Page 68 of Reaper & Ruin
The eyes of a man who did anything to get what he wanted.
My fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening as I leaned forward. Taking a moment to think through my decision before I tucked the matches and lighter fluid into my waistband, the small items pressed cold against my skin.
I was going to kill my father. The minute we got away from Danika. Regardless of if one of us killed her, or if she chose to let us go.
Either way, my father was going to die today. I had to do it.
I had to do what I should have done years ago.
Iwas going to kill him. The consequences could come. I would handle them.
The bell above the gas station’s door jangled again as I stepped outside a moment later. The sky had lightened considerably, a soft gradient of orange and pink spreading across the horizon. The air was cool but carried a faint promise of the day’s heat. In my head, all I could hear was my girl’s voice,complaining about her lack of tan or how she couldn’t wrap herself in a blanket.
All I heard was her telling me to stop being a bitch and come home.
To fight off the bad guys and come back to her.
Wherever Danika was taking us, whatever twisted game she thought she was playing—I’d find a way out of it. For Heather. For Atlas. For myself.
And when this was done?
Giorgio De Luca would regret ever thinking he could get rid of me.
He would regret the day he first handed me a gun and ordered me to become a monster.
Chapter Twenty Two, War
The front doors of the De Luca mansion groaned as I shoved them open, their weight resisting me like they could sense I didn’t belong here anymore. My footsteps echoed through the grand marble foyer, the sound hollow in the suffocating silence of the house.
It was early—so early that the light filtering through the high windows was gray and weak, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. But I wasn’t here to exchange pleasantries. I wasn’t here to wait for a convenient time.
I was here for Gio.
The last hour had been chaos. Heather had called me, her voice shaking, telling me that Gio had been taken.
This house was the first place I thought to check for information on where he might have wound up, and I had no objections to ruffling a few feathers to get what I wanted.
Still, the moment I stepped into the dining room, my stomach twisted and all thoughts of causing a scene vanished.
My parents were there.
My mama sat at one end of the long table, pouring tea into a delicate cup. She was dressed impeccably, her silk blouse crisp and perfectly pressed, her pearl necklace resting neatly against her collarbone. But she wasn’t herself. Her movements were shaky, her shoulders stiff, and there was a bruise blooming across her left cheek, dark and ugly against her tanned skin. A faint smear of blood clung to the corner of her mouth, like she hadn’t had the time—or the energy—to wipe it all away.
Tear stains clung to her lashes, faint but unmistakable.
Across from her sat my father, calm as ever, a newspaper folded neatly in his hands. He didn’t look up when I entered.
“What the fuck happened to your face?” I asked, stopping just inside the room, my voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.
My mama’s head jerked up, startled, her bright green eyes going wide for a moment before she schooled her expression into something painfully forced. “Emilio,” she said lightly, her voice faltering just slightly. “You’re here so early. You should have called first. I didn’t prepare enough breakfast—you’ll have to wait for something.”
She was trying to sound cheerful, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. But I wasn’t an idiot.
“Mama,” I said, my eyes flicking back to her cheek, to the bruise and the blood. My fists clenched, temper flared. “What the fuck happened?”
She shook her head, eyes wide. “It’s fine, Emi.” Before she could finish, my father laughed.
It was a low, cruel sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He folded his newspaper with slow precision, setting it down on the table before turning his dark, cold eyes on me.
