Empire of Lies and Flames (Ruins of Power #1)

Chapter 41

RENéE

The next few days passed in a haze. Most of my time was spent sitting in the hallway outside Ellie’s room. The antiseptic smell of the hospital clung to me like a second skin, sharp and suffocating. Nurses and doctors moved in and out of rooms, but none brought news of her.

Ten days. Ten long, excruciating days. And still, no sign of her waking up.

I feared the worst, despite myself.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me from the endless loop of dread. I stared at the screen before answering.

“Ms. Margot,” Simon Wolfe, Hael’s consigliere and our attorney spoke. “Everything is in motion. I have ensured this case gets the best prosecutor and we have gathered what we need—the evidence, the testimonies. We’re ready to face them.”

I tightened my grip on the phone. “ Them ,” I repeated bitterly. “You mean Javier.”

He didn’t respond immediately. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’ll handle it. Let me do the talking when the time comes.”

“Do what you need to,” I said coldly. “Just make sure there’s nothing left for them to stand on.”

“There won’t be.”

I hung up without another word, the phone slipping from my hand to the chair beside me.

Javier.

His face flashed in my mind, and I felt nothing. Not the pain of betrayal, not the sting of heartbreak. Nothing. I was hollow, empty except for one thing.

The want—no, the need—for blood.

Lorenzo’s. Javier’s.

It didn’t matter whose first, as long as one of them bled for what they had done.

I stood at the doorway to Ellie’s room, staring at her small, fragile body. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest was the only sign she was still holding on.

My heart clenched as I stepped closer, leaning against the frame. “I’ll bring justice to you, Ellie,” I whispered. “No matter what it takes.”

No matter the cost.

The courtroom was colder than I’d imagined, the kind of cold that seeps into your skin and stays there. The air felt sterile, and hollow, as though it couldn’t carry anything but the weight of too many tragedies. I sat in the back, gripping the edge of the bench so tightly that my knuckles burned. Every scrape of a shoe, every shuffle of paper, was like a hammer pounding against my skull. And then, he walked in.

Javier.

His strides were measured, his jaw set with a kind of defiance that made my stomach churn. He didn’t look at me at first, but as he approached the defense table, his gaze darted to mine. It was quick, almost unnoticeable, but I caught it. And in that moment, I hated him.

This wasn’t the Javier I’d once known—the man who’d laughed with me in dark corners, who’d whispered promises into the stillness of the night. No, this man was cold, detached, and calculating.

There was something in his eyes, though. Something fleeting, an apology, maybe even regret. But I didn’t care. He was on the wrong side today. Nothing—no look, no memory, no past—could change that.

The gavel came down hard, silencing the murmurs of the courtroom. The judge, an older man with a voice as dry as paper, began. “This is the arraignment of Lorenzo Marchetti. The charges are as follows: Rape in the first degree, assault, and endangering the welfare of a child.”

The words hit me like a slap, and I gripped the bench harder to keep myself steady. I glanced at Lorenzo. He sat there, smug as ever, his lips curled into a smirk that begged to be wiped clean. My nails dug into the wood, and for a moment, I imagined them digging into his throat instead.

“And how does the defendant plead?” the judge asked.

Javier stood, adjusting his jacket with the kind of grace that only made me angrier. “Not guilty, Your Honor,” he said, his voice almost disarmingly calm.

Not guilty. The words echoed in my head, loud and mocking. Not guilty. I wanted to scream. I wanted to leap over the bench and shake him until he understood what he was doing. But I stayed put, swallowing the bile that rose in my throat.

The judge’s eyes shifted. “The matter of bail. Does the defense wish to present an argument?”

Javier nodded, stepping forward. “Your Honor,” he began, my client, Mr. Marchetti, has been a resident of this city his entire life. He has no prior criminal record, no history of violence, and significant ties to this community.”

He glanced toward the prosecution, then to the judge, as if daring them to challenge him.

I hated him for it. Hated how convincing he could be when he wanted to.

Javier continued, “The allegations are, of course, deeply concerning. But I must remind the court that they remain just that—allegations. The evidence presented thus far has not been sufficient to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. In our system, Your Honor, we hold sacred the principle of innocence until proven guilty. My client deserves the chance to prepare his defense outside the confines of a cell.”

I wanted to scream at him. How could he say these things? How could he stand there, knowing what Lorenzo had done, and argue for his freedom?

He continued. “Mr. Marchetti is neither a flight risk nor a threat to society. He has willingly cooperated with law enforcement and turned himself in without incident. I propose a reasonable bail, one that ensures his continued presence for these proceedings without infringing on his rights.”

Rights. The word coiled in my stomach like a venomous snake. What about Ellie’s rights? What about her life?

Javier’s gaze flickered toward me again, just for a moment, but I didn’t look away this time. I wanted him to see it—the anger, and the promise that this wasn’t over.

He didn’t flinch, but there was something in his expression, a crack in the veneer. It wasn’t enough.

The prosecutor, Isaac Vos, rose. His voice was firm, and no-nonsense as he began to speak. “Your Honor, the charges against Mr. Marchetti are grave. We’re talking about the systematic violation and destruction of a young girl’s life. Mr. Marchetti may not have a prior record, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. The evidence we have so far, while preliminary, paints a clear picture of a man who poses a serious threat to public safety.”

I barely heard the rest of it. My mind kept circling back to Javier. How could someone so smart, so damn brilliant, be so blind? Or maybe he wasn’t blind. Maybe he was just cruel.

The judge leaned forward after hearing everything both parties had to say. “Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars. Next hearing in thirty days.”

The gavel struck again, and it was over. Just like that. Lorenzo would walk free for now, and it was Javier’s words that made it happen.

The courtroom emptied slowly, people shuffling out with hushed whispers and sideways glances. Javier stayed near the defense table, gathering his papers with the kind of care that made me want to scream. For a second, I thought he might look at me again, might say something.

But he didn’t.

Good. I didn’t need his excuses. I didn’t need his guilt. What I needed was justice—or vengeance—served cold and swift. Lorenzo had to pay, and if that meant tearing through Javier to get to him, so be it. Javier setting him free was the perfect opportunity. Without the shield of police protection, who would stand between Lorenzo and the reckoning that was coming for him? When death came knocking at his door, there’d be no one left to answer.

Lorenzo staggered into his mansion, loud and slurring, with two women draped over him like accessories. Cheap ones. His laughter carried through the night air, shameless and hollow. My jaw clenched as I watched him, his freedom grating against every nerve I had left. He walked like he owned the world like he hadn’t stolen every bit of it from people better than him.

It was sickening. But it was fine. He could have tonight. Hell, he could have tomorrow too. Two days, that’s all he had left. Two days of breathing, of living in that disgusting bubble of his, before I popped it. Before I freed him—permanently.

I shut off the monitor, the image of his smug face burning into my mind as I stood. The icy wind hit me as I stepped outside, but I barely felt it. The cold didn’t touch me anymore; there was something deeper, darker keeping me warm. I wouldn’t hide what I was about to do. When the police found him, they’d know. They’d see his broken body and know justice had come knocking.

Ellie would’ve smiled. She’d have been proud, knowing I wasn’t letting him walk away unscathed. Maybe today I could finally ask to hold her hand, just once. I hadn’t been able to in weeks, and if I had to beg for permission, I would.

On my way to see her, I stopped at the hospital gift shop. No flowers this time. They felt wrong now. I grabbed a Shrek balloon instead. Ellie would’ve laughed at it, her big, bright grin lighting up the room. She always loved the weirdest, most ridiculous things. It used to kind of annoy me, but now, I’d trade anything to hear her laugh at something stupid one more time.

When I got to her room, my steps faltered. Something was wrong. Doctors crowded her bed, their backs to me, moving with a quiet urgency that made my stomach drop. I stood frozen, watching as they unhooked the machines—machines that had kept her alive.

Her oxygen mask came off, and the sound of my heartbeat roared in my ears. No. This wasn’t happening. Not now.

The balloon slipped from my hand as I pushed the door open. “What’s going on?” My voice broke, trembling with a fear I couldn’t contain. “What happened? Is she—” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

A doctor turned to me, his face heavy with pity I didn’t want to see. “I’m sorry. She passed just a few minutes ago. There was nothing more we could do.”

“No.” My voice came out a whisper. I shook my head, stumbling toward her bed. “No, no, no. She can’t—she’s not—”

Ellie lay there, still and peaceful, like she was only asleep. But I knew better. Her skin was pale, her lips too still. My knees buckled, and I dropped beside her bed, clutching her lifeless hand in mine.

“Ellie,” I choked, my voice raw, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve—God, I should’ve done more. I should’ve fixed this.”

The words stuck in my throat, useless and empty. I pressed my forehead to her hand, sobs racking my body as the weight of it all crashed down.

Minutes blurred into hours, or maybe it was the other way around. Grief clawed at me, tearing me apart piece by piece, until all that was left was anger. A deep, burning rage that refused to be snuffed out.

I lifted my head. I looked at her face, so serene, so wrong, and made a promise. “I swear to you, Ellie,” I whispered, “he won’t get away with it. That bastard will be dead before your funeral. I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”

The apartment should’ve felt like a refuge, a place to let the grief in without an audience. Instead, it felt… wrong.

I’d been gone all day, making arrangements for Ellie’s funeral. Picking out flowers she would’ve hated, a casket too final, and a service she’d never wanted. I thought coming home might dull the edge of it all, but as soon as I stepped inside, something shifted.

The door was locked, the alarm untouched, everything exactly as I’d left it—but the air was wrong. It was too quiet, too still. My instincts prickled, warning me like they always did when danger was close.

My hand moved instinctively to the drawer by the door, pulling it open to reveal the pistol inside. Convenient? Sure. Necessary? Absolutely.

My grip tightened around the gun as I moved further inside, each step slow and measured. The faintest sound—the soft creak of leather shifting—came from the living room.

And then I saw it—the shadow of someone sitting casually in the armchair.

I flicked the lights on, and there he was. Javier.

My blood ran cold. Of all the people who could’ve been here, it had to be him.

I raised the gun pointing it at his chest. “You’ve got some nerve,” I snapped. “I told you I never wanted to see you again. What the hell are you doing here? Or did you finally decide you’ve got a death wish?”

Javier didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. He just sat there for a moment, staring at me like he hadn’t heard a word I said. And then he stood.

That’s when I saw it.

His hands—were covered in blood. Thick, dark smears painted his knuckles, dripping down his fingers. His clothes were spattered with it too, the stark red staining every inch of his shirt and pants.

He took a step forward. Then another. Each step left bloody footprints on the floor, the sound of his shoes sticky against the hardwood.