the gun at the scarred man’s nape and shoot.
I didn’t even have to think about it. Hearing him say that he’d come back for Adrian’s life was enough to propel me to action. I had to stop him. To protect my husband and my baby’s father, despite Luca’s words.
Due to Adrian’s strict training, I don’t miss. The bullet lodges itself in the back of the man’s head, causing him to fall face-first on the ground. The thud is loud in the silence as he stops moving, stops breathing.
Just stops.
Oh, God.
I…killed a man. I just killed someone. A person.
And yet, no feelings wash over me. Maybe I’ve lost my soul now and there’s no way I’ll get it back.
I had to protect Adrian. I just had to.
Luca glares at me. “What the fuck, Duchess?”
“Give me evidence.” My voice is calm considering the shaking of my hand. “When I make sure your words are true, that I’m merely a pawn in his game, I’ll kill Adrian myself.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Luca jumps on the wall and climbs it before disappearing over the fence.
I don’t stare at the man, at the life I’ve just ended with my own hand, as I approach him and crouch over his unmoving body. I drop the gun to my side and retrieve a nail file from my purse, using it to dig at his bloody gaping wound.
Adrian and the others will be here any minute, but I need to retrieve that bullet or he’ll know it was me. Since I have a small gun, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out who did it.
Bile rises to my throat and my eyes well with tears as I dig the pointy side in until I finally find the bullet, struggling for a few seconds until I pull it out.
I gather my gun, the nail file, and the bullet, then rush back inside and to one of the bathrooms. I scrub my hands and wash the file and the bullet before I tuck them into my clutch bag. I’ll have to get rid of them when I go out to volunteer.
The face that greets me in the mirror is pale, hollow, and there are tears streaming down my cheeks.
The face of a killer.
I finished a life and signed the death sentence of my innocence.
But the possibility of Adrian using me all this time might as well have issued the death sentence to my heart and soul.
35
