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“Ahhh! Fuck!” His cries of pain are like a symphony to my ears, his grunts making my mouth tick up at the corner. “You’re going to fucking pay for that, bitch.”
The smile teasing my lips drops instantly, a familiar sense of numbness washing over me as I become consumed with bringing this fucker to his knees.
“No, you are.”
When I rip the blade from his thigh, he cries out once more, and I stab the bloodied blade into his stomach, twisting for good measure as he whimpers and gargles beneath me.
His hands lift to my hair, pulling at my ends as he tilts my head back, and I blindly ball my hands into fists and aim for his face. My knuckles meet his flesh three times at full force, blood smearing across my skin as his hold relents.
My body already aches from the exercise I put myself through earlier, and now with this on top of it, I’m completely drained. I’ve had enough, but this doesn’t end until he’s dead.
With a groan of my own, I grab the handle of the blade again, tearing it from his body, before slamming the sharp edge into his throat, not stopping until the tip hits the floor through him.
The gargled sound of blood in his throat is all I can hear as he struggles to breathe, the sound vibrating off the walls around me until the noise comes to a complete stop. His body wilts beneath me and I know he’s visiting his maker in hell.
I fall from my position above him with little to no grace, using my hands and knees to keep me up off the pool of blood surrounding him. A small sob of anger and relief bursts past my lips as I gasp for breath.
I frown as the sound of approaching footsteps filter through, kicking my heart rate into overdrive as I force myself to stand.
Looking down at Teto beside me, my body vibrates with uncertainty. How the fuck do I explain this? My mind is in survival mode, but I know no matter how I attempt to get out of here, it’s going to involve a fight with whoever is approaching first.
I flex my hands at my sides as I try to inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth, but any attempt to regulate my breathing and remain calm is short-lived as Matteo appears in the open doorway.
His gaze flicks from me to Teto and back again a few times over, before it settles on me. There’s no tell on his face, no hint of an expression to guide me to whatever is going through his mind.
My chest heaves with every breath I take, until he takes one step into the room, hands clenching at his sides before he turns a glare toward the dead man beside me.
“What did he do?”
What did he do? What did he do?I repeat his words in my mind over and over again, trying to comprehend what the fuck he’s saying. It almost sounds like… he knows this wasn’t my fault. I think? But this is Matteo, and that’s not usually the case. Also, why the fuck aren’t they halfway to New York by now?
When he doesn’t storm toward me, waiting patiently for me to respond, I relax. His eyebrows lift, encouraging a response when he can sense my body is no longer on alert.
With a shrug, I take in the blood dancing along the edge of my sneakers and sigh. “It doesn’t matter, Matteo. What matters is this carpet because if we don’t get some cleaning supplies right now, this fucker’s going to stain.”
22
MATTEO
“What matters is this carpet because if we don’t get some cleaning supplies right now, this fucker’s going to stain.”
Did she actually just say what I think she said? I can’t be right, she really can’t bethatcrazy. Can she?
Anger vibrates through every inch of my body, seeing the blood smeared all over her skin and the battle she must have fought. I want to put a bullet through his fucking brain for good measure.
Observing Wren, it catches me off guard how still she’s standing. There's no shake to her bones, no anxiousness making her bob on her feet. Nothing. She stands cold and calculated just like Totem would. If this was the first time meeting her, I would instantly know she was his daughter. That stance is undeniable and completely untrainable.
How many times has she done this? How many times did Totem use her as a weapon or force her to take someone out whether she liked it or not? My father did it too many times to count, and he was a far better man than Totem.
Shaking my head ever so slightly, I continue to gaze at her. If there was any confirmation needed to clarify that staying in Italy was the right decision, this is it. We listened and didn’t make the trip to New York, and seeing her before me, I’m flooded with relief, but it doesn’t last all that long when I think about how none of this would have happened if I hadn’t left the house.
This is not something anyone ever wants to return home to.
Clearing my throat, I ask her again, “What did he do, Wren?”
Her gaze drops to Teto’s lifeless form beside her, before her empty eyes meet mine again. “He pushed.”
It’s as simple as that. Her response is monotone, her pain squashed, and her rage depleted.
