Page 113 of Sinful Sacrifice

But I don’t know if Pippa will ever forgive me for agreeing to marry her cousin.

40

One Month Later

“Sacrifices are inevitable in every life.”

Those are the words my father would tell my mother when he returned home, battered and bloody, asking for her to stitch him up. She’d repeat them when people questioned why she looked the other way when he committed his crimes.

Those sacrifices cost their lives and forever changed mine.

And now, it’s my turn to sacrifice.

I crumple the marriage contract into a ball, strike a match, and watch flames devour it. The words that determine my future bleed into each other. As I toss it in the trash, the paper shrivels up and turns into nothing but a pile of ashes.

The most fucked-up part?

I can set it on fire a thousand times, but the outcome will never change. Cernach saw our desperation when he offered the deal, and now, I have to honor my word and lose everything.

The trash can falls on its side when I kick it. I sit back in my chair, my spine as stiff as a rod.

All hell will break loose today.

The wedding invitations are being sent out, and I know Pippa will come. She’ll pour her anger out on me, and I’ll consume it because it’s what I deserve.

My attention shifts to the door at the sound of a knock.

“Yeah?” I shout, sitting upright.

Julian takes that as permission to enter my office. “We found another one.”

I stand, snag my blazer from the back of the chair, and shrug it on. “Where?”

His lips ease into a smirk. “The stupid motherfucker came into the casino, thinking we wouldn’t notice him.”

“Our prey walked straight to its predator.”

Julian chuckles. “Good day for us.”

At least that’s one positive since it’ll turn into hell later.

For the past few weeks, we’ve been focused on killing Sonny’s henchmen. Sonny is dead, and now, we’re picking off his men one by fucking one. It’s a shame I’m running out of them, though.

In my eyes, it’s Sonny’s fault I signed the contract.

So, every motherfucker who helped him needs to die.

Julian follows me out of Lucky Kings to my new Mercedes GL 550, and we drive to the warehouse.

As I enter the building, slipping on black leather gloves, Emilio greets me while standing in front of a man bound to a chair. My footsteps echo through the large space as I stalk straight to them. Monty, who once pledged his loyalty to Antonio’s father, pitifully stares at me with swollen eyes and a mouth covered in blood, his shoulders hunched in defeat.

When they said may the best man win, he chose the wrong fucking man.

Since I have a business meeting in thirty minutes, I can’t take my time with him. Monty shrinks back in the chair as I raise my Glock, and I catch the sound of a plea before I shoot him in the face.

His head droops, blood dripping on his lap, and I kick the chair. Satisfaction ripples through me when his body collapses to the ground with a heavy thump.

“Take care of the body,” I instruct them before removing gloves and tucking my Glock into my waistband.

---