Page 56 of Stricken

My voice drops to a deadly whisper. "Or I'll kill you and no one will ever find your body."

For a moment, something a lot like fear flickers across Sal's face, but it's quickly replaced by his usual arrogance. The air between us crackles, years of rivalry and resentment boiling to the surface.

"You wouldn't dare," he says.

"Try me, cousin."

I should let go. I should walk away. But the rage inside me is a living and breathing thing.

There's a crack in Salvatore's usually impenetrable mask. But like a snake shedding its skin, he swiftly regains his composure, eyes hardening with renewed grudge.

"Oh, Nico." He chuckles, the sound grating against my ears. "Always so quick to bare your teeth. But you forget–you're not Tony's son."

"Say what you mean, Sal," I growl. "Don't beat around the bush."

"It means you're reaching for something that isn't yours to take. The family, the business. You can fool Father but you can't fool me." Pause. "Back off, and your little secret will remain just that–a secret."

My mind is a storm of fury and disgust. How much does this little weasel really know? How long has he been watching, waiting for me to make a mistake?

"You're bluffing," I say, but the words taste hollow on my tongue.

Salvatore just laughs, the sound floating across the terrace like a death knell. "Am I? Are you willing to bet everything on that,cugino? I'm not the one whoring out his ass, am I?"

I stand there, frozen at the insult, as he walks toward the door and back inside the house. Just before he leaves, he glances back, his eyes glinting with triumph.

"I hope it was worth it, Nico. Because you know what happens to your kind."

CHAPTER19

VLAD

I'm in my office in Purgatory, sunk back into my chair, my gaze lingering on the paperwork strewn across the desk. My mind can't seem to concentrate.

That night loops through my memory—a grim film reel stuck on repeat. Nico's face flashes, wan and strained. The sharp tang of iron lingers in my mouth and nose from the blood. The dead weight of the body presses against us as we drag it away and load it into my vehicle.

I run through the mental checklist again, each item a tally against discovery.

Bleach on all surfaces. Check.

Clothing burned. Check.

SUV detailed. Check.

Alibis established. Check.

But doubt gnaws at me, a persistent rat I can't exterminate. What if we missed something? What if—

No. I can't afford to spiral. I close my eyes, willing myself back to that night.

The apartment reeked of copper and fear. Nico's hands trembled as he scrubbed at a stubborn bloodstain.

"Harder," I hissed at some point, my own voice barely recognizable. "We can't leave a trace. Move that chair. Check the wall."

He nodded, jaw tight. In that moment, I saw a glimpse of the man he could become—ruthless, efficient. A true Morelli.

We worked in silence, the only sounds our ragged breathing and the wet slap of rags against tile and wood.

The memory fades, leaving me alone in my office once more with the noise of the club filtering in through the thick walls.

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