Instead, I stand above him, watching life leave his body.
Amara’s cries turn to lunatic screams as she scrambles across the floor. Her small hands paw at his shirt as she pleads with him to wake up and be alive.
“Daddy,” she cries, tears streaking through the dirt on her face, and in this moment, I don’t even care. I don’t care about anything. I don’t feel anything.
I thought I would be happy, proud that I finally avenged my mother, at the very least relieved. Instead, I feel… nothing at all.
“Get up,” I say sternly.
She shakes her head, sobs wracking her small body.
“How the fuck could you do this?” She turns to me, rendering me speechless by the hatred filling her glare. “How could you! I hate you!”
She has told me that she hated me before, but this is the first time I actually believe her. She hates me, and that’s my own doing.
“A life for a life. We’re even,” I murmur, knowing damn well we are not even. She’s never done anything to me, yet I took everything from her. She has every right to hate me, but I still can’t let her go.
“Get up, we need to leave before his men come up here,” I order as I holster my gun.
She shuffles to her feet, tears still falling from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks. “You think I’m going to fucking go anywhere with you? Leave me the fuck alone. I should call the cops on you right now.”
I almost laugh as I watch her gaze swing around the room as if she is looking for something. “Not a good idea, piccolo,” I warn, pointing the gun at her.
“Do it. Shoot me. I bet you can’t. I bet you’re too big of a fucking coward. God knows, I know it. My father knew it, too.”
Reaching out, I grab her hair and pull her face to mine harshly. My nostrils flare, and my blood burns as I look into her eyes. I’m met with no fear, no sadness, or doubt—only red-hot anger.
“I know you are angry with me right now. I know you are hurting and confused, so I’m going to let this slide. But I’m warning you. Never. Ever. Fucking talk to me like that again. You’re coming with me, and you will do whatever the fuck I tell you.”
Instead of releasing her, I stare deeply into her eyes, hoping to see the woman I love underneath all this hate between us.
For a split second, I think I see her, I think there might be a part left of that woman, that there is a sliver of hope for us. That thought vanishes when Amara pulls back and spits on me. My chest heaves, and my anger spirals out of control.
Releasing my grip on her hair, I wrap one hand around her throat, and the other along her jaw.
“I was kind to you, I understood you, and I cared for you. I still fucking do, but you knew if I found out, it would be his dead body on the ground. You heard him. He killed my mother. He put you in a fucking hole. He had to die. I had to kill him. You’re lucky you are alive.”
Clenching her teeth with deep anger as she tries to pull away, she seethes, “I would much rather be dead than have to fucking go anywhere with you.”
She can be mad all she wants. Her ass is still stuck with me. She has nowhere else to go and no way of protecting herself.
“You are coming with me, whether you like it or not.”
“Go to hell!”
“Already there, sweetheart.”
My fingers dig harder into her skin, and I know there will be bruises if I don’t stop.
“Fuck you,” she whimpers, pain slowly bleeding into her anger. I’ve caused her this heartache—I’ve done this to her.
I’ve taken the beautiful, innocent angel she was and molded her into this broken doll. I’ve shattered her beyond repair. Gripping her arm tight, I pull her toward the door, only to be stopped by her digging her feet into the ground.
“Fine, then,” I growl. Gripping her by the hips, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder.
“Put me the fuck down!” Though I ignore her foul mouth, I can’t ignore the pounding and scratching on my back.
“You’re going to get us killed with your fucking screaming, yelling, and nonsense thinking,” I snap as I make my way down the driveway. I’m so fucking numb, my leg doesn’t even hurt. I hear her huffs, anger radiating out of her like an overheated furnace.
“Getting us killed? Are you fucking crazy? No, wait. You are! You just killed my dad in front of me. My dad…” Her voice cuts off, and I can feel her body shake with another sob.
Why do I still not feel any remorse? My mind tells me I should. My brain tells me I should hold her, comfort the woman I love, but my heart is empty, my chest void of all emotion.
“Yeah. You will get us killed if you keep your fucking yap open. While I know I just killed your father, I also know his men will kill us both if they find us. So shut your mouth. Mourn later. I never said I was a good man, Amara. I told you I was out for vengeance. Loving you wasn’t going to stop me from seeking it. Be mad, hate me, never love me again, but know you are still mine. You can’t run from me.”
Silence settles over us as her chest heaves against my shoulders. Her small fists stop hitting my back, and a moment later, her body goes limp in my hold.
Still, I feel nothing, and I can’t help but wonder if I ever will again.
5
Amara
My chest heaves as I hold in the tears I desperately want to release. Enzo has ripped the last living person from my life. He shot and killed him in cold blood. It didn’t matter to him that I loved him—nothing mattered anymore.
He deposits me on the SUV’s cold leather seat and shuts the door, not saying a single word. I should open the door, I should run, kick, and fight him, but I know it would be useless. He would just hunt me down and haul me back here, and right now, I’m just too damn tired to fight.
As I sink further into the seat, my mind spirals further into the abyss. How could he do something so cruel? How could he kill someone and feel no remorse? John was my father—none of his wrongdoings changed that fact. None of it did. Now my dad is dead, and I have no one left. Nothing. I’m all alone in this world now—just like Lorenzo King.
“You’ll move on,” he whispers to no one. It has to be no one because I wasn’t listening to a fucking word he said. Once I get my strength back, I’ll leave the first chance I get. I will run. I will escape his hold. There is no doubt in my mind that Enzo is a living, breathing monster—far worse than the ones you heard about in fairytales.
“Maybe you don’t want to believe your dad was capable of such venomous acts, or you simply don’t want to face the music—either way, you had to know it would come down to this.” Enzo’s voice meets my ear, but it doesn’t sound like him. There is no emotion. He sounds like a robot spewing out information someone programmed him to say. Like a navigation system giving direction to a fucking coffee shop.
“I hate you,” I spit the words at him, hoping they hit him with the intensity of my fist.
“Get in fucking line.”
“He was everything to me. He was my father. My fucking father. You killed the last living member of my family—for revenge? Do you feel better? Does hurting me make your heart red again?” I scream the words across the center console, tears streaming down my face so heavily I can’t see anything. There is a fist-sized hole punched through my chest by the very man I love.