Page 56 of Bittersweet Endings
And I’d finally take what was mine. All of it. After I soaked these motherfuckin’ streets in blood.
Chapter Seventeen
OCTAVIA AGOSTINO
The book had me hooked, its words pulling me deeper into a world far from my own. The TV murmured in the background, some late-night talk show filling the silence, but I barely heard it.
Curled up on the sofa, I turned the page, my fingers gripping the edges just a little tighter. The new author I was reading had a way of making the world disappear—until the sound of footsteps pulled me back to reality.
Rocco.
I didn’t look up right away, expecting some offhanded comment about me losing sleep over another novel. But instead of his usual teasing, his voice was clipped. Urgent.
I finally glanced his way.
“You need to see this,” he said, making me frown. He had the remote in his hand, his expression grim as he switched the channel. The light from the TV shifted, the casual chatter of late-night entertainment replaced by a news anchor.
“…fires raging across multiple locations, emergency responders working through the night to contain the damage.”
The screen flashed with images—buildings engulfed in flames, plumes of smoke rising against the Los Angeles skyline. A burned-out car, bullet holes riddling its frame. A body covered with a sheet, blood pooling underneath it.
I sat up, my heart tightening in my chest.
“The recent surge in gang violence has left residents shaken,”the reporter continued.“Several sources claim these coordinated attacks can be traced back to one of the city’s most notorious crime families, though authorities have yet to confirm any direct involvement.”
I didn’t need them to confirm a damn thing.
My stomach twisted as more footage played—street corners stained red, bodies being loaded into ambulances, the kind of carnage that only happened when someone wanted to send a message.
I swallowed hard, my mind racing ahead of me. I already knew. Because the city wasn’t just burning. It was being purged. There was only one family ruthless enough to make a statement like this. And Carmine was at the center of it. He was taking down his father. I justknewit.
In my head, Carmine’s face lingered on the screen, the flickering flames of Los Angeles reflecting in his cold, dark eyes. I couldn’t look away, even as the news anchor droned on about escalating violence, turf wars, and bodies piling up in the streets.
Beside me, Rocco exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “Shit’s getting real.”
I finally tore my gaze from the screen and turned to him. “Does this mean… If he kills JP, do we have a new west coast Capo?”
Rocco met my eyes, his jaw tight. He already knew theanswer, and so did I. He said it anyway. “Yeah. If JP dies, Carmine takes the throne.” He studied me for a moment before shaking his head. “Do you think there’ll ever be peace?”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Peace?” The word tasted foreign, meaningless. “There’s no peace in this life. Only controlling the chaos.”
Rocco sighed, shifting his stance. “You need to think about something, Tave.” His voice dropped, more serious than usual. “If Carmine becomes Capo, he might come for you.”
I stiffened, but he wasn’t finished.
“You willing to leave everything behind for that? To walk away from your family, your blood, and be a Capo’s wife? The wife of the man who kidnapped you?”
Silence stretched between us. The air in the room felt heavier, pressing down on my chest. I inhaled slowly, steadying my voice. “That man also killed my demons.” My fingers curled into my lap, my nails digging into my palm. “He set me free.”
Rocco didn’t answer right away. Maybe because he saw it. The shift, the part of Octavia Agostino that had been buried in blood and fire. Maybe because he knew there was no coming back from this.
I forced out a yawn, stretching my arms over my head. “I’m exhausted,” I murmured, stepping away from the living room. “I’m gonna call it a night.”
Rocco didn’t argue, but I felt his eyes on me as I walked away. He knew me too well. Knew I wasn’t really tired, just running.
The moment I shut my bedroom door, I leaned against it, exhaling slowly. I shouldn’t care.I shouldn’t fucking care!
Carmine Ragetti was a storm, a hurricane that tore through everything in his path. And yet, my heart still beat for him like anidiot who’d gotten caught in the eye of it, waiting to be swallowed whole.Wantingto be swallowed whole.
