“Where is he, Henry?” I ask, stepping closer to him.
He gulps. “Downstairs.”
Downstairs? In the garage level?I wrinkle my nose, heading back to the elevator, hitting the button to the lowest level—I hadn’t noticed it before now.
“You can’t go down there!” Henry calls, frantic.
“Try and stop me,” I call, smirking as the doors close between us. If Enzo didn’t want me to know what’s down there, he shouldn’t have given me an all-access keycard.
When the doors re-open it’s to a dark hallway, with only a few sconces warming the space with dim light. There's the faintest hint of bleach in the air masking something more metallic.
It’s silent, the only sounds coming from my steps on the concrete floor and the quiet thumping of my heart, until—
“Are you starting to remember, Derek?”
I freeze, my blood running cold at the venom in Enzo’s voice.
A tiny whimper follows his words.
Forcing my feet to move, I notice one of the doors slightly ajar. Moving to it, I peer through the crack.
Enzo stands over a man tied to a chair in the center.
No.
Not just any man.
Derek Shaw.
Bitterness seeps into my veins. How dare he do this without me? This ismyrevenge. I should be the one causing Derek to hurt. The same way he hurt me.
The door clangs open with force.
Enzo’s head whips in my direction, fear slashing through his expression.
“Iz—” he starts, but I cut him off, waving my palm at him to stop.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I seethe, stalking towards him with narrowed eyes.
He gulps. “Izzy, I… This isn’t…”
“You would take this from me?” I ask, hurt lacing my tone. “You would kill him without me even knowing?”
Enzo’s expression morphs into one of puzzlement. “I… What?”
“How could you not let me be part of this?” I whisper, my voice breaking just enough to hint at how deeply this betrayal hurts me.
“I didn’t think you should see this,” he tries to explain.
I shake my head at him, ignoring the way Dante and Massimo are watching me with a mixture of trepidation and fascination.
“I told you I wanted to be here. Itoldyou.”
Enzo shakes his head. “I didn’t think—”
“No,” I spit out. “You didn’t think.”
I stride over to the table in the far corner. “How much pain have you already inflicted?” I ask, clenching my jaw to the point I’m worried it might crack. I force my muscles to relax.
