Page 64 of Power
And Enzo is standing right beside her, a gun pressed against her ribs.
His eyes meet mine, and he grins. "Took you long enough."
My hands tighten around my gun.
I came here to end this. And I will.
Chapter 20
Vittoria
The world tilts as I feel my body being dropped to the ground. I think Enzo was holding me up before but I’m not sure. I can barely keep my eyes open. My limbs feel dead weight and my thoughts sluggish. Enzo undoubtedly drugged me to keep me weak. To keep me from fighting back.
Somewhere beyond this hazy and suffocating darkness, I hear it—shouting, then the crash of something breaking. A struggle. My pulse picks up, but my body doesn’t respond the way I want it to. I try to move, try to push myself up, but it’s like I’m trapped in my own skin, drowning in exhaustion.
Then I hear his voice. Dario.
And I force myself to stay awake.
Through the haze, I watch them—Dario and Enzo, their bodies colliding in a vicious, unrelenting fight. Their knives flash, catching what little light there is and slicing through the air as they twist, shove, and tear at each other.
Dario is lethal, controlled, every move is premeditated. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t stumble. Even though Enzo is a bit bigger in size, Dario is faster and his reflexes are razor-sharp as though his blade is an extension of his own will.
Enzo slashes with his knife, but Dario steps aside, barely missing the blade as it cuts through the space where he stood. Dario retaliates with his own knife, sinking deep into Enzo’s side.
A gasp. A gurgle.
Blood drips onto the floor. Enzo staggers, but he isn’t done. He lunges, and they crash against the wall and grapple for control.
Enzo gets in one last, desperate strike, his knife slicing across Dario’s ribs, but it’s sloppy. Weak.
Dario catches his wrist and slams the blade from his grip before driving his own knife deep into Enzo’s chest.
Enzo chokes, his face twisting in pain and his breaths coming in ragged, broken gasps. His knees buckle as his body sags against Dario, but Dario holds him there, for a while, his grip firm like he isn’t done with him yet.
“For the past,” Dario growls. He yanks the knife out, then drives it back in with a force that, even from where I stand, looks like it’s tearing the man apart.
“For what your father did to me.” He stabs again.
“For stealing my future.” Another.
“For Juilliard.” And another.
“And most importantly—for hurting her.”
Enzo coughs, blood staining his lips. His eyes are dull, but he still musters a weak, bitter smirk. “Maggot,” he croaks. “Join your father in the pits of hell. Say hi to him for me.”
“You’ll be meeting yours—and mine—long before I do. Say hi yourself.”
Dario drives the knife in deeper and twists until Enzo's body jerks, then goes limp.
Then he pulls the blade out and, without an ounce of hesitation, stabs him again. And again. And again.
I should look away. I should be horrified. But I can’t.
I watch as he makes sure there’s nothing left of Enzo Castelli but a lifeless figure slumped on the floor and surrounded by a pool of his own blood.
Then, finally, Dario turns to me.
