Page 106 of Hearts Of Darkness

Emilio starts pacing up and down in front of me. “Military life messed with your head, or shall we attribute your killer instinct to your daughter’s disappearance? Whatever it was, it turned you into a loose cannon with a talent for torture, and for a time I was happy to exploit it—”

“Cut the bullshit, Emilio. What’s this really about? The business? Have it. Take your shit up with Sanders. I want no part of it anymore.”

“Sanders will be dead by the morning, but that’s more about tying up loose ends. You know how much I hate those.”He stops pacing and slides his hands into his pockets. “This isn’t about money. It’s about peace of mind.”

It’s my turn to smile now, but it’s more of a hate-filled grimace. “Are you drawing a line under me, Emilio? Is this my penance for putting a bullet in our father’s head?” A second strand of rope works itself free.

“Fuck no.” He scoffs. “That old dog long outlived his usefulness. The truth is, I’m tired of always looking over my shoulder—waiting for your sharp knife, the well-aimed bullet, the car bomb…”

“Jesus Christ. You always were a paranoid fuck.” I shake my head at him in disgust. “I was happy keeping a thousand miles between us.”

“And I believed you… Until you learned the truth, which I guess was an inevitability.”

I pause. “What truth?”

“That I have a nasty habit, too. Some might call it a family trait.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Intuition tells me I’m about to be blindsided by a whole heap of dark and twisted shit.

He seems surprised by my reaction. “But surely you guessed? That confrontation in Colombia had me convinced.” He considers me again, noting my confusion. “Or perhaps not… It makes no difference. You’re as good as dead anyway.” He cocks his head to one side and moves in as close as he dares while I stare up into the flat, black eyes of a madman. “I like to kill people as well, Dante,” he whispers conspiratorially. “But shhhhh…” He wags his finger in front of his lips and retreats back to a safe distance.

“Who did you kill, Emilio?”

Say it, asshole. Don’t leave me in suspense.

“You didn’t think you’d have all the fun, did you?”

My eyes shift to Tomas who’s standing nearby. “And you switched allegiance to this crazy motherfucker?” I yell, frustration amping up my voice. “What the hell did he offer you that I couldn’t?”

“Revenge,” says Tomas, making it sound like a hammer blow. “Valentina was my girl, Dante. You strung her up and watched her bleed out for two days.”

“She’s alive, you fool. She’s in a hospital in Mozambique recovering.”You can thank my angel for that sliver of leniency. If it were up to me, I would have slaughtered the two-faced bitch.

“What if she were Eve? What if things were reversed? Would you have let me live?”

No chance. I’d have slit your throat from ear to ear.

Tomas nods at my silence. “Exactly.”

So, this is it. My final reckoning. Where all my past sins and transgressions are converging to make one hell of a finale for me. I don’t regret any of it, save one. Dragging the sweetest damn angel to ever walk the face of this earth into my unholy mess of a life. She shouldn’t have to pay for what I’ve done.

My anger filters all the way through to my fingertips, and I resume my sawing. My hands are slick with blood, and I nearly drop the knife twice. Another strand works loose.

“Isabella was the most satisfying,” crows Emilio suddenly.

“Dante,” hisses Joseph. “Don’t listen to him. He’s messing with your head.”

“Diego,” Emilio orders.

A second later, a bullet is ripping through Joseph’s shoulder, pinning him to the floor. He’s silent in his agony, he’ll never give Emilio the satisfaction of his pain, but I know it’s costing him everything. His hands are still bound behind his back, and that tight angle is dragging at the gaping wound. Blood is drenching his blue shirt already.

From my vantage point, I try and assess the injury the best I can. If I can staunch the bleeding, he’ll live, but it’s gonna hurt like a bitch in the interim.

“I’ll gut you for this, Emilio,” I say, rising to my feet to the sound of thirty grown men cocking their loaded weapons at my head.

“She took three hours to die.” He’s basking in my rapt attention now.

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