Page 76 of Vicious Redemption

And though I can’t show signs of weakness, I spare a glance back at Tia to see what she makes of me now. Her lips are set in grim determination, but she doesn’t look like she’s about to stop me.

Instead, her eyes blaze with unadulterated hatred as she looks at Don Fiore. Lingering tears still shimmer on her cheeks. But right now, she appears more like an avenging angel than anything I’ve ever seen.

It’s fucking glorious.

And what’s more, I know that the anger crackling inside her eyes is for me. That’s the love she feels for me, manifesting as a blazing hatred for the man who caused me pain. Because she knows the grief I’ve endured with my father’s death. And she wants to see him avenged just like I do.

Her eyes flick to mine momentarily, and in their dark depths, I see her desperation.

This isn’t about her father at all.

This is about making things right between us.

God, I love her. Even in her weakest moments, Tia’s good to the core. She makes me want to be a better person, but she also understands me. She gets that sometimes, I don’t have the luxury of being good, of being lawful. If I want to own the town, sometimes, the traitors have to pay.

That’s what her eyes tell me.

Turning back to Don Fiore, I stare down at him with cold apathy. And reaching inside my slacks, I take out my knife.

“No more lies,” I warn, flicking my pocket knife open. “I’m not afraid to cut the confession from your lips if need be.”

He whimpers, his face paling as he tries again to break free of my men’s unyielding grip. Then he cries out when I grab a handful of his hair and force his head back.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! Please, god, mercy!” he screams in sheer terror. “I did it,” he confesses. “I did—I did send Elena to kill your father. But please, have mercy. It was a mistake! I swear, I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what? Think you would get caught?” I sneer, leaning in closer to see if I can catch the last shreds of his sanity slipping away.

“P-P-P-P-Pllll?—”

His words cut short as I straighten, and with one powerful slash, I open his throat to the bone. Right here, for everyone to see.

Gurgling chokes issue from the gaping red smile, and Don Fiore’s eyes widen in horror as I let the blood drain out onto the ballroom floor. It starts in gushing waves, waterfalls that cascade down the front of his suit to pool beneath his knees. Then, slowly, the crimson liquid slows as his body runs dry.

Only after the last rattling death gasp escapes him and the light leaves his eyes do I release my grip on his hair.

And as I let his head drop forward, my men let him fall in a lifeless heap on the floor.

36

TIA

Stunned by the sudden, gory act of violence, I freeze, my words vanishing down my throat. I stare wide-eyed at Don Fiore’s dead body lying lifelessly on our ballroom floor. His blood continues to spread around him in a haunting crimson pool, the slow, steady movement seeming to carry with it the life force that no longer resides within his limp form.

I knew it was coming—well, I knew Leo would likely kill him if he believed me. I’m grateful Leo forced a confession from him. Otherwise, I might have been overwhelmed by the guilt of wondering whether my gut instinct could be enough reason to take a man’s life.

And even so, I’m entirely unprepared for the horror of it, the brutal apathy required to kill a man in cold blood. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a man die. It’s not even the first time I’ve watched the man I love murder someone.

But I’ve never seen it so close before.

And I’ve never seen something quite so violent.

In comparison, watching Leo shoot someone in the head was almost merciful—peaceful even. This was nothing shy of barbaric.

And like that day in the woods—when I watched Leo put a bullet in that man’s brain—my body immediately launches into flight mode. My muscles tense, the air gasping from my lungs as I brace myself to run. Only this time if I do, I don’t think Leo will chase after me. And the scene I would leave behind isn’t one I trust to go well without me.

As if hearing the meaning behind my thoughts, Leo’s cold gaze shifts to my father. In a flash, my heart turns to ice as I realize Don Fiore’s death might not have saved him after all. Leo could choose to kill my father all the same. He might still die today—right here, before my eyes.

I don’t have much love left for my father. Too much has happened. And I doubt I’ll ever feel the same way about him that I once did. I don’t respect him; I don’t trust him, like I had when I was young. But that doesn’t mean I want to watch him die.

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