Page 104 of Stricken

"What else could it be?" He sneers, but I see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Anger and hurt blaze through me but I know better. I will not show him how I feel. Two can play this pretend game. "You're so obsessed with your revenge that you can't see past the blood anymore. You're destroying yourself for some scum who's probably going to catch a bullet elsewhere anyway?"

"Don't you dare," Vlad hisses, his face inches from mine. "You have no idea what it's like to lose—"

"I lost my father too. Remember?" I interrupt, my voice raw. "But I'm not trying to ruin my life chasing his killer. I want to live it the way he'd want me to. Not consumed by vengeance."

Something dark and cruel twists Vlad's features. He leans in, his breath hot on my ear as he whispers, "Maybe that's why you're so easily broken. Why you keep submitting to me. You've given up so easily, haven't you, Nico?"

The statement is poisonous and unexpected.

Morelli pride roars in me.

My hand moves before I can think. The crack of skin on skin sounds in the rigid silence. Vlad's head snaps to the side, a red mark blooming on his cheek where I slapped him.

"Fuck you," I spit, my voice trembling with rage. My palm stings and my chest feels strange. I can't breathe.

Vlad's gaze ignites with answering rage as he looks back at me. "You know what? Fuck you too, Nico."

The room around us feels electric, every object in it buzzing with tension as sharp as shattered glass. We're on the brink of something irreversible. I can feel gravity pulling at us both, urging us to tip over into mayhem.

I don't know what happened in Mexico. I had a bad feeling about this trip. And here we are now.

Suddenly, Vlad bursts into frantic motion. He yanks his jacket from the chair back so violently the chair wobbles and almost falls. I'm rooted in place, watching helplessly as he charges toward the door like a tornado unleashed.

I want to tell him to wait but the words die in my throat before they are even formed. I won't stoop this low.

He wrenches the door open but pauses, his back to me. I think he might turn around, might say something to mend this sudden crack between us. But then he's gone, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that shakes me to my core.

I stand there, surrounded by the wreckage of our argument. Shards of glass glitter on the floor, catching the light like fallen stars.

Glancing at my reflection in the cracked mirror, I see a distorted and fragmented image of myself.

Is this what we've become? Broken pieces that cut and wound?

And my stupid heart feels as shattered as the mirror. I wonder, with a despair that threatens to swallow me whole, if what Vlad and I have—whatever it is—can survive this.

We're like two ships passing in the night. So close, yet destined to miss each other in the vast, unforgiving sea of our own making. And I can't stop blaming the one man responsible for this–Shtyk.

CHAPTER35

VLAD

The door slams behind me, the sound reverberating through the vacant hallway of Eclipse like a gunshot. Heart hammering in my chest, I dial Ivan's number, my hand shaking with both rage and... something else.

"Da?" he answers curtly.

"Meet me downstairs, in the alley. Bring my racing suit," I bark before ending the call, leaving no room for questions or doubts.

My mind is pounding along with my heart, a strange feeling. As if my entire being vibrates.

I stride toward the elevator, my pace picking up. I wonder if by moving faster, I could outrun the brewing madness, madness ready to spill out and consume all around me. Madness that only comes when you shut off all emotions to torture and kill a man for information. It eats you from the inside out.

And him… Nico Morelli… That the cocky little bastard, thinking he could manipulate me? Over my dead body.

I emerge into the darkness-soaked alley, where the stench of trash and desperation clings to the very air. One of the guys that works for the club is further down, finishing up his cigarette. He offers a tip of his chin by way of greeting when he sees me exiting the building. I don't grace him with any kind of response.

My eyes search for a familiar hulking figure. Of course, Ivan is there, as always, gym bag slung over his broad shoulder.

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