“Red—” Matthias begins, but I’m not ready to be interrupted, no matter how good the use of my nickname makes me feel.
“No,” I snap, turning to face the man I once called my uncle. “I’ve had enough of this shit. You want to know who killed Libby, Dante? Truly know?”
Dante nods, visibly swallowing.
“Christian hired Marco Cane to kill her the day I was set to marry Matthias.” I blink back the tears threatening to spill over. I’ve been so busy since I was rescued that I barely spare a thought for the loss of my sister. The only one who ever truly loved me besides Kenzi.
I’m not even going to touch on how Christian killed Elias.
One step at a time.
“I’m not lying,” I assure him calmly. “I have a paper trail that leads from Marco Cane back to Christian.”
“Why would he kill her?” Dante asks, his voice nearly void of emotion. “Why kill his own sister?”
“Because she betrayed him,” I whisper. “And if there was one thing Elias taught him, it was that betrayal would never be tolerated. Look at the M.E. report, Dante. Open your eyes and see the truth, because if you don’t, Christian and whoever he’s working for will destroy not only us, but theFamigliaas well.”
There isn’t a sound besides the mingling of our harsh breaths in the winter chill and the slight shuffle of bodies as we take each other in. We aren’t all that different. Each family is trying to survive and keep their empires running without spilling too much blood.
I see the gears in Dante’s head turning as his gaze holds mine, searching for the truth. That’s all he’ll ever find.
“Walk away, Uncle.” I smile at him somberly. “We already have what we came for, and when you find the truth I’ve been telling you, come find me. I’ll show you who your enemy really is.”
Tension stays strung tight between us for several more minutes before the rope of distrust slackens just enough to breathe.
“All those years Elias let you sit in on those meetings. I warned him you were wiser than you appeared.” The edge of his lips turns up slightly. “Christian always called you Little Lamb because Elias constantly referred to you as a lamb ready for slaughter.”
I wince at the use of Christian’s crude nickname. Dante doesn’t miss it, his eyes softening slightly.
“The thing is,” he muses, stroking his chin with his free hand, “you were never a lamb, my dear. You were always a wolf.”
eighteen
The noise fades first.
Not all at once—just enough that my ears stop ringing and the world settles into something dull and far away. The shouting dies down. The engines are gone. The men disperse, boots crunching against gravel and rusted metal, voices low and cautious.
I’m still standing where I was when Dante walked away.
My hands start shaking.
Not a dramatic tremor. Instead, it’s a quiet, humiliating tremor that creeps into my fingers like a secret I can’t stop. My grip loosens on my gun before I even realize it’s happening. The weight of it feels wrong now. It’s too heavy. Too real.
I lower it slowly, afraid if I move too fast, I’ll fall apart completely.
My chest hurts.
Not from a bullet. Not from bruises. From the aftermath. From everything I didn’t feel when it mattered because I wastoo busy surviving. Christian took away my ability to grieve, but now, in the aftermath of confrontation, it boulders me over.
Adrenaline is a cruel liar. It convinces you you’re invincible, that you’re sharp and untouchable, that you can stand in front of men you once loved and condemn them without consequence.
Then it leaves.
And it takes the air with it.
My breath stutters. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, grounding myself the way the twins taught me. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Again.
Doesn’t help.
