Page 3 of Goldsin

“Nothing you don’t deserve.”

He falls to his knees in front of me. His glass slips from his hand and shatters on the floor.

It was too easy to get him here, pleading at my feet.

“Please,” he chokes out. “Help me.”

I look down at him in disgust. How many times did my mom repeat those two words to him? How many times did he laugh in her face before making her scream?

“But Vincent, I thought powerful men like you didn’t need help from anyone.”

He coughs, his body convulsing violently. Terror widens his eyes.

“Was this how you imagined it, Vincent?” I step around him, sneering. “Begging for your pathetic life on the floor of a hotel room.”

How many times did my mom beg? How many people heard her before someone stepped forward?

Did anyone even step forward, or did they all just watch in amusement?

His eyes plead with me, beg me for mercy, as I revel in it.

The once powerful Vincent DeMarco, who stood tall within the Inferno Consortium, is now nothing more than a groveling, dying mess at my feet.

He doesn’t deserve my pity. He deserves far worse than death for taking part in my mother’s suicide.

“Y-you could’ve killed me ... any other way,” he chokes out between gasps for air. “And you chose the weakest way?”

“I didn’t choose the weakest way, Vincent. No—Iwanted you to feel the slow burn of betrayal, just as my mother did when you took part in using her.”

The intensity of my desire for revenge blazes through me.

He violated my mother. He pushed her to kill herself.

“Look at you now,” I spit. “A lifetime of power and wealth, and it all comes down to this. You’re not even worth a bullet or a blade, Vincent. Your death should be as insignificant as your soul.”

He extends his hand toward me, fingers clawing at the air between us. Stepping back, I let his hand fall in a thud, not wanting his filth on me.

“Please ...” His voice is barely above a whisper.

I look down at him, his attempts to survive weakening with each fleeting second. “Save your breath,” I reply coldly as I lean closer. “You’re not worth the air you’re choking on.”

Blood splatters out of his mouth, and he chokes on it before his body convulses one final time.

He lies there dead, and I stand over him, ticking his name off my list.

I brush my hands over my silver gown, quickly checking he hasn’t ruined what I’m supposed to wear for tonight’s fundraiser.

With one final glance at the lifeless body on the floor, I turn and leave.

The sound of my high heels on the marble vanishes beneath the intensifying chatter coming from behind the double doors. The corridor is covered in shadows, the lack of light a jarring contrast to the fundraiser, which is bright with candles and chandeliers.

The whole room is cast in a warm glow as tailored suits and couture dresses mingle around. Laughter and the soft notes of music fill the ballroom.

A hint of expensive perfume overpowers the delicious scent of finger food being served by waiters. Slender flutes of sparkling champagne accompany the shrimp in phyllo pastry cups.

Countless eyes follow my every move as I make my way across the hall, judging my hairstyle or praising the way the silver complements my skin tone.

I already feel like I’m drowning in a pool full of people hungry for the one thing they don’t own: a soul.

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