Page 137 of Dirty Game
"You look like you're dying," I reply flatly.
"Still got that mouth on you. Thought I'd beaten it out."
"You tried, but failed."
They notice the bruises on my wrists have finally faded completely.
The cigarette burns are just silver memories. I'm whole again, in body if not entirely in spirit.
Marco steps forward. "You brought the money?"
I pull out a check from my purse, hold it up so they can see. Five million dollars, made out to cash.
"Your debt was cleared when you sold me," I tell Uncle Enzo. "But you're right. I do owe yousomething."
Hope flares in his eyes.
"I owe you this moment." I pull out a lighter—Varrick's, heavy and silver—and hold it to the corner of the check. "This is what your niece is worth to you. This is what family means to you."
The paper catches, burning quickly.
"You fucking bitch!" Marco lunges for me, but I'm ready.
The moves Varrick taught me flow naturally now.
I sidestep, grab his wrist, use his momentum against him.
My elbow connects with his nose, and I feel the crunch of cartilage breaking.
He drops, blood pouring through his fingers.
"I learned to fight back," I tell him calmly.
Uncle Enzo tries to stand, but he's too weak. "You owe us! We raised you!"
"You tortured me. You sold me. You made me believe I was worthless." I drop the burning check into an ashtray, watch it turn to ash. "But you were wrong. I'm worth everything to the people who actually love me."
"Your father would be ashamed," Uncle Enzo spits.
"My father is dead." I lean closer, and he flinches. "You're not my family. You never were."
Marco's still on the floor, moaning about his nose. Uncle Enzo's shaking with rage or illness or both.
"You'll regret this," he wheezes. "When Bane gets tired of you?—"
"He won't," Varrick speaks for the first time, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "She's mine. Forever. And if either of you come near her or our son again, I'll finish what her father's death started—the complete erasure of the Lombardi line."
The threat hangs in the air, promise and prophecy both.
I turn to leave, then pause. "Uncle Enzo's dying anyway. Marco, you should run. Leave Vancouver. Tonight. Because if I see you again, if you come near my family, I'll use the skills Varrick taught me to do more than break your nose."
Outside, in the car, I finally let myself shake.
Varrick pulls me against him, solid and warm.
"You didn't need me," he says, pride clear in his voice.
"I'll always need you," I correct. "I just don't need saving anymore."
