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My orgasm left me so sleepy I crawled into the windowseat and curled up on my side. The lamp flickered gently before my eyes. Shedding just enough light that he would see it when he returned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LUCIEN
I had to kill alone. I did my best work that way.
Overhead, the moon was full—too full for comfort. Duran and I moved soundlessly across the dewy lawn, keeping to the shadows. The air was humid and suffocating. The sky felt like it was collapsing on us despite the trees reaching out to shield our bodies.
We melted into the shadows behind the guest house. Across the lawn, the pool steamed. I squinted, taking in the stone patio and the pale, blue lighting surrounding the water. It was brighter than I would like, but not bright enough to reveal my body beneath the water.
“Are you ready?” Duran whispered.
I nodded and began unfastening my pants. Taking off my clothes one by one until I was naked except for my boxer briefs. And the knife strapped to my calf.
There was poetry to this, albeit grim. I’d stripped to my boxer briefs when I’d killed my father and burned them the next day in the woods. When I’d killed Romano, I’d done it in the water as well. And when I’d ended Olivia’s father, I’d murdered him with the same knife strapped to my leg tonight.
It would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been so grim.
“Wait,” Duran said, lifting his hand.
There was a clicking sound from the sliding glass doors. We melded back against the wall and waited as the doors slid ajar and Riccardo walked out. He took a deep breath, coughed once, and spat into the grass. Then he lit a cigarette and stood there, exhaling the smoke up into the sky.
“Hold,” Duran breathed.
He felt my rage. Trembling through my body despite my slow pulse and deliberate breaths. There was something about Riccardo Mezzasalma that felt like seeing my father’s fucking face all over again. I took a deep, silent breath and held it. Digging into my deepest level of focus and slipping into the side of myself that let me kill.
My breathing slowed. The faint scent of cigarette blended with wet grass. Overhead, the lights seemed too bright as my eyes adjusted to the dark.
Riccardo flicked the cigarette into the grass. Littering my yard.
I jerked my head. Tamping down the rage.
He turned and went inside, sliding the door shut. We watched his figure pass by the window and up the stairs to the bedroom. The window was uncovered and I could see him walk over and open what appeared to be a bathroom door.
“Go, go, go,” Duran breathed.
I slid into the light, keeping my eyes on Riccardo’s figure. He was dragging on a pair of swimming trunks. It sounded like there was music on a Bluetooth speaker. Good, it would dull his senses.
The pool was warm and bubbling. He’d turned on the jets from somewhere inside. That was another thing working in our favor tonight. I slid my body over the stone edge and slipped beneath the water to the floor of the pool.
Treading lightly, I moved my body to the corner closest to the house. There was a little ledge, just big enough for me to fit under with enough space for my eyes and nose to rise above the water. I slipped beneath it and pressed my back against the wall. My palm braced up above my head to keep my body from floating forward.
From down below, it was impossible to hear what was going on inside the house.
So I waited.
It felt like hours, but really it was a matter of minutes. I felt his footfalls like a tremor through the earth. My body tensed and my focus tunneled on the faint vibration overhead. Then the water exploded as he dived in and a wave washed over me, cutting my oxygen off for a moment before it dissipated.
I blinked the water from my lashes. He was swimming back and forth across the pool.
Like an animal on the hunt, I slid below the water and sank to the bottom. My body flipped and I floated gently on my back, concealed beneath the rolling bubbles. Overhead, the shape of his body sliced through the water to the center of the pool and stilled. He floated onto his stomach and his legs slid down until they were just a foot above me.
I waited. My oxygen was running out. But the timing wasn’t right.
He kicked, pivoting until he was floating above me. Our bodies lined up, head below head.
My hand flexed around the knife’s handle. I’d fought underwater once before, a long time ago, and I knew it took an enormous amount of strength just to get in one blow. It was exhausting and I couldn’t afford to let myself be exhausted. I needed to strike once and take him out.
