The man’s mouth twitches.
I let the silence stretch, watching him and letting him feel the weight of my attention. Then I lean in.
“Name,” I prompt, voice soft.
He swallows. “You already know it.”
I tilt my head. “Humor me.”
His gaze lifts again, calculating. “Real name or alias?”
Matteo makes a face. “Seriously, I don’t have time for this shit.” Matteo turns to me. “You already know his name. Drop it and just kill the fucker.”
Marcus’s (Because yes, I do in fact know his name) lip curls like he wants to laugh, but he doesn’t.
I straighten, slow, and pace a small circle around Marcus’s chair. My boots echo across the wood floors in steady beats.
Every time I pass behind him, his shoulders tense like he expects the first strike.
He’s not wrong.
I stop directly in front of him again, bending at the waist, lowering my voice.
“You know why I’m here?”
His eyes glitter, dark and stubborn. “Because you’re obsessive.”
Matteo laughs once. “Oh, he is. You should’ve seen him when he was twenty. He once hunted a guy for a week because the bastard scratched his car.”
Marcus’s gaze flicks to Matteo. “That true?”
I don’t blink. “It was a nice car.”
Matteo points at me like he’s presenting evidence in court. “See? He doesn’t deny it. Psychopathic behavior.”
“I’m not a psychopath,” I respond, straightening. “I’m a romantic.”
Matteo’s brows shoot up. “No. Don’t. Don’t ruin the word romantic.”
I glance back at Marcus. “You know what you people did?”
Marcus’s mouth tightens.
“Grant Jacobson put the order out,” I continue, letting the name hit the room like a thrown knife. “He thought if he couldn’t have her, no one could. But he underestimated me.” I take a deep breath.
My throat tightens, but not because it hurts. Because I’m so close to closure.
I grab the bag Matteo is holding and start pulling things out.
Marcus’s eyes track the objects one by one, his throat moving as his body finally remembers fear.
Matteo’s voice follows the movement. “I hate to break it to you, Marcus, but if you thought your death would be fast, surprise, it won’t.”
Marcus swallows. “You’re really doing this?”
I pick up the rubber tubing, weigh it in my hand, as if I’m deciding whether to use it.
“You’re really acting surprised?” I turn back toward him. “Did you think the man who spent years erasing your whole network would rush the last kill?”
