Page 77 of The Bonventi War
"You know what hurts the most?" she asks her father quietly. "I still came back to help you. Despite everything. Despite how you've never been there for me, never showed me love—nothing. I was still willing to sacrifice for you."
Frank's eyes fill with tears. "I'm sorry?—"
"Save it," she cuts him off. "I don't care anymore. I'm not the one who will be sacrificed now."
She turns to me, and in her eyes, I see a decision has been made.
I holster my gun because a bullet would be too easy, too quick for this asshole.
She turns around and walks up the stairs.
Frank's eyes move between me and the stairway where Raven just disappeared. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for water.
"Please," he manages to choke out. "I can make this right."
I laugh. "Make this right?" I step closer, my face inches from his. "You think there's any coming back from this? From doing what you did to her?"
I grip the handle of the pick. Frank's eyes widen as he realizes what's about to happen.
"Wait—"
I yank it out of his hand, and he screams. Blood spurts from the wound, splashing onto my shirt, the warm liquid staining it red. Frank cradles his injured hand to his chest, crimson flowing between his fingers.
"Gio, listen?—"
"No more talking." The rage that's been building inside me since I saw Raven beaten and stuffed into that trunk finally breaks free. "No more chances."
I drive the metal pick into his chest. The resistance of skin, muscle, and bone gives way beneath the force of my thrust. Frank gasps, his eyes bulging in shock. I rip the tool free and drive it in again, the satisfying crunch of breaking sternum vibrating through my grip.
Blood bubbles from his mouth as he tries to speak, but only a wet gurgle comes out. His hands weakly paw at my arms, leaving smears of red that match the growing stain on his shirt.
"This is for every bruise on her face," I growl, stabbing him again, deeper this time. "For every moment she spent in that trunk, terrified."
Frank's legs buckle, but I hold him upright, pinning him against the wall. His breathing is ragged now, his face ghostly white as the blood drains from it. But he's still conscious, still feeling every bit of this punishment.
"The last thing you'll see is the man who loves your daughter more than you ever did."
I tighten my grip on the pick as his gaze meets mine, filled with terror and the understanding that death has arrived.
It sickens me that even now, I see no remorse there, only fear for himself.
Without hesitation, I drive the pick directly into his left eye. There's no resistance this time. It slides into his socket as easily as a hot knife cuts through butter. Frank's body instantly goes limp, and death pulls all the air from his lungs. I let go of him, and like a puppet with cut strings, he slides down the wall and crumples on the floor.
I step back, breathing heavily, watching the blood pool around his body. The metal pick protrudes from his eye socket, a grotesque flag planted in conquered territory. His remaining eye stares vacantly at the ceiling, forever frozen in that last moment of terror.
My hands are coated in blood, warm and sticky as it begins to dry. As I look at his lifeless body, it all feels so different than usual. That’s because it was.
This wasn't business. This was personal. For Raven.
No remorse surfaces, only the certainty that this man deserved exactly what he got. In my world, there are lines you don't cross. Betraying family is the worst sin of all.
I pull out my phone and dial Jay.
"I need another cleanup," I say firmly. "Gallery basement."
"On it, boss," he replies without question.
"Also, find out what we got on Mikhail Petrov and Viktor Sokolov," I say and hang up.
