His legs are on either side of the bench as well, and he’s pulling Mira back against him, using her as a shield. The stained mosaic window that stretches from floor to ceiling behind them scatters light against the granite crypts. The rain outside is no longer an angry downpour and now falls with a gentle patter against the ornate glass.
“No.” He tightens his grip on the knife, and Mira whimpers. “I think I’d like to keep her here for a while longer.” His voice is eerily calm as he leans his head to the side, studying her face while the knife glints in the light, a sharp and lethal contrast to the skin of Mira’s delicate throat. “It’s beauty like hers that leads so many sheep astray,” he says as if he’s in awe of her, his gaze melting over her features. “Even me.” He inches closer, his cheek against hers, his face painted in ecstasy. It’s fucking creepy, and I can already feel the bones of his skull crack under the pressure and sharp blade of his own damn knife as I drive it through his goddamn face.
“Let her go.” I take a step closer, but he notices and nicks Mira’s skin with the tip of the blade, another drop of red collecting on the sharp steel. Mira pinches her eyes closed, more tears running down her face.
“Take another step, and I’ll make sure it goes deeper this time.” His threat reaches the hairs in the back of my neck, panic gushing down my spine.
“Hurt her again, and I’ll kill you.”
“You think I’m afraid of dying?” He frowns. “When my life on this Earth ends, my eternal life in Heaven begins.”
“You really think your psychotic ass is going to Heaven? There are special places in hell for sick fuckers like you.”
“That’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? Even though I’m the one sitting here with the knife against her throat, one flick of my wrist away from ending her life, you think you control the narrative here.”
“The way I see it, there are two ways this can play out. You let her go, and I’ll decide whether to kill you or have you dumped in some psych jail where you’ll get your ass wrecked within the first three hours. Or you kill her, and I kill you. So, either way, you’re fucked, and that means I am the asshole in control here.”
“No,” he says calmly. “You’re not. You see, this confidence of yours stems from a lie you’ve been told your whole life. A lie you’ve been living.”
“And what lie is that?”
“That you’re the firstborn Del Rossa. The true heir to this empire, when the truth is…you’re not.” A menacing grin curves at the edges of his mouth. “I am.”
“You’re not a Del Rossa,” I snap. “A true Del Rossa doesn’t harm his own, and Mira is one of us.”
His lips curl down as he feigns confusion. “What about Jimmy, then?”
Blood rushes to my chest. “What the fuck do you know about Jimmy?”
“I know that you killed him.”
“You don’t know shit.”
He scoffs. “I know you put a bullet in his head and had Maximo get rid of his body like a slaughtered pig with rotten meat. I’ve also taken it upon myself to inform your uncle of your transgression.” He smiles with vindictive victory. “He should receive the letter any moment now.”
“You motherfucker,” I say between clenched teeth.
“See? I’ve had my eyes on you for a very long time, brother.”
“I’m not your fucking brother!”
“The blood in our veins says otherwise.”
I glance at Mira. Her bottom lip trembles, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her breath comes out in gasps around the dirty cloth. The vein in her slender neck throbs to the erratic beat of her heart, sweat clinging to her brows. She’s so fucking scared, her eyes pleading with me to help her as she tries to push back against Micah’s shoulder, desperate to get away from the edge of the knife.
“Listen, Micah,” I start, my finger settled on the gun’s trigger, “I’m sure you have a lot of shit you want to talk about, and I’d love to listen to your story about how life fingered you in the ass. But I’d prefer doing it over a bottle of bourbon than having to talk to you over a crying woman’s shoulder.”
“I don’t care what you prefer,” he snarls. “Mirabella isn’t here for me to use as collateral. She’s here because she needs to repent.”
“For what?”
“For being the reason men sin. For leading us astray.”
Fuck me. His voice just went from calm to creepy as fuck. “God says if thy right hand causeth thee to stumble, cut it off, and cast it from thee.”
I raise a brow. “What the fuck does she have to do with your right hand?”
“It’s her fault!” he snaps, spit exploding from his lips, and my stomach coils when he presses the knife harder against her throat. “For years, all I wanted was to show you the error of your ways. To save your—”