Page 82 of Murder & Mayhem

“No. It’s nothing like that. I just…please, Cain.”

There’s another drawn-out painful silence. My heart is pounding so fast that, for a moment, all I can hear is the roaring in my ears. What if he says no? I can’t sit back tomorrow and let either of them die, but am I willing to betray Cain’s trust and warn them? Fuck, I have no idea how I’ll navigate that situation. I do know for sure that I can’t knowingly let Dante or Enzo walk into that church tomorrow if they’re going to die.

The sound of a loud smack reverberates down the line, making me jump. “Fine,” he finally spits out in a furious tone.

The heavy boulder sitting on my chest lifts, and I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. “Thank you,” I murmur on a breath of relief.

“Don’t thank me, Red. They might not die tomorrow, but I want a fucking explanation when this is over. And if I don’t like it, they’ll meet their end a different way.”

That doesn’t settle any of the unease squirming in my stomach, but he hangs up before I can argue. Not that I know what to say. There’s a better chance that the gates to hell will open than there is of Cain accepting the fact that I’ve developed some sort of feelings for Dante and Enzo, and that’s why he can’t exact the vengeance he so rightfully deserves. Except, are Dante and Enzo really the ones that need to pay for what happened to Evie? They couldn’t have been more than teenagers themselves. It’s not fair that Enzo should be punished for his father’s crimes, so why is it justifiable that they both pay for Giovanni’s?

Tossing the cell onto the bed, I fall back against the bed covers and stare up at the ceiling. That’s an argument for another day. One I don’t look forward to. For now, I just have to hope all five of us can make it through tomorrow unscathed—and ideally, I’ll come out of it an unmarried woman.

***

It’s late, and the hallway is dark when I tiptoe out of my room. I’ve been tossing and turning for hours now, but my stomach is a riot of nerves, and my brain won’t stop coming up with new and inventive outcomes for tomorrow—most of which are less than favorable.

With only socks on, I pad silently down the stairs and into the kitchen. Retrieving a glass from the cabinet, I fill it with water and, standing at the sink, I stare out of the large floor-to-ceiling windows while I sip from the glass. It’s a full moon tonight, and its light reflects off the ocean, allowing me to glimpse the white foam of the waves as they flow up the beach.

Despite its tranquility, it does nothing to calm the chaotic storm brewing within me. My talk with Cain earlier only adds to my worry. After all of this is over, he’s going to have questions. Questions that I need to answer. Except, I don’t have any answers. Not any that make any sense, at least. Of course, that’s assuming we all make it out of tomorrow alive. We have the element of surprise on our side, so I’m quietly hopeful things will go our way, but I’ve seen plans unravel in the blink of an eye plenty of times. I’m not naive enough to believe it will be as easy as we think it will be.

Sighing, I finish off the glass of water and rinse it in the sink before leaving it in the drying rack. I need to at least try and get some sleep for tomorrow, otherwise, I’ll be no good to anyone. As I step into the hall, I notice a faint light coming from the other side of the house. Huh, I hadn’t realized anyone else was up. Instead of continuing up the stairs like I probably should, I pivot and quietly move closer to the light source.

The warm hue of a lamp shines out from under the door to Dante’s office and along one side, and as I get closer, I hear the low rumble of his voice. Only when I’m leaning against the door frame, right outside the office, can I make out what he’s saying.

“Can confirm that it’s the Reaper Rejects.”

My whole body tenses, and I strain harder, desperate to hear what he’s saying.

“There have been no other attacks since then.”

Fuck, they must have figured out Cain and Oliver are behind the explosions. But how? I shake my head. The how doesn’t matter.

“No.” He grits out the word, clearly unhappy with whoever he’s talking to and their response. “I’m on it, Father. They won’t be a problem again.”

Blood rushes in my ears, preventing me from hearing anything else. Not that I need to. I’ve heard enough. Moving slowly, I cautiously step away from the door and climb the stairs to my room. Only when the door shuts behind me and I sag against it do I let out the breath I was holding.

I rush across the room to where I hid my burner phone and dig it out, needing to ring Cain. However, when I have the phone in my hand, I pause. Do I need to tell him? It will incite an all-out riot if I do, and with the wedding tomorrow, nothing is going to happen between now and then. If I tell him, Cain might not spare Dante’s and Enzo’s lives, and even though Dante is sitting downstairs right this second planning the deaths of the two men I love, I know he’s only following orders. Doing what is required of him; what his father wants.

Slowly, I lower my hand before dropping the phone onto the duvet. No, I don’t need to tell them anything. By the time the sun sets tomorrow, the Antonellis will no longer exist. They’ll have been obliterated from the face of the earth, and none of this will matter.

I’m lying awake, still wide awake and wired enough that you’d think I drank a gallon of coffee before bed, when I hear the soft thud of Dante’s shoes on the carpet as he climbs the stairs. I stare at the bedroom door, listening to every small sound beyond it. His shadow darkens the gap at the bottom, and I swear I can practically sense him hovering there just beyond the wooden door. After a moment, he moves away, and I listen for the soft click of his door closing before I finally relax.

Tomorrow. It will all be over tomorrow. Just a few more hours to go.

Epilogue

I stare at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, trying to match the girl in front of me with the one I used to know. So much has changed in the last few months, even more in the last few weeks. The most striking change of all is staring back at me. She looks exactly like me, with her brilliant blue eyes, pale skin, and vibrant red hair while also looking like the antithesis of who I am. I don’t wear white. Murderers don’t wear white. Women who roam around in the bowels of hell, fighting for equal footing with the men of this town, don’t wear white. Or get married in churches. We hide in the dark. We stalk in the shadows and kill without guilt or remorse.

A knock on the door draws me out of my thoughts. “Five minutes,” the wedding coordinator calls out. Stepping away from the mirror, I hitch my dress up, checking that my thigh sheath and holster are securely in place. A small revolver is attached to my left thigh, and on my right is one of my blades. I carefully drop the dress back over them, ensuring they’re unidentifiable through the sheer fabric before fingering the hilt of the blade tucked into the side of my bodice. This one is much more easily accessible, should I need it. But if all goes to plan, I shouldn’t. My only job is to get out. To evade Dante and Enzo when shit kicks off and get out before the whole building is leveled.

There’s another knock on the door. “One minute.”

Fuck me. Isn’t the wedding day meant to be all about the bride? The damn guests will wait as long as it takes until I’m ready. Sighing, I slot the earpiece in my ear. “You there?”

“We’re here, Trouble,” Oliver confirms.

“Everyone’s in position.” Cain’s gruff voice, all business-like, helps settle the nerves that have taken flight in my stomach.

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