Page 52 of Omission: Part 2

Amelia doesn’t move, though. She’s stuck frozen, and it’s just too soon for her to be back here.

Jean never had time to scream, but Silla does. In anger. Outrage.

She’s watching everything she connived for fall, and it’s permanent disgrace.

We’re not done.

Brice bleeds out slowly as the knife wound creates a puddle beneath his head. It’s a solitary ending for him. We haven’t allowed him to see her—his mate—who’s been unable to do anything but whimper since losing her tongue. Said appendage lies a mere inch from us.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he murmurs, coughing a bit. “Larue should’ve drowned them. Slit your mate’s throat and bled her dry, bathed in her blood before tossing her in the lake.”

“That’s a great idea. Slicing of a throat,” I whisper menacingly and turn him to face the room with two purposes in mind: sparing Anaya from seeing what I’m about to do, and so the fated pair can watch the other die. “Is this better?”

“Fuck you, witch!”

I drag the tip of the blade two inches lower and slice through from one end to the other. Slowly. Peeling through layers, and when I feel the change from flesh to the more solid mass of the trachea, I slip my fingers inside. I stretch and prod as he cries out, thrashing from his face-down position on the floor.

“Leonardo, stop this. Call off your bitch.” Another death comes then, and it’s her daughter this time, ripped apart—right down the middle—by the first couple they sought to ruin. Gabriella and Theodore each hold up half a body in their hands. The head stayed with Theodore, though.

Why? No clue, but I finally see the cracking of Silla’s façade.This hurt her.

Maybe not because of love, but because she’s alone. No lackeys to do her dirty work.

Isabella looks between the bodies and Xadiel moves them into a pile, one head standing out among the dead.Giulio. But where the others are struck with an expression of terror, he looks at peace. Resigned.

Once Chiara’s remains are tossed at the top, my sister lights the pyre. One I help burn bright when lighting strikes a growing spark, creating a mini explosion of blue.

The hottest flame.

The scent of burnt flesh permeates the air while I yank out Brice’s throat. I toss it at Silla’s feet, delighting in the way she screeches and jumps back into Roberto’s chest, clinging to his arm.

“Roberto, get me out of here,” she cries out, stepping back as Anaya leaves her seat and walks up to me. We’re almost the same height this way, my body kneeling while she stands tall and regal. Her small, delicate hand cups my cheek, and this time, she bends the tiniest fraction to kiss my lips. One small peck.

Toss him in.

What’s left of Brice is mangled, charred, and disgusting—just as he was in real life.

He’s not worth the effort to burn, but I toss him in just the same as a semi-circle forms around Marsilla. Our entire family stands and looks at her, lets her see that she didn’t win.

“Roberto, do something. Please!” His nod is barely perceptible, and Silla breathes out a sigh of relief when he spreads a hand out to push us back. I want to intercept, to snap him out of whatever bullshit she’s got him under, when Isabella whispersdon’t.

My eyes snap to hers, and she’s smiling. Devilishly so.

Whatever she’s seen is just and we’ll abide by it, even if I’d love nothing more than to grant Anaya and Amelia their rightful kill. The latter of which joins us, and for the first time since arriving here, she smiles.

“I’m okay, mon cheri. Today is a day of celebration.” Tears brim her eyes; you can feel her pain over all the lives lost, but there’s peace in all that hurt. “No more. It ends here.”

“Roberto, let go of my arm. You're hurting me, my love!” Silla’s fighting Roberto who has a firm grip on her left forearm, pulling her closer to the fire. He’s trying to soothe her as best he can, stroking his thumb in small sweeps, but she’s unappreciative of the act. Instead, Marsilla thrashes and smacks his arm and then uses her fist, pummeling his side.

My uncle is relentless as he marches them toward the flame, close enough to feel the roaring heat when he cups her face. He stares at her with a soft grin before mouthing,I loathe you.

“Roberto, what do you mean? You’re my…no!” Coldly, he tosses her in along with Larue’s followers and her kin. Agonized screams rend the air; she fighting to get out, but he holds her in place, not caring about injuring himself or dying. And I want to stop it, pull him back, but a hand grips the back of my shirt and I look back from over my shoulder.

“He will live. I swear it, and what a happy life it will be.”

Through curses and cries and large burns on his arms, he keeps her in place until her last breath. And even then, Roberto waits a few more seconds to make sure. Only then does he pull back and collapse on the floor as a group of fae storm the room and simultaneously, the fire goes out.

Who turned it off, I have no clue, but a woman wearing a chef’s jacket rushes with a wooden rolling pin held high, her helpers a few steps from her. They survey the scene in horrific awe. Those who dropped to their knees are being led out by Francois, but it’s the unconscious warlock in her sights.

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