Page 125 of The Beautiful Dead

His gaze darted to Remi, who was watching him like a wolf watches an injured rabbit.

Elio swallowed hard. “Did my father send you?”

“He did,” I confirmed. “Don’t make me regret agreeing to this.”

Remi cut the ropes binding his wrists, and Elio hissed as the blood flooded back into them. He was weak. Starving. Broken. Federico had made sure of that.

Pathetic.

But not my problem.

“Can you walk?” I asked, already tired of this conversation.

Elio exhaled sharply through his nose and forced himself to his feet. His legs wobbled, but he stayed standing. Barely.

Remi clapped him on the back—too hard. Elio stumbled, and Remi snickered.

“Let’s go,” I said, already turning away. “We’re on borrowed time.”

The drive to the meeting point was silent.

Elio sat in the back, his eyes never leaving me. I felt them like needles against my skull, sharp and prying, filled with questions I wouldn’t answer.

Remi sprawled in the passenger seat, boots kicked up on the dash, flipping his knife between his fingers with practiced ease. Every so often, he’d glance back at Elio and smirk like he knew something Elio didn’t.

By the time we pulled up, the sky was a deep shade of bruised violet. The outskirts of Marlow Heights were deserted at this hour—nothing but empty roads, flickering street lights, and a gas station that hadn’t seen business in years.

Salvatore was waiting. He stood beside his car, face cast in shadow, shoulders rigid.

The moment he saw Elio, something in him cracked. He took a step forward, then another, his breath sharp and ragged. A tear slipped down his face, lost to the night.

Elio hesitated, unsure if this was real. Salvatore opened his arms, and after a beat, Elio collapsed into them.

For a long moment, they just stood there. Father and son.

I watched, detached, taking in the raw display of emotion with a kind of clinical curiosity. The concept of family was foreign to me.

Salvatore had fought for his son.

I couldn’t decide if that made him weak or terrifying. Eventually, he lifted his head, locking his gaze onto mine.

“You have my gratitude.” His voice was hoarse and thick with something that made my stomach twist. “I owe you.”

I stepped closer, my lips curling into a cold, thin smile. “You owe me more than gratitude, Salvatore.”

His breath hitched.

“You know what I want.”

A pause. A flicker of hesitation. Then—acceptance.

“You’ll get the truth,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around Elio’s shoulder. “Everything about your mother.”

Remi grinned, a demented, bloodthirsty thing.

I smirked back. “Good.”

CHAPTER 24

---