Page 106 of The Beautiful Dead

Federico sensed me too late. His finger tightened on the trigger?—

But I fired first. The gunshot cracked through the air like thunder. Blood sprayed as Federico collapsed forward, clutching his mangled, ringing ear. His gun clattered to the floor, and I quickly kicked it away. His screams were delicious.

He writhed, his breath coming in short, ragged pants. Wet, furious sounds spluttered from his lips. I huffed a laugh and knelt, pressing my knee to his chest. Let him feel the weight of his mistakes.

The barrel of my gun found his temple. His eyes were wide with shock, like he couldn’t believe I was there.

That’s what happened when you got comfortable. You made mistakes.

“You fucked up, old man.” My voice was low. Even. Deadly.

He sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath.

“She was a good woman,” I murmured. “And she didn’t deserve to die.”

Before he could speak, I pistol-whipped him. The crack of metal against bone was sickening perfection.

Federico’s body went slack. Blood leaked from his temple, pooling across the hardwood like ink.

Blissful silence filled the room. I rose to my feet, turning to Remi as he stood there, unmoving. His face was blank, but his eyes—his eyes were dark, stormy.

I stepped toward him. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t step away. I reached out, my fingers brushing over his cheek. Blood—Federico’s blood—smeared against his skin.

He didn’t react. Didn’t breathe. Just kept his ice-blue eyes locked on mine. Then—slowly—he exhaled, and his eyes fluttered closed. I traced the line of his jaw with my thumb, relishing in the way his pulse thrummed beneath his skin.

We didn’t speak.

We didn’t need to.

Because this?

This was just the beginning.

CHAPTER 21

REMI

Domino stashed his bike in the mouth of an empty shipping container, its walls yawning open like the gaping maw of some steel beast. He locked it up tightly before pulling a cigarette from his jacket, lighting it with an almost bored efficiency. The flame flickered against his sharp cheekbones before he inhaled, exhaling a slow plume of smoke into the damp air.

Without a word, he handed it off to me and lit another. We moved forward, the crunch of gravel beneath our boots giving way to the flat, dead sound of concrete.

The docks reeked of rot. Of salt and rusted metal, of old oil and older blood. The kind that had seeped into its surroundings over decades, whispering of men who had disappeared beneath these waters, their names long forgotten.

A thick mist curled over the ground, wrapping around our ankles like spectral hands. It made it nearly impossible to see more than a foot ahead. Spotlights cut through the fog in sharp, surgical slices, turning everything ghostly, unnatural. The water lapped at the pylons below, rhythmic but somehow offbeat, as if the sea itself sensed what was coming.

I broke the silence first. “What are you going to do about Federico?”

Domino didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked a little ahead; the fog swallowed him in pieces—first his legs, then his torso, until he looked like nothing more than a shadow bleeding into the mist.

“I will end him.” He turned slightly. His dark green eyes were nothing but swirling shadows. “I won’t come at him head-on,” he added. “He’ll be expecting it.”

I mulled over his words. Federico was smart. Ruthless. He’d built an empire on paranoia and the absolute certainty that everyone in his orbit would betray him, eventually. It made him dangerous. But it also meant he was waiting for the knife in his back.

“We could do what we did with Brielle.”

Domino huffed a short, amused laugh. “What was that?” he mused. “Make her piss herself every time she moved?”

“Yes.” A slow smile curled my lips. “Play shadow games. Make him feel like he’s losing his mind before you end him. Make him suffer.”

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