Hate. That was all I felt.
Every inch of my spine went as cold as ice, my body heavy and my mind a war zone. Within a split second, I was transported back to that night when a ten-year-old girl hid beneath her bed. Scared. Afraid. So fucking afraid.
The sound of her mother’s pleas burned through her ears while her heart wanted to break out of her chest. Every breath ached. Every second felt like a lifetime, and all she could do was pray for the bad men to leave. But they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t leave.
“How…” I cleared my throat. “How do you know he was the one?”
Antonio stepped in between me and the cage, forcing me to look at him. “I knew it before he admitted it.”
“How did you—”
“A man like me has a lot of resources, Doe.”
Silence ensued while Antonio and I kept our gazes locked. One thing I could say with all honesty was that I trusted him. I trusted the man before me. I trusted him with my life. There was no rhyme or reason to it, only the complete certainty of the faith I had in the man who tore me from the clutches of hell.
Antonio stepped closer, his voice low. “The last thing he said before I cut out his tongue was‘I sliced that cunt’s throat.’I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to kill him so badly, the only thing I could do to stop myself was to fucking mutilate him in the most painful fucking way.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why? Why didn’t you kill him?”
Dark eyes searched mine, the air around us laden with tension. “Because the kill isn’t mine to make.”
My heart stopped. Our gazes locked. Reality ceased to exist. It was just me. It was just him. And then there was the heaviest, yet the most bittersweet moment of clarity. This was why Antonio brought me here. This was what he meant the other night when he said I was ready for revenge.
This was my revenge.
Renato Da Silva was mine to kill.
I reached up to my necklace, feeling the metal against my fingertips. The blade was there, a mere click away.
Antonio’s gaze dropped to my hand, and I was sure I saw the corners of his mouth twitch. “I kept him for you, Doe. I kept him here for weeks. I wanted to make sure you were ready. I wanted you to realize for yourself how much strength was coursing through your veins.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “And the other night, at Vertigo. The way you protected my sister, killing that man with not a single ounce of remorse, I knew you were ready.”
My fingers kept stroking across my necklace, my mind hazy yet clear. It was difficult to explain, the way I felt. My heart was beating at a nervous pace, yet the thought of killing this man—the man who killed my mother—made my spine tingle. I felt it in every fiber of my being, just how fucking right it was for me to do this. For me to finally take what was mine.
Revenge.
Antonio leaned forward, his warm lips brushing against my cheek. “Take yourself there, Doe. Take yourself back to that night. Be that little girl who hid beneath the bed. See it. Feel it. Embrace it.” His grip on my shoulders tightened, and I closed my eyes. “Take your blade, get out from underneath that bed, and go spill the blood needed to avenge your mother’s death.”
A tear slipped down my cheek. I was there. I was that little girl once more. I allowed the memory to suck me in, to swallow me. To let me feel everything I felt that night.
Fear.
Panic.
Dread.
Pain.
But I grabbed hold of the anger, and I held on to it. Like fuel to a fire, I allowed the anger to burn like the flames of hell inside me. I smelled the blood. I fucking saw the thick, red liquid reach for me. And I remembered what it felt like to watch the life drain from my mother’s eyes.
With a click, I held the blade in my hand, opened my eyes, and glared over Antonio’s shoulder to where the mute bastard sat, waiting, anticipating, wondering what I was about to do.
It felt good having that power. Having the power to provoke fear, to stir panic.
I gave a step forward, and Antonio called out, “Lucio, open the gate. Bring the fucker out.”
The creak of steel hinges echoed through the otherwise empty warehouse. The gate opened, and the closer I walked to the man I now knew tore my mother’s life from her body, the wider his eyes grew. Lucio pulled him and the chair he sat on out of the cage.
Panic-stricken and scared, Renato shook his head, his eyes almost bulging from his skull. They were wild, filled with fear. But he couldn’t make a sound. He couldn’t beg. He couldn’t plead. A part of me wished he could. I wanted him to hear him beg me to spare his life, the way my mother begged him.