Page 103 of Silent Schemes
"Let her do what she came to do," Varrick says, and starts walking toward me.
Every step is measured, deliberate.
His shoes echo on the concrete, each footfall like a heartbeat.
He's not walking to his death—he's walking to me.
There's a difference, though only I can see it.
His eyes never leave mine, and in them I read everything—understanding, forgiveness, love, and strangely, trust.
He trusts me.
Even now, with a gun in my hand and my father pulling the strings, he trusts me.
The weight of that trust is heavier than the gun.
He stops when the barrel touches his chest, right over his heart.
Close enough that I can smell his cologne, see the faint stubble he didn't have time to shave this morning because he was coming here.
To me. To his death. For me.
"Hello, beloved," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Claims me even now, even with my finger on the trigger.
Even with thirty guns now pointed at his head.
Even with my father watching and my sister trembling and the whole world waiting for me to choose.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, quiet enough only he can hear.
Sorry for the betrayal, for the lies, for the baby who might never have the chance to know his father, for the future we'll never have.
"I know," he responds, just as soft.
Then, even quieter, breath warm against my ear as he leans in like he's going to kiss me goodbye, "I forgive you."
Three words that destroy me more than any torture father ever devised.
My father’s patience snaps. "Kill him, Sienna, or watch Maya die slowly. I'll let Vincent have her first. He's been asking so nicely. Tell her, Vincent. Tell her what you'll do."
Vincent laughs, the sound skittering across my nerves like spiders. "I'll start with her fingers. One by one. Then her face—she's too pretty, just like you were. Then maybe I'll let some of the boys have a turn before we really get started."
The threat makes my decision.
Was there ever really a choice?
Between Varrick and Maya, between love and blood, between my heart and my sister's life?
I meet Varrick's eyes one last time.
He nods, barely perceptible.
Permission. Forgiveness. Understanding.
His hand moves slightly, and for a moment I think he's going for his gun, but instead his fingers brush mine where they hold the weapon.
