Blood mixed with saliva lands against my pant leg, joining the stains already there. I’m wearing navy, and it’s mottled with a million shades of a darker substance.
Fuck…
I sway. The room blurs around me as I paw at my side, spotting a splotch of scarlet there I’d missed. Hell, there’s even more on my shirt.
Blood.
Vincenzo’s blood.
“Ass…asshole,” Salvatore croaks, drawing my attention back to him.
My nostrils flare, catching the scent of blood in the air—and the stench works on my brain better than any shot of whiskey. My vision clears again. All of a sudden, everything is so fucking clear.
Raising the gun, I fire again, aiming for his knee.
He squeals, and it’s music to my ears. A melody so sweet it blocks everything else for the moment, and I’ll do anything to make it last.
Crouching to my knees, I prod Salvatore’s chest with a finger, narrowly missing his wound.
“Confess,” I tell him. “To everything. Vin. Olivia. I should have killed you then.”
“You don’t have the balls to kill me,” he rasps. “I’ll have all of the famiglia on your ass. You’ll be strung up just like that dumb bitch—”
I drag my finger over until it hits fleshy, warm wetness. Then I dig in with the tip of my nail so that beautiful song grows richer. I’m intoxicated by that tune. Laughing, I inspect my finger and swipe it across Salvatore’s chin, painting him with the color.
“Red looks good on you, Antonio,” I tell him. “And you don’t want to confess your sins? The fuck if I care. Because I don’t. Not really.” Aiming the gun near his head, I watch his eyes widen, and the color drain from his cheeks.
It’s a look I’ve waited seven fucking years to witness.
And…to be honest?
I don’t feel a damn thing. Revenge is an itch reminiscent of hunger. Thirst. You can only satiate it for so long, but at the end of the day, it’s in your fucking nature to. No reason to celebrate.
No reason to mourn.
Denying yourself is a game of control that only hurts you in the long run.
So I don’t celebrate as I turn my pistol handle-first and whip the bastard across the face. He grunts, blood spraying from his jaw as a crack issues from the bone.
I still feel nothing.
Just a cramp in my hand as a grim curiosity sneaks into my skull.
“I wonder what your brains would look like, huh?” I ask him, gesturing to the pristine white, marble flooring. “Sprayed all over this wall. You’ve got some fancy digs here; I’ll give you that.”
I cock my head back to take it all in. A nice fucking place. Vaulted ceilings and black walls lined in gold crown molding and baseboards. Great acoustics, too.
I hit him again to experience the full effect, and he jerks onto his side, coughing up even more blood.
“Beautiful,” I breathe, grinning in appreciation. “I think the place looks nice with a little red, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t answer.
Sighing, I smack his chin until he faces me.
“I said, what do you think—”
“Daddy?” That sound.
It’s ice water to my senses. A gut punch.
I lurch to my feet, and for a second, the world shifts as reality descends. Where I am. What I’m doing.
“Kisa,” Salvatore croaks, his voice thick, eyes fixated behind me.
Numb with dread, I turn as well and clench my jaw around a groan. A tiny girl stands near the doorway of the room. Curling dark hair, wide blue eyes. She looks young. Six or seven, dressed in a white nightgown, a fucking teddy bear clutched under her arm.
That look on her face is one I’ll never forget. I saw a similar expression seven years ago.
But that girl came back to haunt me.
I see her again, my Safiya, laughing as movement flickers from the corner of my eye. I barely manage to avoid the kick Salvatore aims my way as he scrambles for his gun.
Before he can reach it, I pivot and hit him again. The blow lands so hard his eyes roll as blood splatters down his chin. Whining like an animal, he falls back, still alive.
A good man would leave now.
Let him live in the presence of his little girl.
That good man would pat himself on the back and call himself reformed.
Then that good man would lose every fucking thing despite that good deed. He’d never even see it coming.
Everything I’ve done has been for Vin.
And even if he’s still alive…
I don’t deserve him. I failed him once. If to protect him, I have to become someone else, so be it.
I advance so quickly my hand is around the girl’s neck before I realize. She goes rigid, her eyes staring blankly. Still, she moves as I urge her forward and crouch down beside her.
“You have a beautiful little girl,” I tell Salvatore in a voice so guttural I barely recognize it. “Kisa, is it?” I finger a lock of her dark hair and feel my stomach lurch. Damn… Looking in her eyes, the old Don rails, still there inside me.
But he’s getting harder to hear.
“Don’t…” Salvatore croaks, and I release the girl, turning back to him.
Propping my fist beneath my chin, I observe him skeptically. “Don’t tell me you have a heart, Antonio? After what you did to my family? One would think you had no soul at all.”
He grunts, and I lean closer only to realize that the gasping sounds he’s making are laughter.
“Don’t think I give a shit if you threaten her,” he boasts, cackling maniacally. “Do it. Kill the little bitch. Her mother was a Saleri—the famiglia will just take it as an insult.”
And I could. It’s not like I hadn’t done it before—used a child to prove a point. The Saleris are a powerful family, but so were the Vanicis once. Power didn’t prevent an attack on us. As for punishing Salvatore in this way?
Gino Mangenello reacted similarly when it came to his daughter’s life, smug and pompous, so convinced I wouldn’t stoop to his level.
“Close your eyes, Kisa,” I tell the girl.
She doesn’t, her body trembling, tears glistening on her cheeks. With my hand on her shoulder, I manually spin her to face the wall before turning back to Salvatore.
“I could make you beg,” I tell him, raising my voice to drown out his gurgling breathing. “Make you squeal and squirm. But you know what? Frankly, I’m too damn tired. All I want is proof. A name. An account. Whatever mercenary you used to carry out your plan. Tell me.”
“Fuck off!” He spits again, this time, narrowly missing my cheek.
I don’t even realize my hand is in my pocket until I feel it—the handle of a weapon I don’t even remember putting there. All this time, I must have carried it with me in these fucking pants. Slowly, I withdraw it, watching the light play off the silvery surface of the tiny blade. Tigre’s dagger. Safiya’s dagger.
“I’m not going to kill you,” I tell Salvatore as his eyes twitch toward the blade and back. “You ‘kill’ animals, like all those fucking toys you have around the place. There’s mercy in that word. But what happened to Olivia? That was a slaughter. To Vincenzo?” My voice breaks. I can barely say his name. “That? That was murder.”
Salvatore chuckles, and what I mistake for a grimace at first I suspect is another reaction entirely—he’s raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that whelp is who got his brains blown out? I heard Mischa launched an attack… He just got the wrong man—”