Page 29 of Until the Ink runs Crimson

"Ethan, clean this shit up." My voice is rough and loud, still echoing with fury as I stare at Riven’s body. I know he’s out there, just beyond the door, waiting for the cue.

It creaks open. Ethan steps in, slow and cautious.

“Yeah… boss.”

His response is quiet, but I catch the edge in his tone. I can see the question in his eyes—what kind of chaos did Riven drag us into? Hell, I’m asking myself the same damn thing.

XXX

I stand in the kitchen, scrubbing the blood off my hands under icy water. The water runs dark red, swirling down the sink, turning pink before finally running clear. My knuckles are torn open, skin cracked and raw, the ache dull beneath the storm in my chest.

I glance up at the faucet and catch a warped reflection—bruised knuckles, bloodshot eyes, hollow cheeks.

A stranger.

No, worse—a man I promised myself I’d never become. Don Corrado’s son.

His shadow.

I hear his voice again in my head—rough, cold, echoing from years past: "One day, you’ll understand, son."

I remember the first time he took me to an interrogation, when I was only five. He stood tall in that blood-soaked room, executioner and judge, as he shot two men without blinking. Their bodies dropped like discarded cloth. I remember my small hand trembling in his grip, the metallic scent of blood, the way his coat brushed my shoulder as he turned to me and said, "Power comes with pain. Mercy is weakness."

And now, looking at myself, I realize he was right about one thing—I do understand now. I just hate that I do.

Footsteps shuffle behind me—soft, hesitant.

Calista stands in the doorway. Barefoot. Her eyes scanning me, quietly.

"You okay?" she asks.

I stay quiet and turn to leave, walking past her like a shell of myself, numb and distant.

But she steps in front of me, one hand pressing gently to my chest. Her warmth bleeds through the storm inside me, grounding me in place.

I stop.

She moves closer, wrapping her arms around me. Slowly. Carefully. Like she’s not sure if I’ll break or lash out. I stay still, letting her hold me.

I return the embrace. It's hesitant at first—my arms circling her stiffly, like I'm not sure how to hold something so soft in a world this brutal. But then I give in, just a little. My fingers press into the curve of her back. For a few fleeting seconds, it almost feels right. Human. Real. And I hate that I need it as much as I do. Her scent—clean, soft, familiar—fills the space between us. I bury my face in her hair and they smell amazing – a mix of vanilla and jasmine. And for a second, it feels so good. It feels so human.

"It’s okay," she whispers, voice barely audible.

And I want to believe her. I want to stay in that embrace just a little longer. But I can’t.

The hug lasts longer than I expected. Her fingers press gently at the base of my spine, her body molded to mine like a fragile shield, and I feel myself absorbing her warmth like a lifeline I didn’t realize I was reaching for. I breathe her in—soft, warm, grounding—and for a few rare seconds, it overshadows everything else. The rage. The grief. The guilt. My arms tighten around her, just slightly, before the walls start rising again, and I force myself to let go.

When I look into her eyes, there's sympathy there. Soft, raw, piercing through the cracks I’ve tried to keep sealed. I hate it. I hate that she sees me like this—fractured. Weak. Vulnerable.

"I need to be alone," I murmur, the words ragged in my throat.

She nods, blinking away the tears in her eyes.

I retreat to my room, close the door behind me with more force than I intended.

Leaving her in the kitchen. And leaving myself behind in the reflection.

Chapter 13 – Calista

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