Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
This had to be someone who knew him well and long enough to mimic the way he fought.
But why, though?
Was it to simply mess with her mind?
Or could it be this person didn't even realize what they revealed with every swing of their fist?
Viktor Biancardi.
Her body shook with rage as soon as the name flashed in her mind, and the more she thought of it, the more it made terrible sense.
The Marchettis had all treated Viktor as one of them.
She herself had looked upon him as a brother.
All of them had seen him as famiglia.
But in exchange for their loyalty, Viktor had done the one thing none of them ever saw coming.
And because of him—-
Giancarlo was no longer with them.
Why, damn you? Why?
If this was truly Viktor she was now fighting against—-
I just want to know why!
Sarica knew it was foolish of her to lose control of her temper now of all times—
Why?
But pain and grief had already consumed her sanity, and all she wanted now was to know the truth.
How could you do that?
Her fingers tightened around the knife concealed in her sleeve, its blade laced with poison.
I'm sorry, God.
She knew she was hurting Him by letting rage take over.
She knew she was slipping away farther and farther from Him as she considered doing the unthinkable.
She knew what she was doing was wrong, but—
Help me, God.
She didn't want to kill anyone, but when she thought about how this man she was fighting against could be the same person who was responsible for Giancarlo's disappearance—
Please.
Because all she could see was red even as her heart started to bleed tears.
This is not the way to avenge me, dolcezza.
Shock blazed through Sarica's body as she heard the unmistakable sound of Giancarlo's voice whispering inside of her mind.
And even though she knew this was nothing but a hallucination—
She also knew it was God answering her prayers as her mind broke free from the chains of vengeance.
Thank You.
The knife slipped from her fingers just as her opponent's full force slammed into her, sending her crashing to the ground. The impact drove the air from her lungs, stars exploding behind her eyes. She waited for her life to end, but something rough scraped against her face instead.
A blindfold?
Her captor's touch was oddly careful—-and that worried her more than brutality would have. Was this because her face was no longer hidden? Had her opponent recognized her—-and intended to ransom Sarica back to the Marchettis?
Every instinct screamed at her to stay alert as her captor bound her hands, the restraints firm but not cruel.
She struggled to keep track of her surroundings as her captor led her to the back of a vehicle. But memories of the past three months persisted in distracting her.
Only his famiglia knew the truth of what she had been doing, and because the Marchettis had agreed to play their role as coldly furious almost-in-laws to perfection, the entire world was happy to hate on her alongside them.
Night after night, all eyes were on her, a girl who shamelessly painted the town red using her missing fiancé's money.
And that was why...
None of them ever cared enough to look beyond the surface.
None of them ever cared to know what exactly she was doing inside the clubs owned by the Prince of Killers.
Because if they had—-
Then her secret would have long been exposed.
They would have known Sarica Nuñez and Seijcut were one.
And that she had completely lied about her reasons for placing a bounty on Giancarlo Marchetti's head.
The people she had met as Seijcut were exactly as she imagined. People who actually had no information to give—-but because they hated the man she loved, they had wanted to work "with" Seijcut in finding Giancarlo.
They had wanted to exact revenge on him if he were ever found...
And that was why Sarica had passed them on to the Prince of Killers, and they, too, went missing the way Giancarlo did.
The vehicle hit a bump, her body swaying as her unseen driver made a turn, and with it, her thoughts swerved similarly. Viktor Biancardi's face flashed in her mind, and her fingers curled into fists behind her back.
Please, God.
Please.
Please keep me from killing him.
Tears burned her eyes as she thought of Viktor still walking around a free man while her Giancarlo, oh God...
She squeezed her eyes shut, and that was when she heard it.
This is not the way, dolcezza.
Giancarlo's beloved voice.
You cannot kill him.
Must not.
Because I cannot keep my promise to you if you're behind bars.
GIANCARLO STOOD AT the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the city of Kivr's capital spread before him, and beyond it, the vast desert. His reflection stared back at him: still in tactical gear, mask discarded on his desk, the silver streak in his hair gleaming under the moonlight.
For sixteen months, he had walked the razor's edge between life and death. Had done things that would haunt him until his last breath. But nothing—not the fall, not the months of rehabilitation, not even the choices that had led him here—nothing had prepared him for tonight.