Page 7 of Sardonic Burn

And I don’t have to say it out loud.

He sees all of it in my eyes. He’s aware that he’s a failure and that his family will consider him a disappointment. Not only did he never focus on business and was only named the heir because he was the oldest child, but he also allowed himself to be killed by a Campbell woman.

Franco is making gurgling sounds, and I release the hold on his hair. His head falls forward while he’s choking on his blood. It’s rather messy—the blood drips from his open throat onto the floor.

Now I’m truly happy I didn’t wear anything white tonight.

As I ensure he’s not breathing anymore, I step back and rush toward the window. We’re on the first floor, and jumping out is a piece of cake. I turn my head to the side at the same time as his brother strolls in.

He’s breathing heavily, eyes locked on me. He barely notices his brother’s dead body in the middle of the room. I’m not sure what about him makes me halt.

He holds steady eye contact with no emotions. His dead eyes make goosebumps tug on my skin, and, for a moment, I’m speechless. The danger in his eyes manages to make my bottom lip quiver and my hands tremble.

He’s dressed in a fancy outfit. All he’s missing is a jacket, and he might as well be a model. His tie is loosened, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Presumably, he did it on the way here.

“Noelle Campbell,” he says, his voice flat.

“Another De Santis.” I nod in acknowledgement.

That’s when he notices his brother’s dead body. He freezes on the spot, staring at Franco with wide eyes. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, and doesn’t speak. It’s terrifying just how calm he’s acting.

Until his body starts trembling. It’s pure rage and disbelief. He can’t believe that the Campbells sought revenge. Well, what did he think was going to happen? I take care of my people. I couldn’t save my aunt, but I can get my revenge for her. She would’ve wanted to see their blood.

Hudson’s eyes snap back to mine, and I realize it’s time for me to leave.

“Happy holidays!”

And with that, I jump out of the window.

I left my heels inside, and I’m barefoot. I’m running as fast as I can, reaching my bike in record time. I put on the helmet quickly and rev the engine to life. It takes me a minute to drive off, just enough time to see bullets rain down from the window, aimed at me.

Luckily, not a single one scratches my baby or me, and I’m able to speed off without a hitch.

But even as I lie in my bed, hours after I killed Franco, an uneasy feeling sneaks its way into my brain. I don’t regret killinghim; I only regret not bringing a gun with me and taking the other brother down in one go.

His dead eyes haunt me. This isn’t the end.

He’ll come for me soon, and I need to brace myself. The difference between the two brothers was as big as the sun and the moon. Where Franco lacked in abilities, Hudson made up for it with his brain and logical thinking skills.

Franco was right; there is a war ahead of us.

Instead of fearing for my life, it makes me excited. By now, I’m a walking contradiction, but my feelings are complex about this situation. However, there is only one correct answer.

The Campbell family will annihilate the De Santis family.

All of them will feel my wrath and pain. I’ll kill every last one of them until they’ve been completely wiped from the face of the Earth.

That’s the least I can do to restore my aunt’s honor.

I flip the newspaper and take a sip of my morning tea. It’s been a tradition since the youngest sibling was born to drink tea with mother in the morning. However, this morning, Jane left.

She didn’t wake me up to say goodbye, and I’m still angry about that. In a few hours, she’ll land on Russian soil, and I’ll call to scold her for it. Niko is nowhere in sight. I arrived home late last night, and his car was in the driveway, but there’s no trace of him. Who knows where he’s causing trouble this early in the morning.

It leaves me alone with my mother to pretend I like one of her new tea recipes that I struggle to swallow. The key is to drink it in moderation so she doesn’t get suspicious and realize I hate it. But drinking it cold is far worse than gulping down the hot beverage all at once.

“You did well last night, Noelle,” she compliments me, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. “But your face was seen. What are you doing about it?”

It’s more of a threat than a question. She’s asking how I will fix this mess, despite me not even thinking of a proper plan. She doesn’t have to know that, though.

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