I can’t do it.
I can’t kill her when she’s already broken.
She saw me beaten and didn’t walk away. She gave me a weapon and an opening, even though it could have gotten her killed.
I flip the knife in my hand and hold it out to her, flat on my palm. Adora Montoni stares at the blade in confusion, then up at me, incomprehension written across her frozen features.
I jerk my chin toward the dying capo who’s coughing and spluttering on his back. “Take it, doe,” I say, my voice low and rough. “Finish him.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by something that looks almost like hope.
She’s my sworn enemy, and her family destroyed mine, but right now, she’s just a girl who’s been hurt, and I’m giving her the chance to hurt back.
Her trembling hand reaches for the knife.
Still racked with violent shivers, she takes the weapon from me. Her fingers close around the grip with surprising strength. She pulls herself to her feet, slow and agonizing, every movement a battle. She could turn that blade on me and finish what her father started, but I make no move to protect myself.
Adora Montoni stares at me for a long moment, the knife held between us. Her eyes search mine, looking for permission maybe, or condemnation. I just hold her gaze and wait.
She walks on shaking legs toward the capo. He’s still alive, still gurgling on the floor. His eyes widen when he sees her coming, the knife glinting in her hand.
“No,” he chokes out. “Wait—”
With a scream, she drops to her knees and drives the knife into his chest. Once. Twice. Blood sprays over her face and the white towel that’s wrapped around her.
“You killed her,” Adora sobs, and each word is punctuated by another strike. “You killed her.” Her voice breaks on a sob, but her arm doesn’t falter.
The capo lies still. She’s stabbing a corpse now, but she can’t seem to stop. Helplessness and fear are pouring out of her in savage, desperate stabs. Tears stream down her face, mixing with blood. She’s sobbing and screaming simultaneously, her whole body shaking with the force of her grief and rage.
“I hate you, I hate you,I hate you.”
I move forward and catch her wrist mid-stroke. “Doe. He’s dead.”
She fights my grip, trying to stab him again. “Let mego.”
“He’s dead,” I repeat, firmer this time. I wrench the knife from her grip and toss it across the room, where it clatters against the wall.
Adora stares at her empty, blood-soaked hands like she doesn’t recognize them.
“I killed him.” Her voice is hollow and distant. “Oh, God. I killed him.”
She stands, but her legs won’t hold her up. She stumbles backward and hits my chest. She freezes, then whirls around with a gasp. Her eyes are huge and unfocused, darting across my face like she’s seeing me for the first time.
“It’s you,” she says, the words ragged and confused. “You’re—you’re—”
My jaw tenses, waiting for her to sayyou’rean assassinoryou’rea killer.
Then Adora Montoni does something that stops my heart.
“You’re my fiancé,” she whispers brokenly.
Of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t it.You’re my fiancé. As though the massacre never happened. As if we are still two people meant to build a life together.
Her arms lock around my waist, and she buries her face against me, clinging to me with desperate strength. Like I’m a lifeline. Like I’m safety incarnate.
Her protector.
The towel slips from her shoulders and pools at our feet. She’s naked, freezing, and covered in blood, and she’s pressed against me like I broke into her house, not to murder her father, but to save her.
