“Maybe. If she’s lucky.”
“You’ve really turned into an angry bastard.”
“Life will do that to you.”
“Life,” he repeats. “Or a girl?”
My smile goes dark. “Don’t worry. I’m currently sharpening my knives. I might as well put this sadistic energy to good use.”
Matteo whistles low. “I remember the boy who got into the car all those years ago. Sweet. Ridiculous. Terrible at lying.”
“He died.”
“You . . . okay?”
“Define okay.” I lean back in my chair. “Because right now I’m hovering somewhere between ‘burn down their empire’ and ‘send Grant a sympathy card for what’s about to happen to him.’”
Matteo snorts. “You know, you always had a mean streak. But this? This is art.”
“Thank you. I take pride in my growth.”
“And your violence.”
“And my violence.”
He hums. “Listen, don’t do anything stupid, okay? Pops would be pissed, and you don’t want to fuck up anything—”
“Sure. No problem. Wouldn’t dream of doing anything,” I lie through my teeth. Of course, I’m going to do something, but the something I’m going to do . . . he and his father will never know about because they’ll never approve.
“Good talk.” Matteo laughs.
I hang up, letting the silence settle again. Except now, it’s not hollow. It’s sharp.
Alive.
My blood is steady. Focused. I have a purpose. And the purpose . . .
Well, obviously, I’m going to burn down her world—piece by piece.
If she wanted a war, she should’ve picked someone weaker.
Because now?
This is personal.
And I don’t lose.
Ever.
23
Lorenzo
The screaming gets annoyingafter the second hour.
Not the volume . . . I don’t mind that. It’s the tone. Fuck, this guy is whiny. Too many “please” and not enough “I’m sorry for stealing.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as the sound bounces around the warehouse, ricocheting off rusted beams and oil-stained concrete.
