Page 93 of Silent Vendetta (Vendetta Duet)

Someone purposefully and maliciously took my father’s life. My father, who had already been robbed of twenty years of his freedom, was executed like an animal, as if his life meant nothing.

And while it might not be fair to feel enraged that the police hadn’t found any leads—not a single clue—that’s exactly what I felt. How dare this person treat my dad like a disposable piece of garbage? How dare someone end his life—just when it was getting started, no less? How dare they put so much forethought into murdering him that they covered their tracks?

“They can’t get away with this,” I said. “Going about their life like ending Dad’s is inconsequential.”

I wouldn’tallowthem to get away with it.

Maybe it was ethically the right thing to do to leave this in the hands of law enforcement and pray that they’d miraculously get a lead. A clue. Something.

Screw that.

“Hunter?” I clenched my hand into a fist. “I want you to find who killed my father.”

Hunter studied my eyes, looking for any sign that I was saying this only out of grief. But he must have realized how deadly serious and unwavering I was, because after a few seconds, he tightened his lips and offered me a silent nod.

I realized at that moment that I no longer loved Hunterdespitethe lengths he went through to protect people; I loved him more because of it.

Maybe it was a twisted love, but Hunter would do anything for me—protect, lie, even end someone’s life.

Hunter would find the person responsible.

And he would kill them, just because I asked him to.

CHAPTER40

Luna

Istood on the edge of Lake Michigan at the back of Hunter’s mansion, the vast, tranquil body of water before me glowing in the colors of the sunset. Hues of pink, lavender, and soft peach stretched across the heavens, the lake’s surface sparkling in the fading light, a mirror to the sky above, the gentle lapping of the waves at the shore keeping rhythm with my heart.

The beauty of the sunset was a bittersweet reminder of the man who was no longer here to see it.

But as my tears spilled onto my cheeks, a strong arm wound around my waist.

Hunter. He pressed his body against mine, a living, breathing anchor in my ocean of grief. He was my beacon of hope in the hurricane that had consumed my life, my lighthouse guiding me through the dark waters of my despair.

“Hunter,” I whispered, finding solace in the sound of his name. He squeezed me tighter in response, his silent promise of unwavering support.

“I’m here.” His warm breath ruffled my hair. His voice was firm, and resolute, a testament to the strength of his love for me. A reminder that although I had lost much, I hadn’t lost everything. I had him.

And for that, I was grateful.

I met his steady gaze—a moment of quiet understanding, a promise of support and shared sorrow.

I leaned into him, resting my ear against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm.

The sun finally sank beneath the horizon, the last remnants of its glow fading into the darkening night. But I knew that the sun would rise again. And with Hunter by my side, I was ready to face whatever the new day would bring. Yes, beauty often masks horror, but love, I realized, heals it.

“I would do anything to end your pain,” Hunter said.

He would—more than anyone would do for another soul.

Without hesitating, I said, “I know. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

We stood silently for a few more minutes, listening to the sounds of the water, before I angled my face so I could stare into his eyes, which were as blue as the lake.

“I want to be with you.”

His eyebrows fell, and the time that stretched on filled me with dread. I didn’t like the way he looked down, nor the heartbreak in his voice when he next spoke.

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