Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
This man has been through war.
“Kneel, Scarlett,” my uncle calls out from behind him. “Show some fucking respect.”
I shift my gaze from that scar on his neck back up to his eyes. Someone chuckles at my uncle’s command.
The man’s gaze skims my face, then down. I follow it, see how the blood had splattered over the torn bodice of my dress, too. I don’t know why I’m surprised.
I reach to put my hand over it and cover myself.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks in the same quiet tone he used to tell his soldier to check on Noah.
My gaze snaps back up to his. I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before in my life. I study him, shift my gaze to the other one who’s watching me, hands still in his pockets, but nothing. I shake my head.
“Grigori,” he says.
Grigori?
That isn’t right. They’re dead. The whole family massacred.
I swallow, feeling the blood drain from my face. Because I know what we did to him. To them.
He smiles at that like he sees inside my head. Sees what I’m thinking.
“Say my name,” he commands.
Grigori. That’s their family name. My brothers attacked them after turning on my father.
“Say it.”
I swallow, lick my lips.
He waits patiently. But if he’s alive, he’s had time to learn patience. It’s been ten years.
Grigori. I do the math. He must be in his late twenties. I glance to the other one. See the resemblance. He’s younger though.
“Grigori,” I try out the name. “Cristiano Grigori.”
I don’t know how he hears me. My voice is barely above a whisper, but he gives the faintest smile and a slight bow of his head.
“Scarlett De La Cruz.” His gaze shifts down to the swell of my breasts above the ruined gown. “All grown up. Shame you have to die.”
My mouth goes dry. I’m speechless as he closes his hand over my shoulder, his grip slightly less painful than it was earlier as he forces me to my knees.
He leans down, brings his mouth to my ear.
I’m caught off guard by the tickle of the scruff on his jaw.
“Don’t look,” he warns, and I know what’s coming. I know I’ll have to look.
He walks away from me. I watch him from my place on the hard ground. He stands before my brothers as my uncle gives the order for Angel to be made to kneel beside Diego.
I can see their faces from here. See how when Cristiano crouches down in front of Diego, a dark patch blooms on the insides of Diego’s trousers. My brother pisses himself. My all powerful, ruthless brother pisses himself.
I would laugh but it would be insane when we’re all about to die.
Cristiano doesn’t miss the expanding dark spot.
In my periphery I see Noah just starting to move. Will they kill him too? He’s a kid.
“Where is Rinaldi?” Cristiano asks.
“How the fuck should I know? That mother fucker set us up. He’s the one who orchestrated—”
“That’s not what I asked you, is it? Do you know where he is?”
“Fuck no, you think I’d take the fall—”
“Then you’re of no use to me,” Cristiano says and straightens. He steps back and gives a nod. Just a nod. And my uncle points the gun between Diego’s eyes and pulls the trigger. It’s so fast, no hesitation, no time for Diego to beg. No time for me to even process, though I knew it was coming.
The sound reverberates off the walls. Why don’t they use a silencer? Blood and pieces of my brother’s brains splatter across the wall, and my face.
I wince, wipe it away, but I don’t scream. And I don’t look away. I watch instead. Watch Diego as his body twitches, still kneeling as if not realizing he’s dead, before finally dropping to the floor with a thud.
I don’t feel a thing. Not an ounce of emotion.
We’re all monsters, the De La Cruz family.
When I shift my gaze from my dead brother, I find Cristiano watching me, that curious expression on his face again.
Angel is looking at Diego motionless on the floor, half of Diego’s head missing. He’s next. He knows it. I know it. And he begins to whimper as Cristiano takes hold of his hair and forces him to look him in the eyes, while my uncle prepares the next shot.
“Where is he?” Cristiano asks. Same question.
Angel drags his gaze from Diego. He’s shaking. My two brothers, both cowards when they’re outgunned and outmanned.
I only wish it lasted longer. They deserve to suffer. Doesn’t he know that? Doesn’t he want that?
“Where. Is. Rinaldi?” Cristiano asks again. It’ll be the last time he asks. I know it.
Angel glances sideways to Diego momentarily before shifting his gaze back to Cristiano, then to my uncle. He’s trembling now. He used to laugh at me when I trembled.