Chapter 42
JAVIER
The whiskey burned its way down my throat, but it didn’t touch the chaos in my head. The glass hit the table harder than I meant, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Half a million dollars sat in my account—Vincent’s blood money. Lorenzo was out on bail. Thirty days until trial.
Vincent was happy. I wanted to tear myself apart.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling like I could find answers there. All I saw was Renée’s face in the shadows, her eyes wide with betrayal. Her voice cut through me like broken glass.
Monster.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only made it worse. Because then it wasn’t Renée anymore. It was Ellie.
Ellie was in that hospital bed, her body so small, so broken it didn’t even look like her anymore. The weight of it all crashed down on me again—the guilt, the rage, the helplessness.
The glass was back in my hand before I realized it, and then it was gone again—shattering against the table. Whiskey spilled across the wood, bleeding into the cracks, and pooling under my fists. I stared at it for a moment, breathing hard.
Maybe I was a monster. But not Vincent’s. Not Lorenzo’s.
Fear had made me weak. I’d convinced myself letting Lorenzo walk was the only way to keep Renée safe, but that wasn’t protection. That was cowardice wrapped in excuses. Lorenzo was free now—free and within reach.
A laugh clawed its way out of my throat, sharp and bitter. It didn’t sound right. Thirty days before the trial. Thirty days where Lorenzo could do anything, where I could do anything. Thirty days where... anything could happen to him.
The thought rooted itself in my mind. My hand swept up the shattered glass, and pain bloomed as it sliced my skin. Blood dripped onto the whiskey-stained table, red meeting amber. I watched it spread, my lips curling into a smile I didn’t recognize.
Vincent. Could I defend her against him? Not alone. But I didn’t have to. I wasn’t thinking clearly before—I wasn’t thinking at all. Renée wasn’t just Renée. She was an Aarle. Vincent might’ve scared me into this deal, but if he so much as touched her, the Aarles would bury him so deep hell wouldn’t find him.
It hit me like a gunshot: I’d been playing this wrong. My end of the deal was done. I’d bailed Lorenzo out. I’d stood in court for him. Vincent had his pound of flesh, and technically he had no reason to touch her. And if he tried... well, I’d already decided how far I’d go for her.
I grabbed my phone, the blood on my fingers smearing across the screen as I scrolled to Jackdaw’s number.
The line clicked. “Javier, it’s late. What the hell do you want?”
“I need your help,” I said. “We’re getting rid of Lorenzo.”
Jackdaw’s laugh came low and humorless. “Lorenzo Marchetti? You’ve lost it. Do you hear yourself right now? I’m not touching this mess.”
“Don’t start with me, Jackdaw.”
“You’re crazy,” he said flatly. “This isn’t some lowlife you can disappear without consequences. Vincent’s not going to let it go. If you touch his son.”
“He won’t have a choice,” I said. “And neither do you.”
“I always have a choice, my friend.” A heavy sigh crackled through the line. “Listen, I’ve got updates on your sister’s case—”
“I don’t care,” I cut him off. “Not now. Call me later.”
There was a long stretch of silence before he spoke again. “You’re going to get yourself killed, you know that? Don’t get into this shit.”
I stared at the blood smearing my phone, then at the dark stain spreading across the table. “I’m already dead,” I said, my voice calm, quiet.
I hung up. Seeing her cry because of me was death. Watching her slip away, piece by piece, was death. Losing her was worse than death.
And if death was coming anyway, I wasn’t going alone. Vincent. Lorenzo. They’d go first. I’d burn their names into the ground before I followed.
By the time I woke up, the hangover lingered like a fog, but my mind was sharp. The moment I opened my laptop, I saw the email. A slow smile spread across my face when I saw who it was from. Jackdaw. Hesitant as always, but reliable when it mattered.
The file was extensive. Lorenzo’s security system, surveillance feeds, patrol schedules—it was all there. Jackdaw had pulled through, though he made damn sure to include a line about how this was my mess and not to drag him into it. Fair enough.
Now I had what I needed. The bastard was exposed. Vulnerable.
But pulling this off cleanly, without immediately alerting Vincent, meant one thing: I needed help.
The thought of involving Hael made my jaw clench, but resources like his didn’t grow on trees. When I called him, it didn’t take much convincing. Surprisingly little, actually. His eagerness to agree almost pissed me off more. But I didn’t have time for this. Not now.
The bar was upscale but low-key—the kind of place Lorenzo loved, where men in custom suits pretended their cash could mask the filth they waded in. He was already seated when I walked in, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, a smug grin plastered across his face. A glass of red wine rested in his hand, half-empty.
Midday, and he was drinking. Fitting.
“Javier,” he said, dragging out my name like it tasted sweet. “The man of the hour. Come on, have a seat.”
I slid into the chair across from him, ignoring the escort who hovered nearby. A quick wave of my hand sent her off. Lorenzo’s eyes tracked my every move, that predatory smirk not fading for a second.
“You look tense,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass as if he were a connoisseur. “Relax. You pulled it off. We’re in the clear. Father’s ecstatic. Half a mil well spent, don’t you think?”
My jaw tightened, but I kept my face neutral. I leaned back, mirroring his posture, keeping it casual.
“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” I said. “Don’t forget—the trial’s still ahead.”
He laughed a sharp, dismissive sound. “The trial?” He waved it off like it was a minor inconvenience. “The justice system’s a joke. Bought and paid for. Just like that judge who granted my bail.” He took a sip of wine, savoring it. “And with you on my side, I’m untouchable. Father thinks so. So do I.”
His arrogance was like a stench—thick, suffocating. I let him marinate in it a little longer.
“You think that’s all it takes?” I asked, keeping my tone light, almost conversational. “Money and a good lawyer?”
“It’s not about thinking, Javier. It’s about knowing.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, the grin widening. “And I know men like you. You’re part of the machine. Play the game, take the money, and look the other way. It’s how this world works. Don’t act like you’re any different.”
I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Believe it?” He scoffed. “I live it. Look at me. Out on bail, walking free, while everyone else is scrambling to pin me down. But they can’t. Not when I have you. Not when the Vincent Marchetti is by my side.”
I leaned in, close enough that the air between us thickened. My voice dropped. “What if the biggest threat to you wasn’t the justice system? Or the cops?”
His smirk faltered, the confidence slipping. “What are you saying?”
I smiled, slow. “What if the biggest threat to you… was me?”
His eyes widened, the reality sinking in. “You—” he started, but the words came out garbled. His hand shook as he reached for the glass, the wine sloshing against the sides.
His movements grew sluggish, his head lolling forward. The glass slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the table.
“Sleep tight, Lorenzo,” I muttered, rising from my chair. I straightened my jacket, casting one last glance at him as he slumped over, unconscious. “Sweet dreams, because when you wake up, they’re over.”
RENéE
“Javier.” His name left my lips like a warning. My grip on the gun tightened, but when he stopped moving forward, I lowered it slightly.
And then he smiled. Not the familiar charm I’d once been accustomed to, but something darker, something that crawled under my skin and took root.
“I have a gift for you, love,” he said, his voice like velvet wrapped around a blade.
A chill raced down my spine, every nerve in my body screaming to turn and run, but my feet stayed planted.
“Come with me.” His tone was deceptively calm as if he were asking me to step into the next room for tea. He turned, his shoes leaving faint red smudges in their wake.
I hesitated, my instincts warring with the curiosity clawing at me. When he paused and looked back, I followed.
The storage room was at the end of the hall, the door closed like it held back some terrible secret. Javier pushed it open, the hinges creaking. He stepped aside, his bloodied hands gripping the edge of the doorframe as he gestured for me to enter.
“After you,” he murmured.
I took a step forward, the air inside the room was heavy and suffocating. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and my eyes widened.
It was like stepping into a set from a horror movie.
Blood. It was everywhere—splattered on the walls, pooling on the floor, staining the air with its metallic tang. In the center of the carnage, suspended like some grotesque centerpiece, was Lorenzo.
He hung from the ceiling, his arms cuffed and stretched above him, the metal biting into his wrists. His head lolled forward, his face a mangled, swollen mess of bruises and cuts. A broken nose, split lips, eyes nearly swollen shut. Blood dripped from his chin, trailing down his neck, mixing with the crimson streaks across his bare torso.
His fingers—his fingers. The nails were gone, the tips crudely sliced off, the jagged flesh oozing fresh blood.
His legs told the same story, blood dripping steadily from open wounds.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
Javier stood behind me, his voice a whisper against my ear. “Do you like your gift?”
A real smile curved my lips, one that felt foreign after days of grief, rage, and exhaustion. I took a step forward, my eyes locking on the bloodied wreck of a man hanging before me.
“Is he still alive?” I asked as I closed the distance between us.
“I’ve kept him alive,” Javier replied as if he was making an offering to a Goddess. “For you.”
I turned to face him, meeting his gaze. The dim light in the room cast shadows over his face, but his eyes burned with an intensity that made my breath catch.
His lips curved into that sinister smile of his as he took a step closer to me. “Every scream he let out, every drop of blood he spilled, every broken bone—it was a love letter, Renée. A letter written in his agony, signed with his suffering, and sealed with his regret.” He reached out, brushing a thumb across my cheek, smearing a trace of blood he hadn’t even bothered to clean from his hands. “You deserve nothing less than a canvas painted with his pain.”
My heart thundered in my chest, not from fear, but from something deeper, darker. A spark of something raw and unrestrained.
He stepped back, gesturing toward the broken man. “I bailed him out for you,” he said, his voice soft, intimate, as though we were discussing a gift wrapped with a bow, but to be honest, this gift he had presented me with was far greater than that. “So that you could deliver him the punishment he deserves. He’s yours, Renée. Every breath he draws now is at your mercy.”
I smiled again. This man. This monster. I loved him. And in this twisted moment, with Lorenzo hanging before me like prey served on a platter, I knew that Javier loved me, too—in his own brutal, beautiful way.
“Do you want me to wake him up?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, my voice devoid of hesitation.
Javier moved swiftly, gripping Lorenzo’s hair and jerking his head back with a force that made the bastard groan in pain. He pulled out a small vial from his pocket and waved it under Lorenzo’s nose. Ammonia. The sharp, acrid scent did its job. Lorenzo’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, before widening in panic as the pain registered.
“Welcome back,” I said, my lips curving into a smile.
“W-who are you?” he rasped, “Where am I?”
“I’m someone who will send you back to hell, Lorenzo.” I smiled.
He groaned, his head lolling forward before snapping up again as Javier struck him sharply across the face. Blood oozed from his already split lip.
“You’re insane,” Lorenzo hissed, spitting out blood. “My father—my father will never let you walk free after this. Do you hear me? He’ll find you. He’ll make you pay—”
I laughed. “Your father?” I leaned in close, letting him see the cold fury in my eyes. “Your father doesn’t scare me. He’s just another man who thinks power and money can buy silence, can bury sins. But I’m not afraid of men like him, Lorenzo. Or men like you.”
He squirmed in his chains, wincing as the movement pulled at his raw wrists. “You’ll regret this,” he spat.
“That’s the thing,” I whispered, leaning in. “You’re the one who’ll regret this. For every second you have left, you’ll regret what you did to Ellie.”
His face twisted in confusion and fear. “Ellie?” he croaked.
“Ellie,” I repeated. “She was young. Too young to even comprehend the darkness you dragged her into. She trusted the world, and you taught her that monsters like you don’t just hide under beds—they smile at you, buy you chocolate, and tear you apart when you least expect it.”
His breathing grew ragged. “I didn’t—she wanted—”
“Don’t you dare,” I snapped. I grabbed his face roughly, forcing him to look at me. “She was a child! A little child! She begged you to stop. She begged you for mercy. And what did you do, Lorenzo? You laughed.”
He blinked rapidly, panic taking over. “Please,” he whispered, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “I—I was drunk—I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean to leave her broken?” I cut him off, my grip tightening. “You didn’t mean to leave her in a coma, her body so battered, her mind so shattered, that she couldn’t even cry for help?” My voice trembled, but it wasn’t with sorrow. It was fury. Pure, unfiltered rage.
I stepped back, letting him sag in his chains. He coughed, blood dripping from his mouth, staining the floor beneath him.
“She died, Lorenzo,” I said softly, circling him. “Alone, in a cold hospital bed, hooked up to machines that couldn’t save her. She didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. And you? You walked free.”
I stopped in front of him, “You took away my Ellie. So I’m taking pieces of you. Little by little. Until there’s nothing left.”
His breathing was erratic, his body shaking uncontrollably. Tears mixed with blood on his battered face.
“You’ll never get away with this,” he spat.
I laughed. “Get away with it? I don’t care if they find me. I don’t care if they lock me up. Because no cage they put me in will ever compare to the hell you’re about to endure.”
I picked up the pliers. “I’ll make sure you never get to see the light of day again.”
His eyes widened as I crouched in front of him, holding the pliers up to catch the dim light. “Please,” he whimpered.
I smiled again. “Begging suits you. Maybe if you’d listened to Ellie’s pleas, you wouldn’t be here now.”
With that, I clamped the pliers around the already half-gone pinky finger. He screamed, the sound guttural, primal, and deeply satisfying. The bone came off with a sickening crunch, and I dropped it to the floor without a second thought.
“Let’s play a game,” I said, moving to his next finger. “For every lie you told in court, I’ll take a piece of you. And when I run out of lies? I’ll take what’s left.”
Lorenzo broke quickly, his screams turning into incoherent sobs. I didn’t care. I kept going, stripping him of his power, his arrogance, his very identity.
By the time I stepped back, he was nothing more than a trembling, bloodied shell of a man.
I crouched in front of him one last time, tilting his chin up so he could see me. “This is for Ellie. For every girl you’ve ever hurt. You’ll rot in hell, Lorenzo. And I’ll make sure you know exactly who sent you there.”
Time had become meaningless. I don’t know how many hours I spent in that room, but by the time I was done, Lorenzo was unrecognizable. His once-arrogant face was barely recognizable—swollen, battered, and drenched in blood. Cuts crisscrossed every inch of his skin.
He had stopped thrashing hours ago, his body limp, broken, but still clinging to the fragile thread of life. Not for long, though. I had made sure of that. Death wouldn’t come quietly for him—it would arrive as it should: slow, brutal, and humiliating.
Lorenzo’s bloodied body swayed slightly as Javier and two other men stepped back. And I titled my head admiring the scene.
He was hung upside down in his very own room, his genitalia tied to a rope that stretched to the ceiling. The tension pulled grotesquely at his body. Blood streamed from the cuts I’d carved into his skin, dripping steadily from his fingertips and pooling beneath him, coloring his white sheets red.
“You’re a masterpiece, Lorenzo,” I murmured. “The perfect reminder of what happens when monsters like you walk free.”
I leaned against the wall, watching him. His breaths were shallow now, faint and ragged, his life flickering like a dying flame. He wouldn’t last much longer, but that was the point. Death would come for him slowly, as it should.
When his father found him—hanging like this, drenched in his own blood, mutilated and destroyed—it would send a message. Money wouldn’t save him. Power wouldn’t protect him.
I dipped my finger into the blood pooling on the floor, carefully scrawling a message on the wall beside him. The letters were bold, dripping crimson.
MONSTERS DESERVE MONSTERS.
I turned back to Lorenzo one last time, tilting my head as I studied the lifeless husk he’d become. He was silent now, no more pathetic threats or gasps for mercy. Ellie’s face flickered in my mind, not the broken girl in the hospital bed, but the bright, laughing little girl I’d once known.
“Rest easy, Ellie,” I whispered. “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”