Page 140 of Beneath the Shadows

I can barely see through the red haze clouding my vision. Without thinking, I yank the knife from his shoulder and slam it into his leg, twisting it viciously. His scream tears through the air, raw and ragged.

“You sick, twisted fuck,” I snarl. “You have no right to even speak her name.”

Draco’s face contorts with pain, but that sneer still clings to his lips. I tighten my grip on the knife. “You think your poison can change who she is? You’ll never touch what’s good in her. That’s something you’ll never understand.”

I rip the knife out, blood spilling onto the cold stone floor. Draco barely has time to gasp before I grab his hand, yanking it forward and forcing his trembling fingers to splay out on the ground.

"Antonio should be here for this," I snarl, pinning his hand under my boot. "He should be the one to tear you apart for what you did to his wife and child, but since he can’t, I’ll make sure you suffer for both of them."

Draco’s sneer falters as I raise the knife again and slam the blade down into his hand, severing two fingers.

"Let’s see how much leverage you have without these." I kick the severed digits aside, watching them roll into the growing pool of blood at his feet.

Without hesitation, I drive the blade deep into his chest, grinding it against the bone. Draco’s body convulses, agony contorting his features. His breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps. I twist the blade harder until it catches against bone. “You’re nothing but a monster," I growl through clenched teeth. "And monsters don’t deserve to live."

The blade sticks, lodged against his ribs. I pull hard, feeling the sickening crack of bone breaking beneath the pressure. Draco lets out a choked scream, his body jerking violently as I wrench the blade free. The wet, sickening sound of metal leaving flesh fills the space. I sit back on my heels and watch the blood flow faster now soaking through his clothes.

The crimson liquid puddles at his feet, a macabre painting of Draco’s undoing. His body trembles as his life slowly slips away. His unfocused gaze meets mine and for a moment I see fear creeping in. The realization that death is not far off.

Around us, the shadows close in as if even the darkness itself knows death is near.

I lean in, my voice barely above a whisper. “The pit waits for you, Draco. There’s no escaping it. You’ll fall, just like the rest of us. But you’ll fall alone.”

He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a gurgle of blood. I grab him by the hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat. “This is for Alessia,” I whisper, before dragging the blade across his neck in one swift, brutal motion.

Blood gushes from the wound. Draco’s breaths come in ragged gasps

And I know he knows.

In those final moments I see it. The desperate need. The fear.

He’s lost. Not just his life—everything. Alessia, the power he craved, even his own legacy.

With my grip steady on the knife, I watch him die.

There’s no satisfaction in it. Only cold, final justice.

Antonio

The ambulance ride is a blur of flashing red lights and wailing sirens. Blood drips into my eye from the gash above my brow, and my ribs scream every time the ambulance hits a bump, causing the entire compartment to lurch, but I don’t care.

I deserve this agony for letting it happen to her. If she’s broken, then I should be, too.

My beautiful wife, the woman I swore to protect, lies strapped to a gurney. I grip her hand like a lifeline, as if my touch alone is keeping her tethered to this world. I whisper her name, begging her to stay with me.

The paramedics work around me, their movements quick and mechanical as they fight to stabilize her. One threads a needle into her arm with practiced precision, hooking her up to an IV while the other attaches sensors to her chest. The steady beeping of the heart monitor fills the cramped space, but it does nothing to calm my terror.

An oxygen mask is placed over her mouth and nose. I watch in helpless agony as they adjust the flow. Her breaths are so shallow, I fear any one might be her last.

"Sir, you're in the way," one paramedic says, his tone firm. "You need to let go of her hand. We need the space."

Let go? The thought is absurd. Her hand is the only thing anchoring me to reality, the only proof that she’s still alive. If I release her, she’ll slip away. I can’t let that happen.

“No.”

"Sir—"

"Work around me," I snap.

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