Page 36 of Unforgiving Queen
I blinked, the question catching me off guard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about," I wheezed, my voice barely audible as I desperately scratched at his forearms and kicked my legs.
“You arelying,” he hissed, squeezing tightly. “It better not be that deaf freak.”
Adrenaline and fury zipped through me. I clawed at his hold, attempting to knee him in the balls.
“Don’t talk about my sister like that,” I croaked, scratching at his hands when he slapped me hard again. My ears rang and my cheek burned. Before I could inhale my next breath, a punch followed. It felt like my head exploded and a single tear rolled down my face. “Neither one of us is yours, you sick bastard.”
He grinned like an evil maniac. “The timing points to her though. It’s a good thing nobody knows.”
Hopelessness rose up in my chest in the face of this monster. Death was coming for me, I could feel the shadows creeping in, its cold fist knocking against the invisible door.
But I refused to answer.
Instead, I gathered all my remaining strength and rammed my knee between his legs. He bucked, his grip loosening. Letting go of his forearms, I clawed at his stomach, and my fingers wrapped around cold metal. A gun. I didn’t think, didn’t question my next move. I just reacted.
I gripped it and pulled the trigger. At the exact time that fireworks exploded outside our window.
Bang.
I couldn’t distinguish the noise between the fireworks and the gun. But as the sky lit up and hues of blues and reds filtered through to the kitchen, a terrible scream severed the air. I stumbled back and took in the sight before me: Mr. Leone, red eyes popping out of his deathly pale face, mouth gaping open and shut.
His grip on my throat eased slowly, until his hand fell down the length of his body altogether.
With every ounce of strength I had left, I punched him in the stomach, right in the bullet wound.
“Fuck,” he rasped, stumbling away from me, reaching for something to balance himself. Pots and silverware clattered onto the kitchen floor. He hung on to the counter, trembling—like I’d been mere seconds ago.
His face was the picture of disbelief, the blood he was losing evidenced in its pallor.
My hand flew to my mouth and I bit into the tender flesh of my palm as I panted, each breath burning my lungs.
I took a step back. Then another. My heart drummed against my ribs and I watched with horror as he fell sideways onto the floor, blood gushing from his wound.
My mouth moved, but I made no sound. It wasn’t until my back hit the refrigerator that I could finally breathe.
“Did you rape my mother?” My voice was eerily calm, the sound of my breathing mixing with his heavy wheeze.
Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth. “She came willingly. But then she broke it off.” My stomach dropped. “But that last time—” He left the meaning lingering. “I couldn’t let her go. She should have been mine.”
This man was fucking crazy. Mamma would never want someone like that. “You’re lying,” I spat. “She would never come to you willingly. Why would she?” I shouldn’t have asked, but not knowing just wasn’t my thing.
“After she married him,” he panted. “She came willingly. Revenge is best served when angry, not cold. It wreaks havoc and destroys everything in its path.” His voice grew faint with each word. “Although, I must say, I didn’t expect to see him in my home that summer. You and your sister are the spitting image of her that I remember.” His eyes were squeezed tight and the hands covering his wound were stained red now, blood overflowing onto the tiles.
That summer. That dreaded fucking summer when Mamma killed herself. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“What?”
He laughed, spurting more blood from his mouth. “He has no idea it was me. I touched his wife.Fuckedhis wife. And hestillmade a deal with me.”
His words pushed me over the edge, and at that moment, my mind was made up. I was already too deep in the underworld.
“Go to hell and stay there.”
My voice was raspy, foreign. I wasn’t a killer, but I’d kill him. With that, I raised my arm and took aim.
“Phoenix… is… mine,” he whispered, and they were the last words he’d ever speak. I pulled the trigger again.
Bang.
