Page 79 of Beneath the Shadows

The end is near, but he’s too blind to see it.

His gaze sweeps over the room, lingering on the instruments of cruelty as if planning where to start his sadistic games. His twisted delight is palpable.

Closing the door behind us, I move to the far corner of the room. “There’s something inside the cage I think you’ll find particularly useful. A new tool to ensure Lena behaves exactly how you want.” I keep my tone calm, almost indifferent.

Valentino’s eyes light up with grotesque interest, his greed overshadowing any suspicion. His sickness pulls him forward like a moth to a flame. “What is it? Show me,” he demands, his hands twitching with anticipation.

“See for yourself,” I say, gesturing to the small compartment inside the cage. “It’s custom-made. You’ve never seen anything like it.”

Without hesitation, Valentino ducks his head and steps inside, his fingers running over the cold metal bars. His breath quickens as he fumbles with the latch. “Where is it?” he asks, impatience creeping into his voice.

I step closer, hand hovering over the door. “Just a little further inside. You’re almost there.”

He leans in, still oblivious to the danger, when suddenly, he pauses, blinking rapidly as his body gives the first signs of rebellion. A faint sheen of sweat forms on his brow, and he runs his hand over his mouth, as if trying to dismiss the growing discomfort. He feels it, even if he doesn’t yet understand.

With a swift, brutal motion, I slam the door shut. The iron bars clang together, a finality that reverberates through the room. Before he can react, I lock the cage, the bolt sliding into place with a sharp, metallic snap.

Valentino spins around, confusion in his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice is strained, the first hints of weakness creeping into his words.

I step back, my face unreadable, watching him with cold detachment. “Did you really think you could go on like this forever?”

He grips the bars, his knuckles white as panic flashes across his face. There it is—fear. “This isn’t funny, Antonio. Let me out.”

But I remain still. Valentino’s breath quickens, his chest heaving as the subtle signs of the poison intensify. Beads of sweat begin to drip down his temples, and his posture begins to falter.

“What’s happening?” he gasps, his voice trembling. His hand moves to his chest, rubbing at it as though trying to ease the growing discomfort there. “I... I don’t feel right.”

I watch him closely, knowing the cyanide is beginning to take hold. His skin pales, the sheen of sweat intensifying, and his fingers tremble as he grips the bars for support.

His body knows.

The realization dawns on him slowly as his breath hitches. Horror creeps into his features. “What have you done?”

“It’s poison,” I say, my voice cold and precise. “It’s already making its way through your body.”

“You poisoned me?” he whispers, disbelief and terror warring for control.

“I did,” I reply, each word deliberate, savoring his slow unraveling.

Valentino stumbles, his legs unsteady as his hands slip from the bars. He presses his back against the cage for support, his skin turning a sickly gray. Sweat pours down his face, his breathing turning shallow and rapid.

Panic is setting in.

“Antonio, please,” he begs, his voice cracking. “We’re family. I’ll give you anything—everything. Just stop this. Please.”

I step forward, unfazed. “You think this is about money or power?” I scoff. “I couldn’t care less about either. You’ve taken things far more important than that, Vigo.”

He gasps for air, the words tumbling out desperately. “You can have her back. Alessia... she’s yours. I’ll give her to you—just let me live.”

Valentino’s eyes dart wildly, searching my face for any sign of mercy, but there is none. He’s not going to escape this.

I’m unmoved by his pleas. “Did Uncle Gio beg for help when you killed him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He wipes the sweat trickling down his brow, his hand trembling. But his control is slipping. “My father had a heart attack. I didn’t lay a finger on him.”

“Semantics,” I reply, my voice icy. “You may not have killed him with your own two hands, but you could’ve tried to help him. Instead, you watched him die.”

“I was in shock. Uncle Marco told you?—”

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