Page 120 of The Beautiful Dead

“It’ll be a race between me and Remi to get to you first,” I added, smirking.

Ghost inhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair before finally speaking. “I didn’t lie when I said I was born into this world.”

“Go on,” I said, remaining standing, letting the weight of my presence suffocate him further.

He swallowed hard. “My parents were druggies. Mom was strung out my whole life. She tried, I think. But trying doesn’t mean shit when the fridge is empty and the floor is covered in needles.”

His voice grew quieter, words tumbling out like loose teeth. “When I was five, she threw a party. The trailer was packed—people I’d never seen before, fucking on every available surface, powder covering the counters. My dad had overdosed that morning, but instead of mourning, she celebrated.”

Ghost shifted, gaze dropping to the floor. Shame. Pride’s worst enemy.

“Where was your dad?”

“Still in the hospital. They found him with a needle in his arm. Mom cried until her dealer showed up, then she forgot all about it.” His fingers twitched, an old habit of a man with too much history in his hands. “That night, her dealer beat the shit out of me for existing. She locked me in a closet for three days after that.”

Remi muttered a curse under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

I lit a cigarette, inhaling deep, letting the poison settle in my lungs. I had a feeling we weren’t even at the worst of it. “Want one?”

Ghost nodded. I tossed him the pack, and he fumbled, lighting his own before exhaling a slow stream of smoke.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “It didn’t stop. The beatings. But eventually, I became useful. Inotherways. Mom let it happen. He gave her more drugs, and that was enough for her.”

A sick kind of silence settled over the room. The kind that festered. I took another drag, rolling my cigarette between my fingers.

“When I was ten, I ran away,” Ghost murmured, like the words themselves were too heavy to hold. “You can imagine what happened after that. What Ihadto do to survive.”

Remi took the cigarette from my fingers, bringing it to his lips. My eyes locked onto him, dragged to him like a planet caught in his orbit. Because when Remi was this close—when he was this fucking lethal— I could do nothing but wait for the moment we collided.

“Exactly. That’s where Salvatore found me…”

A weighted silence swallowed the room whole, thick and suffocating, pressing against our ribs like a loaded gun. Our attention pinned Ghost to his spot, a specimen under a microscope, twitching beneath the scrutiny.

Then, he huffed a nervous laugh.

“He found me stuck in a dumpster. My legs were hanging out the top.” He rolled his eyes, the memory crawling up his throat like bile—bittersweet, embarrassing, and pathetic. “He pulled me out, asked me what the fuck I was doing. And like any self-respecting street rat, I asked him how much.”

Remi snorted, flipping his knife between his fingers. “Bet that didn’t go down well.”

Ghost shook his head. “Not really.” His lips twisted, half amusement, half something darker. “He clipped me around the back of the head, then announced he was taking me to breakfast.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a pivotal fucking moment. “That was that. Took me home. Had one of his guys train me. When I was good enough, he planted me right where I am.”

A pause. A deep one.

“Impossible,” I snapped, barely holding back the snarl curling in my chest. The pieces didn’t fit. “Federico might be a cunt, but he’s not stupid.”

Ghost scoffed. “I was recommended by someone he trusted.” His gaze—watery, desperate, waiting—begged me to connect the dots.

The realization was a blade to the ribs. Slow, twisting, brutal. “That fucking piece of shit.”

Remi’s eyes flicked to me, confusion tightening his features, but I was already on my feet. Pacing. Burning. Shaking. The flames in the fireplace crackled, casting shadows over the room, over the rage threatening to consume me from the inside out.

“Angelo is a Gallo, too?”

“Yup.”

That single syllable carried a death sentence.

“That explains why he’s such a fucking snake,” I seethed, hands curling into fists. White-hot fury licked up my spine, a drug I never planned to quit. “That piece of shit is going to die very fucking slowly.”

---