Page 50 of His Savage Ruin
Now I do turn my head slightly, just enough to catch her in my peripheral vision. "Yes, I can. And I will. This is the last time I'm going to tell you to stay back."
She grabs my arm anyway, her fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt sleeve with surprising strength. "Please. Matteo, please, don't do this. Punish him some other way. Dock his pay, demote him, anything else, just please not this?—"
"No." The word comes out final and absolute. She must hear the finality in it because her grip on my arm loosens, her fingers going slack. When I look at her directly, her face has gone pale as bone, freckles standing out in stark contrast, and her eyes are too bright with tears or rage or both.
I turn back to Romeo without saying anything else to her.
"On your knees. Left hand on the floor, palm down."
He doesn't move. His whole body has gone rigid with fear, muscles locked up so completely he might as well be carved from stone.
"Romeo. On your knees. I'm not going to tell you again."
He drops. The crack of his kneecaps hitting marble echoes through the corridor, and I see one of the younger guards flinch at the sound. Romeo spreads his left hand flat on the floor, fingers splayed wide.
"Pinky finger. Joint closest to your palm."
"Don Romano—" It comes out choked. "Cristo, please?—"
"Do it."
He positions the blade over his knuckle. The knife hovers there, shaking so badly the tip wavers across his skin without breaking it. He's breathing too fast, face gone gray-green.
"Do it, Romeo."
He squeezes his eyes shut. Sucks in air through his nose, holds it, and brings the blade down.
The sound hits first—wet crunch of steel punching through cartilage and bone, the scrape of metal on stone as the blade hits marble underneath. Then blood sprays across white marble in bright pulses that spread in dark pools. Romeo's scream tears out of his throat raw and inhuman, bouncing off walls and ceiling until it fills every corner of the corridor.
The fingertip rolls when it separates, spinning in a small curve before stopping against the wall trim, pale and still slightly curved like it might curl if you touched it.
The knife clatters to the floor, blade slick with blood. Romeo crumples sideways, cradling his ruined hand against his chest. Blood pumps between his fingers in steady beats, soakingthrough his shirt. He's making sounds in the back of his throat—wordless noises that might be whimpers.
Behind me, Alessia makes a small choked sound. When I glance back, she has one hand pressed to her mouth, face white as paper, but her eyes are still open. Still watching.
I crouch down beside Romeo. "Look at me, Romeo."
He does, through tears and pain. His pupils are blown wide.
"Every time you look at your hand from now on, every time you see that missing finger, you're going to remember this moment. And every time someone asks you what happened, you're going to remember the cost of disrespect in my house. Do you understand me?"
He nods, gasping, can't form words.
"Say it."
"I understand." It comes out barely audible. "I understand, Don Romano."
"Good." I stand and turn to Marco. "Get him to the doctor. Bind his hand first or he'll bleed out."
Marco's already pulling a tourniquet from his belt, and he moves with practiced efficiency. He kneels beside Romeo and wrapsthe fabric tight around Romeo's wrist, pulling it taut until the blood flow slows from a steady pump to a sluggish seep. His movements are professional, clinical, the actions of someone who's done field medicine before and knows exactly what he's doing.
I look at the other guards still lined up against the walls, all of them maintaining their positions at attention with their eyes carefully directed forward. "Remember what you witnessed here this morning. Remember it clearly. This is what happens when someone forgets the rules."
They nod in perfect unison, but not one of them speaks.
"The rest of you are dismissed. Get back to your posts."
They disperse quickly, boots striking marble in synchronized retreat as they file out of the corridor. Within thirty seconds, the hallway is empty except for Marco still working on securing Romeo's tourniquet properly, and Alessia still standing frozen against the wall with her hand pressed to her mouth.
