Page 4 of Falling for the Enemy

I’m done with the falsehoods that so easily roll off his conniving tongue. I refuse to listen a second longer. The time to end this is here. I’ve wasted more than enough moments on him.

Palm finding and curling over his shoulder, I hold him tightly. “Do me a favor, da? When you reach the devil’s flames, tell my papa I said hello.”

“Cara mia, don’t! I’ll fix this! Just—”

His terrified bellow mixes with the enraged battle cry that tears from my throat as I lift the knife, then thrust it between his ribs, tearing through his flesh and wedging the blade deep into his chest.

“I told you never to call me that again!”

Infuriated, I twist the knife’s handle, destroying his treacherous heart just like I said I would. His flushed face turns ashen as pain presumably radiates through his torso, and warm blood trickles from the plugged wound, further staining my hand.

Seconds pass as I stare at the man I planned to marry, merging his powerful crime family with my formidable one, waiting for sorrow or maybe even regret to set in. But only burning anger consumes me, followed by a familiar numbness that will soon give way to emptiness.

“Before you go,” I say casually despite the void threatening to swallow my condemned soul as he fights to inhale, his breaths becoming strained. “I have something of yours I need to return.”

Lips pressed together, I rip the knife free.

No longer staunched by the blade, a river of red pours from the hole in his chest, draining his body of the very thing it needs to survive.

Within minutes, he’ll be dead.

And his life will just be another I stole.

I slip the engagement ring from where it rests on my hand and pinch it between my index finger and thumb, holding the sparkling diamond up for his dimming, unfocused eyes to see. “Since I won’t be needing this any longer, I’m returning it.”

Bubbles form at the corners of his parted lips, but he doesn’t reply. With his head lulling and his respiration slowing, I doubt he can even formulate an intelligent sentence at this point.

Fine by me.

I’ve grown tired of hearing him speak.

“Because of you, I’ll never trust another,” I admit, pressing the ring to his bottom lip, then sliding it down his throat and chest to the hole my knife created. “Nor will I trust myself.”

Each word is the truth

“Remember what I said...” Fingers hovering over his wound, I dip my face closer to his. “Tell Papa I said hello.”

A muted scream moves past his purple-tinged lips as I sink the expensive ring into his maimed heart, where it’ll remain until the last of him rots away.

Fighting to continue pumping, his ruined flesh pulsates against me before I withdraw my fingers and press my lips to his forehead, giving him the last kiss he’ll ever receive.

He jerks and his body goes limp, what remains of the life he still possesses slipping away. A groan fills the room, followed by a gurgling death rattle. Silence now reigns, and without having to look, I know he’s gone.

And with any luck, on his way to Hell.

TWO

Alejandro

MEDELLÍN, COLOMBIA

The price of my loyalty is steep.

Too high of a cost for most to pay, it’s rare that someone knocks on the door of the man many in Colombia fear more than the devil himself, ready to strike a deal. When they do, it’s because of one of two things.

They’re either desperate or stupid.

In the case of Angelo DeMeo, who’s seated across from me, his stubby fingers drumming a nervous beat atop my polished desk, he showcases both qualities.

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