For a moment, I am frozen, unable to look away from the darkness gathering in his eyes.
Part of me aches for the vow, the brutality of his devotion—because I know he means every word.
But another part is unsettled by the depth of his need and the violence he is willing to unleash.
His love is a force so fierce it terrifies me, and yet, in this moment, I find comfort in knowing someone would destroy everything for me.
The contradiction drowns my heart, twisting my feelings into something I cannot understand.
I search his face, feeling both drawn and afraid of what we’ve become for each other, and I realize there is no turning back.
I don’t answer with words. I couldn’t. Instead, I lean in, closing the agonizing gap between us.
As our lips meet, I feel a frantic attempt to reclaim the pieces of ourselves we lost in the dark. He pours every ounce of his agony into me, and I drink it in, trying to wash away the pain.
The world outside of us ceases to exist.
There’s only the heat of his lips, the scratch of his stubble against my bruised skin.
And the terrifying certainty that as long as he is holding me like this, no other monsters can get to me.
Chapter 41
Damiano
The world doesn’t come back screaming. No, it returns in a lull, like it’s holding its breath, waiting to see what I’ll do next.
When I look at my hands, my knuckles are torn open, skin hanging like ribbons, blood painting the lines of my palms.
This isn’t new. I’ve stood over dead men before, felt that cold, clean satisfaction of a job done right.
It’s supposed to be clean. Methodical. Professional.
Tonight is none of those things.
This is something else entirely—something I can’t name, not even if I tried. I stare at what’s left of Julian on the floor, and for the first time, the violence doesn’t taste like power. It tastes like an unraveling.
Like the ugliest, most honest thing I have ever shown.
Katarina is in front of me.
She wedged herself between me and the body. She stopped my manic rage.
She is dattered, barely standing, yet she threw herself in front of me like I was the one who needed saving.
I look at her bloodied face, her eyes that are almost swollen shut, and her bleeding lips.
She’s looking up at me with devastating worry and undeniable love.
I did this. Not Julian. Me. My obsession, my secrets, my drunken rage; all of it led her here.
I am still shaking, my chest heaving in shallow, ragged pulls. I can sense the adrenaline leaving my body like a tide going out, and what it leaves behind is worse than the violence.
The sober, ugly weight of what I am settles in.
A vicious killer. Careless. Unforgivable.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, my voice a scorched rasp. “Perdoname… I’m so sorry I lost you.” My blood-stained hands frame her face.
