Page 127 of The Ruin I Chose

I ignored him and grabbed a knife, driving it into his thigh.

Again. And again. And again.

Like a man possessed.

“This one’s for following Roxanne.”

A stab. The blade sank into meat with a wet thud—hot blood gushing over my hand.

“For sabotaging her company.”

Another.

“For touching her.”

I paused, panting. My hand trembled.

“And this—” I looked him in the eye. ”—this is for my daughter.”

I plunged the blade into his side, twisting it. The sound was wet and sickening—like organs shifting in protest.

Santino stepped forward silently. He gripped Lorenzo’s head firmly to steady it. I sliced his jugular. The blade sang. His throat opened like a red smile—blood pulsing in violent spurts, soaking the floor. Lorenzo choked as his eyes rolled back. But before the light left them—Santino leaned in and whispered.

“No one touches family.”

Then stepped away. No expression. Just silence.

Santino took two men and loaded Lorenzo’s corpse into a skiff and rode into the black water to dump his body like waste.

The sea would open its mouth and the sharks would do the rest—no grave, no marker, no memory.

Ronnie got a call from Martin.

“The kids are out, but you need to leave. They’re heading—”

A deafening bang ricocheted through the warehouse, followed by a blinding flash. The world split open. The blast ripped through the warehouse—heat, shrapnel and fire—like hell had cracked open. Heat punched through my chest as I flew backwards, slamming into the railing.

My ears rang and my vision blurred. The warehouse was in flames, smoke curling up like serpents. The air was thick with dust, limbs and bodies scattered across the floor. Gunfire cracked through the smoke. Screams echoed—sharp, animal. Ronnie kept shooting, his silhouette a blur in the haze.

I looked down. A jagged shard of metal pierced my side as blood bloomed. I pulled it out and pressed on the wound. My lids grew heavy and the world tilted.

My body begged for rest. I needed a minute. Just one minute.

Just one breath.

“Marcello, mi senti?” Santino’s voice—tight, urgent.

“Marcello?”

I tried to speak.

“I’ll just… just…”

But the dark was already rising. It swallowed me whole.

CHAPTER 47

ROXANNE