Page 4 of Brutal Crown
I back up until my heels hit the wall behind me.
“Take her!”
“No!” my father shouts, shoving himself upright despite his broken leg and throwing himself between me and them.
In an instant, a loud bang erupts in the air. Then another. My father’s body crumples to the ground. My eyes zoom in on the blood, his blood, my blood, pooling fast across the floor and spreading toward my feet.
A loud scream splits from my throat as I collapse to the ground and crawl toward him. His eyes are open and darting around. I rush to place my hand over his neck where the blood is pumping out. My stomach rolls as the warm liquid coats my hand.
My father gasps once, his hand twitching toward me. I take his hand, circling it with both of mine as tears pour down my face.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I never meant for this to happen.Il mio tesoro…”
His hand falls against mine, and his eyes glaze over.
I stare blankly at the body. I can’t move. Can’t breathe, can’t understand how my world tilted off its axis in a matter of minutes.
Through blurry eyes, I spot the ring on his middle finger. I slip it off and onto my thumb.
From my peripheral view, I see someone else enter through the narrow doorway. I look up through blurry eyes, and my gaze collides with a man who doesn’t look shocked or amused by the carnage before him. Just… bored, like seeing blood and death is just another everyday occurrence.
He’s younger than Dante. Darker hair, colder presence. Tall. Broad. He has the kind of face that belongs carved in stone. Beautiful, but painful.
Francesco Romano, Dante’s first son.
Our eyes lock, and something inside me—something furious, something terrified, something else—sparks to life.
Dante turns to him with impatience etched into every line of his face.
“Have you handled the witnesses?”
Francesco nods, but his eyes are on me.
“Let’s finish this,” Dante mutters before turning to point his gun at me.
I close my eyes, feeling a hot tear slide down my cheek as I wait for the hands of death to grab me.
But his voice stops my death.
“No,” he says simply. “She’s coming with us.”
I open my eyes to see Dante’s narrow. “She’s of no use to us.”
Francesco shrugs one shoulder casually.
“Maybe. But she doesn’t deserve to die. That’s an easy way out. I say we make her suffer and cause her father to roll over in his grave.”
Dante considers it for a split second before he gives a wordless order. The two men beside me grab me by the arm. I try to fight, but it’s like fighting a mountain.
Something hard slams against the side of my head, and my ears ring. Everything spins. My knees buckle as I collapse into rough, thick arms.
The last thing I see before darkness crashes down is the cake on the kitchen counter, the candle snuffed out.
2
FRANCESCO
The towering iron gates creak open before the car even comes to a full stop. They groan like old bones, welcoming me back to a place I barely recognize anymore.
