“We were told—your father said—he told us you were sick anyway!” Carmelo says. He flinches as if he expects another fist to the face. “Many of the treatments made you sicker, but… but as long as Uncle Carmine and Nero could advance their research, it… it didn't matter. Sometimes... Sometimes it was better if you stayed sick. It gave more room to experiment with other treatments.”
White-hot rage burns through my veins. I turn to look at Tulio, who's been standing frozen by the desk this entire time. “And you knew. You were a part of this—youallwere!”
It's not a question. Tulio's face has gone ashen, sweat beading on his forehead.
“He did fucking know!” Carmelo screams, pointing a shaking finger at the doctor. “He injected you with all of it! Every experimental treatment, every toxin designed to keep you dependent!”
Another growl rumbles in my throat, the sound barely human. My father used me as a lab rat. My own flesh and blood condemned me to years of agony for profit.
But there's more. I can see it in Carmelo's eyes.
“Who were you on the phone with earlier?” I demand. “Bragging about betraying Nero?”
“Who else?! Cristian and Coreno. We're all in on it. Your father was old as fucking dirt, Caelian. Old age was catching up to the bastard. We knew it would only be a matter of time before he croaked. We… we figured why not profit in his place?”
“And Nero?”
“We never intended to work with him long term! We let him think he was in charge… but… but did you think we’d ever want to be second fiddle to the Vorones? It’s Ziccardi first!”
“If it was Ziccardi first, you fucking stronzo, you would’ve never done what you did to me!” I roar in his face. “But the money, the profit mattered more! You all had no problem making me ill for your own gain. And now you want me to believe you champion our family above Nero and the Vorones because your bank account will be padded?”
“It’s not what it sounds like?—”
“Give me one good reason I should keep you alive.” I draw my gun, pressing the barrel against his forehead.
“I can take you to Nero! I can arrange it so you can confront him! That’s more important, right? He took your wife, didn’t he? He wanted the girl brought to him. She has the key that’ll open the lockbox. He's having her brought to his mansion by Matteo. Right now!"
All information I already deduced except for his exact whereabouts.
But it’s about as much use as I’m going to get out of him.
I step back, letting Carmelo slide down the wall. A dark grin spreads across my face.
“Now that's useful information. I appreciate what you've told me.”
Relief floods Carmelo's battered features. He wipes at his bloody, swollen face with shaking hands. “I knew you’d see it our way. And maybe… maybe we can cut you in on some of the profit, you know? When we backstab Nero. For all your troublewith your condition and the bad treatments we've been giving you. That sound like a fair trade off, cousin?”
My grin widens. These fucking idiots actually think I'd work with them after everything they've done. After what they've put me through. After they've participated in my destruction and were allied with the same man seeking to destroy me and mia bella ballerina.
“I have no interest, cousin,” I answer calmly. “You’ve already chosen your side.”
I pull the trigger. The gunshot echoes through the office as Carmelo's head snaps back, brain matter splattering across the wall behind him. His body crumples to the floor, finally still.
Tulio makes a strangled sound behind me. I turn to face him, and the old man's hands shake as he holds them up in surrender.
“Caelian, please, I was just following orders?—”
The second gunshot cuts him off, the bullet hitting him in the stomach. Tulio's body hits the floor with a thud.
I holster my weapon and check the time. If Matteo is taking Nevaeh to Nero's estate, I need to move fast. The mansion is on the other side of the city. Every second I waste here is another second she's in danger.
I step over the bodies and head for the door, my heart pounding with more than just my condition. For the first time in years, the excruciating pain in my chest isn't from some experimental toxin or manufactured illness.
It's fear. Pure, primal terror at the thought of losing her.
I'm coming, mia bella ballerina. I will make it to you.
I drive through Dresden like a man possessed, my Maserati ripping through the narrow streets at speeds that would make astunt driver shit himself. The engine roars as I take corners on two wheels, pedestrians diving for cover as I blow through red lights.
