Page 214 of The One
Antonio’s jaw clenches. I lean in slightly, pressing further.
His breathing is heavier now. He’s trying to keep his anger at bay, but I can see it, the wheels turning, his mind racing for a way out.
There isn’t one.
I lean in enough that he can see the amusement glinting in my eyes.
“Tell me, how does it feel to have gambled everything and lost?”
Antonio’s face tightens, but his smirk reappears.
“Lost?” He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
I arch a brow, goading him further. I want the names of his accomplices.
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
He leans back in the chair as much as the restraints allow, his bruised face twisting into something almost smug.
“You think this ends with me?” His voice is mocking, laced with amusement. “You think you kill me and that’s it? You think you’ll win?
“I had contingency plans in motion long before you realized what I was doing. You might have me in this chair, but don’t kid yourself. You’re still playing my game.”
I study him silently, letting the words settle. Letting him believe for a moment that they hold weight.
Then I chuckle, low and slow. “Your game?”
I shake my head. “Antonio, you were never the mastermind you thought you were. You are so naïve, and your candle is about to be snuffed out.”
His eyes darken, the first real flicker of uncertainty appearing.
I take a step closer, rolling up my sleeve. “You know, up until today, I refused to get a tattoo.”
Antonio’s brows pull together, confused by the sudden shift in conversation.
“Not even our family crest, that mandatory mark of loyalty,” I continue, tapping the ink on his chest. “The same one you carry for the De Marco family.”
I smirk. “Oh, but we already established your loyalty is flexible.” My gaze drags over him. “Always up for grabs to the highest bidder, huh?”
His mouth twitches, but he says nothing.
I reach behind me, pull my shirt over my head, and rip off the bandage on my chest, revealing the ink beneath, the date of today, etched into my skin.
Antonio’s eyes narrow. “Cute. Were you afraid of needles before?” His tone is mocking.
I smirk. “Not needles. Tiny droplets of blood. Pathetic, right?”
Antonio smirks, but there’s something forced about it.
“You said it, not me.”
I drag a knife from my belt, twirling it idly between my fingers.
“Funny thing, fear. It holds you back, keeps you caged. But once you find the courage to face it, to embrace it?” I tap the blade against my palm, leveling him with a stare. “It becomes something else entirely. It becomes your power.”
Antonio tenses as I move, but he masks it well.
“I’m surprised your network of spies never picked it up,” I say, watching him closely. “For the longest time, I couldn’t stand small cuts. Freaked me out, some trigger from my childhood. I won’t bore you with the details. But my brother was always there to handle it. Anytime it happened, he’d take care of it.”
