Page 63 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

But I didn’t. Because I understood.

Because this was what it meant to be a Castillo.

The knife spins between my fingers, the movement smooth. My other hand rests on the gun beside me, thumb skimming over the safety, tracing the familiar ridges. Grounding. They’ve never felt heavy before. Not even when I was a kid, holding my first blade, pressing the tip against my palm just to understand how sharp it was.

But tonight, they do.

Because tonight, I have to kill a child.

I don’t know her. That should make it easier. A name on a list, a face I’ll forget as soon as the job is done. That’s how it always works. That’s how it’ssupposedto work.

And yet, for the first time in my life, a feeling inside me twists. Not hesitation. Not fear. Something else. A foreign and unwelcome realization curling tight in my gut like a sickness.

Regret.

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly through my nose, trying to shake it off, but it lingers. My father would be disgusted.You do not hesitate. You do not regret.He made sure I understood that lesson, drilled it into me in blood and fire and loss.

The knife leaves my hand before she even sees me, slicing through the air in a blur of silver before burying itself in the wall inches from her skull with a sickeningthunk.

Valentina freezes. Her breath hitches, the keys in her hand slipping through her fingers, clattering against the hardwood. The second stretches, long and suffocating, the dim glow from the streetlight outside catching the sharp edge of the blade, casting a jagged shadow across her face.

She doesn’t scream.

She moves.

Like a gunshot, she whips around, snatching the first thing within reach—a glass bowl from the entryway table—and hurls it at my head. I barely dodge in time. The ceramic explodes against the wall behind me, shards raining down like shrapnel. But she doesn’t wait to see if it connects. She’s already lunging, her body coiling like a spring before launching forward.

Her shoulder slams into my ribs, knocking me back a step, her smaller frame packing more force than it should. Pain blossoms across my side, sharp and unexpected. I go for her wrist, fingers closing around delicate bone, but she twists—usingher momentum to slip free, pivoting with a speed that sets my instincts on fire.

I barely block her next move. She aims for my stomach with a sharp, driving knee, but I deflect it with my forearm, gripping the back of her hoodie and yanking her off balance. She gasps, body snapping backward, but instead of falling, she rolls with it, wrenching herself out of my grip just before I can I tighten it.

She’s quick. Too quick.

Valentina dives for the knife still lodged in the wall.

I surge after her. My fingers brush the fabric of her hoodie just as she grips the handle, but before she can yank it free, I slam into her, sending both of us crashing into the dining table. The wood groans under the impact, chairs skidding back, silverware clattering to the floor.

Still, she doesn’t stop.

Before I can pin her, she scrambles upright, reaching blindly, fingers closing around the back of a chair. She swings it hard, the force behind it surprising. The legs narrowly miss my temple, but the movement costs her. She’s off balance. Wide open.

I seize my chance, grabbing the wrist holding the chair and yanking her forward. Her breath stutters as she collides with my chest, and for the first time, I catch the flicker of awareness in her eyes.

Not fear.

Calculations.

She knows she’s at a disadvantage. She knows she’s losing.

I brace for another wild strike, another blind attack, but she doesn’t give me one. Instead, she exhales sharply and lets go—lets methrow her.

I don’t realize what she’s doing until it’s too late.

She uses my own momentum against me, flipping her body in the air and kicking off my chest, sending herself flying backward toward the counter. Before I can recover, her hand snatches something from the table—a steak knife.

Shit.

She grips it like she’s done this before, knuckles tight around the handle, the blade pointed at me. Her chest rises and falls, breath quick but controlled, her fingers flexing as if she’s testing the weight.

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