Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I stumbled toward her, falling to my knees beside the bed. My hands hovered over her, trembling, not knowing where to touch, how to fix this.
There was too much blood. Too much damage.
I couldn’t fix this.
“No,” I screamed. “No, no, no.”
I reached for her, gathering her broken body into my arms.
She was cold, so fucking cold but still so soft, I almost believed that she was alive.
But there was no life in her. No breath. No heartbeat.
I rocked her against my chest, my tears mixing with the blood on her skin.
Her blood soaked my clothes, staining me.
And then I saw it—
A small bundle beside her on the bed.
Our baby. My son.
Covered in blood, so still, so perfect, and so utterly, completely lifeless.
His tiny hands were curled into fists, his face peaceful in a way that made my heart shatter.
An anguished roar tore from my throat.
The memory faded as abruptly as it came, leaving me gasping for breath, my hands still clenched around the steering wheel. My chest heaved with ragged breath.
I was parked on the side of the road, I realized, though I didn’t remember how I got here.
Fucking Matteo.
He was finally going to pay for what he had done.
I knew this was his doing. He had taken Elizabeth and my son from me, and now he had somehow orchestrated the loss of my second child. The fire, the miscarriage, it had all been connected.
The rage that had been simmering inside me for two weeks, for years, really, boiled over. I needed to see him. I needed to look into his eyes as I made him bleed for every blood he had shed.
I found Matteo exactly where I knew he’d be, in his penthouse apartment, lounging in that absurdly expensive armchair that cost more than most people’s cars.
The arrogance in him was palpable, radiating from him like a toxic cloud.
My rage was a living thing inside me, clawing at my throat, demanding blood. The gun felt heavy in my hand, a natural extension of my fury. The weight of it was almost comforting, a promise of the vengeance I had craved for so long.
His posture was relaxed, almost bored. His dark eyes met mine across the room, a small, infuriating smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Hello, brother,” he said, not even bothering to look surprised as I entered. His voice was smooth and controlled, as if we were meeting for a casual drink rather than for his execution.
He had been waiting for me. Of course.
The bastard had known I would come.
I raised my gun, the barrel aimed directly between his eyes. My hand was steady, despite the violence coursing through my veins, eating my flesh, rotting me from the inside out.
“I know what you did,” I said, my voice deadly calm. I took a step closer. “All of it.”
Matteo didn’t flinch. He didn’t even try to reach for his own weapon.
Instead, he leaned back, a smirk playing across his lips as if I’d just told him a particularly amusing joke.
“And what is it you think I’ve done?” he asked, his tone light, almost conversational. As if we were discussing the weather rather than the murders of my children. Matteo raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mild curiosity. “And how can you be so sure it was me? The world is full of enemies, Adrian. Not everyone who crosses you is my doing.”
I took another step closer, the gun never wavering from its target. “I found the evidence. On the blood-soaked floor of my apartment, where Elizabeth died. A Sunrise Ruby that only you own in this whole world.”
Matteo’s smile faltered for just a moment before returning, wider than before.
“A piece of ruby that was embedded in the ring you wear on your finger,” I continued.
I watched as his eyes dropped to his hand, to the ring that now held a perfect ruby. A replacement. The original had been left behind, a careless mistake that had sealed his fate.
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the weight of years of hatred and resentment. I had known for so long, had suspected, had gathered evidence, but I had never acted. Not because I feared the consequences within La Cosa Nostra—though killing one’s own blood was a sin that would never be forgiven—but because I didn’t just want to kill Matteo.
I wanted to make him suffer. I wanted him to know the pain he had caused me. I wanted to strip away everything he valued, everything he had built, before I finally ended him.
Matteo shrugged, the gesture casual, dismissive, that it made my finger twitch against the trigger. “It needed to be done.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
The casual cruelty of them, the complete absence of remorse, broke something inside me that had been holding on by the thinnest of threads.