I flinch at her name. The elevator flashes behind my eyes. Gracie’s blood, Evie’s screams, and my anger sharpen into lethal rage “So this is about your daughter?” I spit. “Because Cyan didn’t want her? Because Lucilla is as rotten as you are?” My voice rises. “You put your own grandchild through hell. You torture people for sport and play with lives like they’re toys. I can’t wait for Cyan to put a bullet in your head.”
Lorenzo’s expression goes dead. “I had you taken because you cost me my son,” he says with deadly calm. “I don’t give a fuck about that brat. Cyan may have pulled the trigger… but you put him in that position, and it’s me who will put a slug in that mutt of hers.”
Revulsion floods my chest. “Your disgusting son tried to rape me,” I say, every word burning. “He got exactly what he deserved.”
“Silence!” he roars and surges toward me. His hand clamps around my jaw, crushing it. His face fills my vision–dark, bottomless. “You don’t understand your place,” he hisses. “A woman’s purpose in our world is to spread her legs for the men who decide she’s worthy.” His other hand closes around my throat. Air vanishes; panic explodes as black spots bloom at the edges of my vision. I stare into his eyes and see it clearly.My death.
“Father, you can’t kill her.” Lucilla’s voice cuts through the room. She stands in the doorway, composed. As if she isn’t watching her father choke a woman to death.
Lorenzo’s grip tightens. “What did you say?” His tone drops to vicious bites. “You dare give me orders in my house?”
Lucilla shrugs, strolling inside like this is a cocktail party. She sinks into the blue velvet chair he abandoned, crossing her legs with careless grace. “Of course not, just offering a suggestion.”
“Don’t test me, girl.” Lorenzo snarls, squeezing harder. My vision fractures. My lungs burn. “You will not dictate my actions,” he snarls. “Don’t forget who the Don is.”
For a split second, Lucilla’s mask cracks, but it’s gone in an instant. Then she smiles.“You’re the Don. I’m simply reminding you killing her now spoils the fun.” She tilts her head, considering me like a dress on a rack. “Cyan loves her. Wouldn’t it be more satisfying to kill her while he watches?”
Her words land. Lorenzo releases me without warning. I roll off the side of the bed and hit the floor hard, air tearing into my lungs. I cough, gasping, my chest burning as I drag in breath after breath. “You’re right, my dear,” he says, smoothing his suit, civility snapping back into place like a mask. “Patience is a virtue.”
I force myself upright; every breath scrapes raw against my windpipe. I won’t lie at his feet. His hazel eyes track me as I rise and meet his gaze with fire. Even if I lose, I won’t break. Turning to Lucilla, my voice shredded. “You should be ashamed. What kind of mother puts her daughter in danger like that?”
Lucilla sneers. “Why care about a kid who’s not even mine?”
I blink once, then again, trying to process what I heard. “You’re not her mother?”
She shrugs. “No. I was just a surrogate. Had an egg fertilized with Thomas’s sperm implanted.”
I gape. “You’re a sick bitch. Why?”
“To trap Thomas,” she says easily, “so he’d marry me. Evie was leverage.” A smile curls. “That’s all.”
Rage detonates in my chest. “That little girl is innocent,” I bark. “You treat her as if she’s disposable. You’re not a mother. You’re a grotesque parody of one.”
Lucilla leans forward with a wicked grin and turns to Lorenzo. “Father, I think it’s time Cyan learns you have his precious fiancée. She’s been terribly disrespectful to our family.”
“I agree,” Lorenzo murmurs.
Lucilla pulls out her phone. Within seconds, guards flood the room.
“Take her to the basement,” Lorenzo orders. “Let the show begin.”
They overpower me with ease. Hands grip my arms, drag me down cold corridors, down metal steps. The air changes–damp, stale, rancid with mildew and old blood. They strap me to a chair. One arm bound, both legs locked down. My free hand is slammed flat against the table. Another man lifts his phone; they’re going to film it. I imagine Lucilla delivering my middle finger to Cyan in a silk-lined box. It’s so comical I can’t help myself; I laugh. I refuse to give them my fear. Lucilla steps closer, one hand behind her back eyes bright.
“Cyan, my boy,” Lorenzo’s voice carries, smooth and pleased. I look at him. His gaze locks with mine. The hollow click-thunk makes me glance from him to her, my pulse spiking as pain explodes. A nail punches through my palm. I scream. Blood pools, dark and thick. Lucilla lowers the nail gun, admiring her work like she’s just had a manicure. The pain is white-hot, blinding, ripping through my arm, my spine, my bones.
My screams aren’t weakness; they’re a beacon. Cyan is hearing this, and I want him to burn the world to find me.
Fifty-Nine
“They took my light, thinking it would break me. But all they did was unleash the fucking darkness.”–Cyan MacBrady.
Time stretches thin as we wait in the darkness of Ethan’s apartment. The charged silence presses in. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Johnny’s name flashes on the screen.
Johnny:Ethan’s on his way up.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I tuck the phone away. “He’s coming.” My brothers nod. We mobsters breathe anticipation like oxygen. Too bad for Ethan Monroe. This sniveling, ambitious fuck made the mistake of using my woman. Tonight, he learns the cost of that decision. There’s no walking away clean. Not after Olivia shot Gracie. Not after Aria was taken.
By the time I leave this apartment, every skeleton in Ethan’s closet will be dragged into the light. He’ll finally understand why they call meThe Púca.He’s about to meet a nightmare. The sound of a key turning in the lock sets every nerve in my body on edge.“Positions,” I command under my breath. Collin, Troy, and Thomas melt into the shadows. I stay by the door, my hand closing around my hunting knife.
