Page 78 of Dangerous King
Then Eliza stands, crosses the room, and gently takes my hands in hers.
"You've survived more than most women ever will," she says. "Don't you dare call yourself less."
I bite my lip, hard enough to taste copper from my blood. Eliza lets go of my hands, but her gaze stays locked with mine. There's something maternal in it—soft and steady. She reaches for the earrings I suggested and holds them up to her ears, then glances at me through the mirror.
I turn my attention back to the dress before the emotion tips over the edge. "You'll be the most beautiful woman at that ball," I say, straightening her sleeve.
She smiles, a little brighter this time. "Not if you and Izzy come with me."
I laugh lightly, certain she must be joking. Still, part of me wonders what it would be like. To walk into a room beside the Sartoris, not as their guest. Not as someone they rescued. But as someone whobelongs.
The next day…
I'm at the warehouse again. This will be my last visit to Giovanni. It's time. The bastard has been locked in that steel dog crate for days. No light. No food. Only water when someone remembers to hose him down. Others may take a sick joy out of torturing, cutting, whipping—whatever gets them off, I guess. Not me. Dead is dead. There is no coming back, and after all, in the end, that's all that matters. Getting rid of your foe.
I'm not saying I've never tortured someone before. But never for revenge, joy, or fun. Only to get information. There has never been any need in my mind to prolong the inevitable until now, with Giovanni. I'm taking great pleasure in seeing him like this, curled on the grated metal floor, dirty and shaking, a filthy blanket twisted beneath him. What little dignity he had is longgone, just like the stench of his cologne has been replaced by sweat and piss.
When I walk in, he doesn't look up. Not until I kick the side of the cage with my boot. The clang echoes like a death knell. He flinches and slowly lifts his head. He might be half-dead already, but that flicker of defiance is still in his eyes. Still smoldering even if it's barely.
"You know," I say, crouching down, "you always were a piece of shit. I just didn't realize how deep the rot went until you put your hands onmysister."
His cracked lips twitch. I don't know if it's a sneer or a plea. Not that it matters.
"I don't care if it was you who took her or not. You were going to kill her instead of calling me." My voice stays calm, measured.
I rise. Nod once to my men, who know the drill and haul him out like the sack of garbage he is. He collapses onto his knees, hardly able to hold himself up. I don't offer him a chair. He stares up at me with bloodshot eyes. There's no more threat in him anymore, just a low, hopeless wheeze. I press the muzzle of my gun to his forehead. Let it rest there a beat too long. Let him think—hope—that maybe I'll spare him.
Then I lean in close.
"You don't touch my family. You don't threaten what's mine. Not without consequence."
Crack.
One shot. Clean. Right between the eyes.
His body slumps to the concrete like a dropped puppet.
To Silvano, I say. "Bury him somewhere no one will ever find him."
He nods, already pulling out his phone. "Deep woods or the marsh?"
"Both," I say. "I want him scattered."
Then I turn and walk out. I don't need to watch my men cutting him up. It's done. Giovanni Giordano is gone. Nothing left but blood cooling on concrete and a legacy that ends in rot.
Good.
His son will follow soon, and then I'll take my time with the man who took Izzy. He will tell me why and who is behind it, and then I will go after them.
I get behind the wheel of my Hummer, alone. I don't want company, not after that. My men know better than to offer to drive. I need the solitude, the silence, the dark hum of the engine to pull me out of the part of myself that kills.
It should feel satisfying. Final. Instead, my mind drifts. Not to revenge, or even the political fallout that Edoardo is still mulling over. He's taking his time, thinking he's making me uneasy, when, in reality, I've barely taken that part of the whole clusterfuck into account.
No, my mind drifts toher.
To the girl with amber eyes, to her laughter when Shadow trips over his own feet. The way she curls against me when we kiss, like she was built for that exact place.
Cat.
