Page 216 of The One
And with one final slice, I drag the blade across his throat.
His eyes widen, and his mouth opens in a silent gasp.
This was for you, Tiero, and all the lives he destroyed.
Antonio gurgles, hands twitching against the ropes. The blood flows fast now, pooling beneath him.
He opens his mouth, forcing out garbled sounds. I lean in closer to hear better. It’s weak, but unfortunately, I understand.
“Y-you w-will nevver win. Y-you h-haven’t s-seen th-the last of th-the Molinaros.”
What?
No!
Of course the fucking traitor used his last breath to taunt me.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response or let him see me rattled. I stare at him, emotionless, watching the light fade from his eyes.
When he slumps in the chair, I exhale slowly. I wipe the blade clean, ignoring the horrifying questions burning in my brain, focusing only on the one thing that matters right now.
Antonio Accardi is dead.
Chapter Eighty
Mariella
The hours pass, and I don’t dare leave his office. What awaits me beyond this room? Guards? Freedom? Death?
My future has never been more uncertain. But none of it matters.
Mateo is hurting because of me. Because of my family.
The closest person he had in his life is dead at my father’s hands. He will never forgive that.
This is most likely my last night in this house and on this earth.
I glance around. The space is so masculine, so Mateo. My gaze snags on his large sitting corner by the window, the leather sofa where we cuddled just the other day.
My stomach twists. How will I go on withouthim?
Unless he shows mercy, I won’t have to.
A flash of blue catches my eye. His sweatshirt. It’s crumpled over a cushion, abandoned, like me. He wore it last night under the oak tree while I played for him, his head tilted back, eyes closed, lost in the music.
My hands tremble as I pick it up. I press it to my nose, breathing in his scent. Fabric softener, aftershave,him.A comfort I no longer deserve.
Still, I slip it on, the sleeves swallowing my shaking fingers. Then I curl onto the sofa, knees to my chest, and inhale deeply.
Pretend.
Pretend he’s beside me. Pretend my head is on his chest, his heartbeat steady under my palm.
Tears burn the back of my eyes, but I blink them away. Crying won’t change anything.
I don’t know if Mateo left the house or is brooding in another room. Either way, he wants space from me. That much is clear.
He will never forgive my family. Never forgive me for my father’s betrayal.
