Page 87 of The Beautiful Dead

“You’re shaking.” His voice was soft now, coaxing, laced with something dark.

“I’m not,” I lied, my breath still uneven.

But my mind was racing. The whispers. The proof.

I had heard the rumors from the men stationed around the apartment building. Whispers that Federico had lied about what happened to Domino’s mother. Fuck! I’d seen it. In the falsified documents, the blackmail payments, the cover-ups—everything tying back to Brielle.

Something wasn’t right. I knew I needed to tell him, but I didn’t know how.

Domino lifted my hand—still stained with blood—and pressed his lips to the inside of my wrist. The way a priest would bless a sinner. A man worshipping his ruin.

Why worship a prince when you could love a villain?

The moment stretched, coiling tight. His fingers dragged down my throat, lingering against my erratic pulse.

“You get it now, don’t you?”

Domino’s voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it twisted around me like a noose, tightening with every syllable. His breath was warm against my damp skin, the words sinking deep, embedding themselves in my bones.

“You’re mine.” His fingers flexed. “You’ve been mine since the first time you let me pull you into the dark.”

Since that night in the alley. Since I watched him kill for the first time. Since every moment after that, drenched in blood and devotion.

Transfixed I didn’t move. Didn’t fight. My breath came in ragged pants, but my resolve didn’t waver. Instead, I tilted my head back, baring my throat. “Then prove it,” I whispered. “And listen to me.”

Domino sucked in a sharp breath. His grip around my throat tightened—just a fraction. “Talk to me,piccolo agnello.”

I licked my lips, tasting the metallic tang of his blood mixed with mine. The storm raged above us, but it was nothing compared to the chaos crackling through me.

I hesitated.

Not because I didn’t trust him—but because I knew this would break him.

“I found out something that will change everything,” I said, voice unsteady. “It will make you doubt who you can trust?—”

“I don’t trust anyone.” His response was instant. Absolute. “You know that, Remi.”

I swallowed hard, but fear lodged itself in my throat and refused to move.

“What’s this about?” His dark green eyes sliced into me, sharp and unrelenting, like he could see the shadows slithering through my mind. He read me like scripture, like a story he’d memorized—but this time, he didn’t like what he found.

I forced myself to speak, even as my ribs squeezed tight around my lungs. “The Gallos…” I exhaled shakily. “T-they didn’t kill your mother.”

His fingers flexed. Before I could prepare myself, Domino’s grip tightened. Hard. Stars exploded in my vision. I gasped, but no air came. My lungs screamed, panic clawing up my spine. Every pulse of blood in my veins thundered in my ears, each heartbeat a dying drum.

Seconds stretched.

Turned into eternity.

The rain blurred the edges of my sight, but Domino’s face remained crystal clear. Confusion flickered first. Then anger. And beneath it—something far worse.

Fear.

“Who told you that?” he snarled, his voice a feral growl. Spittle hit my cheek, but I barely felt it over the burn in my throat. “Who put you up to this?”

I clawed weakly at his wrist, nails digging into his skin. “N-no one,” I rasped. “I-I found…”

The cold kiss of a blade met my skin. Sharp. Unyielding. I knew what that meant. Domino wasn’t just trying to scare me.

---