Page 159 of The Beautiful Dead

Federico choked on a cry, his free hand clawing at the ground. His body writhed like he could somehow escape into oblivion.

I let the silence drag. Let him suffer.. I leaned in closer, my voice low, almost gentle.

“You were always going to end up here. You just didn’t know it,” I smirked. “I was trained never to exist in the shadow of another man.”

Federico’s breathing was erratic now, his entire body shaking violently as he stared up at me.

“This wasn’t personal,” he rasped, desperate. “B-Business—just business.”

I exhaled sharply. “Business?”

Remi tilted his head, his knife still lodged in Federico’s hand, his fingers casually tapping against his blood-drenched thigh.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Remi murmured, voice soft, thoughtful. “That it wasn’t personal when you murdered his mother and made him an orphan? When you stole a child’s innocence by making him murder your men?”

Federico’s face twisted in something almost like recognition. A shadow of some emotion I’d never seen on him fell across his face, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

Remi yanked the knife out.

Federico howled, clutching his mangled hand to his chest, his body jerking violently as blood seeped through his fingers.

“You know,” Remi mused, rising slowly to his feet, “I could make it personal.”

I didn’t stop him when he stomped on Federico’s knee, first one, then the other. Sharp cracks echoed through the room with sickening satisfaction.

Federico screamed again, louder this time. Loud enough to strip his vocal cords and make them bleed. A raucous cheer echoed through the house from somewhere on the floor below.

I could see it now—the last vestiges of defiance slipping from his face. He wasn’t thinking about escape anymore.

Just about the pain.

“Remi.” My voice was a warning, but only just.

He looked at me. And for a moment, he was glowing with it. The violence. The pleasure of it. His breath was heavy, his pupils blown wide, his hands coated in red.

“Alright, alright.” He let out a breathy laugh, rolling his shoulders. “Just had to get that out of my system.”

Federico was panting, shaking, his face pale with agony. Tears streamed down his blood stained face.

“Please, Domino, please.” His voice cracked, his body curling in on itself.

I tilted my head in confusion and arched a brow, waiting for him to continue.

He wasn’t begging for his life.

Not anymore.

Just for the pain to stop.

But that was the thing about men like Federico. They never learned until it was too late. “You’re just like me.”

A hollow laugh slipped past my lips. “No, Federico. I’m much worse.”

I pulled my gun and pressed it to his forehead. His breath hitched. The entire room hung in silence. He knew. We all knew.

I let my finger rest against the trigger.

Let it sink in.

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