Why would he?
It’s his dream to be rid of me.
Salvatore steps closer to my father, and a rogue tear rolls down my cheek. The saltiness causes the cut on my lip to sting, but I cling to the pain, reveling in the reminder that I’m alive and it’s not over yet.
There’s still a chance I make it out of here, no matter how remote it may be.
His fingers slide into my father’s hair before tugging his head up until I’m staring at the battered, broken version of the man who raised me.
“I’m disappointed in you, Weaver,” he tuts. “I thought having your wife and baby girl down here would make you talk, but it’s clear your loyalty to Kingston knows no bounds.”
Dad’s eyes blink open, the once vibrant green now dull and almost devoid of life. “It’s hard to give information I don’t have,” he wheezes.
“See, I want to believe you. But you’ve been lying to me for so long I don’t believe a fucking thing that comes out of your mouth,” Salvatore spits, yanking the dark strands harder. “Nonetheless, it’s time to put us all out of our misery.”
He reaches into his jacket and produces his gun, an antique piece handed down from Lombardi to Lombardi when they take their place at the head of the table.
A choked sob tears from my throat because I know all too well what that weapon means. It’s the gun they use on traitors. The one saved for only the deepest betrayal.
“I was going to keep you alive and force you to watch as I killed the most important people in your life, but then I found out your whore of a daughter went and got herself knocked up with my son’s baby. Now I think she’s the one that should have to watch you both die before I end her and the little bastard inside her.”
Dad’s eyes flicker to mine, but his face is blurry through the tears rolling down my cheeks. Where I expect to find disappointment, I’m met with sadness in eyes so similar to my own. Maybe because getting myself pregnant at eighteen is the last thing he wanted for me. Or maybe because none of us will have the chance to meet the little life Ronan and I created.
Pressing my eyes closed, I wait for the bang, and Salvatore doesn’t waste any time.
Two gunshots that leave my ears ringing. One for my dad, and the other for Mom, and when I finally force my eyes open, forcing myself to acknowledge the brutal death of my parents, I’m instead staring straight into the barrel of the gun that just killed them.
“Ronan will never forgive you,” I stutter. It’s a weak argument, but it’s true. The love I share with his son is the kind you read about in fairy tales, and no matter what lies they tell to justify my death, he’ll always resent his father for taking me from him.
He chuckles. “I don’t need my sons to love me, Chloe. I just need them to be loyal soldiers.”
The click of the bullet entering the chamber has my eyes pressing closed as I await the inevitable. At least it will be painless. A quick death after days of agony.
Salvatore curses under his breath, and the cool metal drops from my forehead.
“Want me to take care of her, boss?”
“No, leave her staring at her dead parents for a few hours until I get this mess sorted out.”
I force my eyes open just in time to catch Salvatore glaring down at his phone.
Neither of them regard me as they leave, but when the click of the lock never comes, my chest tightens.
They didn’t lock me in.
By underestimating me, they’ve given me the chance to escape.
And I’m not going to waste it.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
DAMON
NOW
Pacing across the living room, I glance up the stairs toward my father’s quarters and then back at the time.
Ronan has an hour head start, but he needs more.
