Page 174 of I'm sorry, Princess
They want to believe they still hold power. Attorney General. Chief of the FBI. Titles that might mean something out there. But here? Here, in New York, with my men in the shadows and my gun pressed against their bones, they are nothing.
We are everything.
The basement hums with silence, broken only by the drip of water somewhere in the corner and the faint crackle of Andres typing behind the glass. My gun feels like an extension of my hand, steady, ready.
John’s voice cuts through the air, slick and taunting. “What is this about, Lorenzo?” His tone almost bored, like he’s the one in control, like he’s not sitting tied to a chair with blood soaking his collar.
Beside him, Thomas glares at me, fury etched into every line of his face. “I won’t give my daughter to you!” he spits, venom thick in his voice.
I don’t even blink. “We’ll talk about that later.” My words are flat, controlled, but the heat under my skin threatens to burst. “Right now, I need to know where you both were the day my father died.”
John tilts his head, mock surprise flashing in his eyes. “This is about your father?” His lip curls into a smirk, as if the thought alone is amusing.
I take a step closer, my shadow falling over them. “I know you did it,” I hiss. “Both of you. I just need a confession, so I’ll know exactly how to end you.” My voice drops, deadly quiet. “When. And why. You killed my father.”
John chuckles, actually chuckles. The sound grates against my skull like broken glass. “You think we killed your father?” He shakes his head, his laugh building, mocking, ugly. “You should ask your psycho mother.”
My vision fractures, blood rushing to my ears until I hear nothing but the pounding of my own rage. That’s when the first sniper’s round grazes his ear, tearing cartilage and spraying blood. John jerks sideways, clutching at his head with a howl.
“John, shut the fuck up!” Thomas barks, panic leaking into his tone.
But John keeps going, his voice hoarse, taunting through the blood dripping down his neck. “You want to know who killed your father? Ask your mother.” He spits the words like poison.
Red fog floods my brain. My mother. Her. He wants to drag her into this?
I sneer, pressing the barrel of my Glock against his temple. “I’ve got you tied in my basement, John. Do you really think you can play games with me? So fucking talk.”
I crack him across the face with the back of the gun, the sound of bone against steel echoing in the room. His chair topples, crashing to the floor, blood spraying from his mouth.
“I didn’t kill your father!” John spits, coughing, eyes wild.
“Then who did?” My voice is calm, too calm. The kind of calm that comes before a storm ripping everything apart.
Thomas finally speaks, his voice gravel. “None of us killed your father.”
A bitter laugh tears from my throat. “Bullshit.”
“Then why did you both give statements the day he died?” My words are sharp, knives cutting through thetension. Their eyes widen, they didn’t expect me to know that.
John narrows his eyes, suspicion flickering. “How do you know about that? That’s classified.”
“Answer the fucking question,” I snap.
Thomas’s jaw clenches, his shoulders stiff. “Because it was part of the plan,” he mutters.
My stomach twists. “What plan?” The words rip out of me, low and savage. I need answers. Now.
The two of them glance at each other, hesitation written across their bloodied faces. And then John breaks into laughter, manic, unhinged, cruel.
“Oh, Lorenzo…” he wheezes, blood on his teeth. “You’re chasing the wrong ghosts.” His eyes blaze with something twisted. “I fucked your mother. And she liked it so much she killed your father for me.” His grin splits his ruined face, wide and disgusting.
The words slam into me like bullets. My ears ring. The ground shifts under me. For a moment, I forget to breathe.
Beside him, Thomas shakes his head sharply, muttering, “Shut the fuck up, John.” But the damage is already done.
I stalk forward, the world narrowing to John’s grinning, blood-smeared mouth. “What the fuck did you just say?”
He leans forward as much as his restraints will allow, eyes locked on mine, daring me. “I can still remember it, her tight pussy.” The smirk deepens. “She killed your father because she wanted me. Because she couldn’t get enough.”
