Page 92 of Souls and Sorrows

So, I do it now.

His eyes search mine—for what, I’m not exactly sure. But then he nods, seeming to accept the answer.

I leave a few minutes after, heading to my studio across the street. Ronnie sticks to my side like a shadow, then takes up residence at the front door. I make my way to the back, digging into the duffel bag I keep in the changing room.

Warmth radiates down my neck once I’ve stripped off my dress, and for a moment, I think it’s just heat from the air vent spilling out. When I turn my head, checking my surroundings, there’s no one around, so I yank on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt, grab a turning board from one of the lockers, and walk into the main part of the studio again.

The mirrored room feels a bit claustrophobic as I set up in front of one of the portable barres. Or maybe that’s just anxiety clawing its way out of me, trying to warn me against impending trouble.

Inhaling deeply, I start my session, testing out a string of new choreography I’ve spent the last couple of weeks mapping out. My feet fall into each step, and my arms embrace the movements, curling up as I finish on a twirl that feels never-ending while I’m in it.

I kick my leg out, holding the spin for as long as I can without using the board; it dies slowly, gracefully, and as I come to a complete stop, I’m not at all surprised to be met by a pair of vicious, dark eyes.

Mine dart to the front of the building, where Ronnie stands, stretching his arm inside of his peacoat, elbow up in the air.

“You can’t trust him,” Vitus says, and I wonder how he even managed to get in here since the outside handle of the back exit is broken off. “That husband of yours. He’ll toss you to the wolves when your cunt stops satisfying him.”

I exhale, exhaustion overtaking me. “Lots of accusations you’re throwing around today.”

“I’m serious. You don’t think he had some ulterior motive, buying you? Do you know how much money he spent? What was the fucking point of throwing away millions of dollars?”

Millions?Trepidation swarms in my stomach, and I feel a little nauseous. Obviously, I knew the man had money, but I didn’t realize he’d spent so much of it on me.

Taking a step away from him, I keep our eyes locked, waiting for any sudden moves. He slips a foot forward, sliding his hands into his pockets, as if feigning innocence.

“If Cash finds out you’re here, he’ll kill you.”

Vitus tips his head back and laughs. “I’m not afraid of some stuffy lawyer with a giant ego. I’ll put a bullet between his eyes and then fuck you while he bleeds out, just so he knows he didn’t win with me.”

Anger boils in my blood, and I curl my fingers inward. “Touch my husband, andIwill kill you. And I won’t be as nice as I was to your parents.”

Victory flashes in his eyes, and comprehension rings between my ears. He was baiting me, and now that he has a confession, he won’t stop until I’ve paid in some way for their deaths.

When he lunges for me, I take off in a dead sprint, shoving the turning board aside as I run to the changing room. Throwing myself onto my duffel bag, I dig my hands inside as he grabs my ankles, yanking me toward him.

The carpet in this room is unforgiving, grating against my stomach as my shirt rides up. I grunt when he grips my hair, pulling so tight that I’m forced to push up with my hands to avoid him ripping out the strands.

My fingers graze metal in the bag, and I wrap them around the sheath, sliding it off. I shift when Vitus does, gripping my shoulder to roll me over, and when he’s almost got me on my back, I swing my arm underneath his, jabbing quick and hard.

Blood drips down my fingers as the knife lodges into his stomach. His mouth falls open, rage and shock mixing as he looks down, clawing at my hand.

Gritting my teeth, I push deeper, using every ounce of strength I can muster until he’s lost enough that I can push him off me.

He falls to his side, his shoulder slamming into the carpet, and I scramble to my knees, distancing myself from him.

A gurgling sound comes from his throat, and he flops onto his back, bending a knee before sliding the knife out.

I stand up, staring down at the man I once thought I’d marry. The one who preyed on my insecurities and used them to keep me in line while he did whatever he wanted, with whomever he wanted.

Our relationship was never about love or even lust. It was the power dynamic he craved, and I can’t stop the satisfaction pulsing through me at our current predicament.

Now, he has nothing.

And as I stoop down, brushing back the hair from his forehead and giving him a soft smile as I drive the knife back into his abdomen, I’m glad he gets to die, knowing that.

28

Ricci Inc. is gone.

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