Page 212 of SINS & Riley
“I wanted to kill you myself. With my bare hands.” Saying it out loud is clean and honest. The crueller truth is I’m pissed I can’t.
He actually looks relieved. “I knew you weren’t stupid enough to kill me.”
I shake my head. “The Keenans paid for the honor,” I add. “They returned every cent Enzo spent on the auction. Alliance rules: they get the kill. I get to break the news to you.”
His grin peels off, replaced by pure, wet panic. In moronic desperation, he lunges.
The tip of my knife kisses his throat and stops him cold.
“Please. Don’t kill me.”
“Beg already,” I murmur, amused. “Why the rush? We have the whole day.”
He scrabbles for the IV pole like it’s a weapon. Like it’s going to save him.
I take a step back and flick two fingers at the guard.
The big one moves in, precise and unhurried. The butt of his rifle cracks against Andre’s temple with a dull thud.
Andre crumples, both hands clutching his skull, wheezing through the pain.
I turn toward the balcony, the ocean glittering beyond. “Sharks,” I say, almost thoughtful. “You always had a fascination with them. Or, with eating them.” I blow out a slow, satisfied breath. “How ironic.”
At this point, he’s sniveling. He knows what’s coming. But it’s the not knowing—the how—that drives most men to the brink.
Panicked, he grabs his IV stand like, what, he’s going to jab me with it?
The guard butts him again.
That shuts him up.
“Sharks and I have a lot in common,” I tell him. “We smell fear. We like the taste of blood.”
Andre’s bravado peels off like cheap paint. His eyes go wide. “I have money.”
“Yeah. We already raided your place. Us and the Keenans.” I pocket my hands and blow out a whistle. “You had one hell of a stockpile of gold. Ever hear of bitcoin?”
He spits a sound halfway between a sob and a choke. It’s disgusting. And music to my ears.
I point at the boat bobbing in the harbor. “No bullets. The Keenans want this dragged out.”
He howls, “Pleeaassee!”
I ignore him and simply tell the guards, “The harbor master will take him. Seamus will be waiting.”
Then I walk away.
From the penthouse, my brothers and I savor the moment. Enzo went all out. Lobster and champagne. From the balcony, the tide readies itself for the real work. To take, drown, and erase every trace that Andre D’Angelo ever existed.
A miracle. Served cold.
Andre tried to break us. A torture that would buried us slowly over time.
But we kept the one thing he could never kill.
Each other.
For the first time in years, something shifts inside me. We’re not healed. Not even close. We’re still raw, grieving, furious. But we’re moving forward. Together.
