23. Teo
23
TEO
T he day I killed Giuliano Moretti had been the day I learned some absolute truths about myself.
The first was that the years of training halfheartedly next to Rocco hadn’t been entirely in vain. Attacking came more naturally than defending, but I excelled at both when my brain became quiet like this.
The second was the revelation that my mind has a tendency to shut down when the people I love are in danger. My entire purpose, my only goal, is to eliminate the threat at any cost.
It hadn’t mattered to me that Giuliano Moretti would die, brutally, at my hand. All that mattered was that Rocco and Cas were safe.
And, sure, perhaps walking into a bar filled with almost a dozen cartel men—who would like my head on a pike—wasn’t the most sensible thing in the world.
But none of that mattered, not when I saw who they had in their grasp.
Our gazes only meet for a second across the bar. Her eyes are deep chocolate, wide in fear and in anger, and I feel my mind go very, very calm.
The gun appears in my hand without much forethought, and three rounds go off. At least, I assume they do. Along with my mind, my hearing has gone very, very quiet.
Bang, bang, bang. The sounds vibrate through my hand on the recoil.
Three bodies drop to the floor.
Not his, though. No, I think I’ll save him for last.
The rest scramble to retaliate, shouting out in alarm, feet pounding across the ground toward me. Not that I hear any of it.
Only the slightly manic laughter of the woman I love seems to break through.
Which is a good thing, I think. Because at least I know she’s still alive. She just needs to stay alive a little longer until I can reach her.
But there are seven more bodies in my way. Their faces don’t register. Their voices are lost on deaf ears. They are nothing but an inconvenience, a threat that needs to be eliminated.
And I have a gun. And three more rounds in this clip.
Bang.
Another body drops just as one comes hurling into me. I can feel myself grunting on impact—this body is larger than the others.
But he’s gone low, trying to shake my balance by wrapping his arms around my waist, which leaves his back exposed.
He’s expecting resistance, so instead, I move with him a few steps, buying myself some time to bring my elbow up and slam it into the back of his neck.
He stumbles, and I step out of his grasp just in time to see another body approaching.
Bang.
It drops, and the bottle he was holding in his hand smashes to the floor.
The one behind me lunges again, but I counter with a blow to the side of his face. He reels back, disoriented, and I use the opening to tackle him to the floor. Gun to his temple.
Bang.
Something grabs me from behind, dragging me to my feet again. They lock my arms behind my back as another body hurls a blow straight to my face. I taste the blood in my mouth, though the sting never really registers.
I back up sharply, crashing the person behind me into the side of a booth, and kick my attacker in the groin. When he bends down instinctively, the second kick hits his skull. He drops. Alive or dead, I don’t really care.
I’m still restrained, and there are two other attackers making their approach.
But Isabella is still laughing, and that’s all I need to keep going.
The man behind me wraps an arm around my neck, which is a terrible mistake, really. Firstly, because the restraints on my arms lessen enough to wiggle free, but also because his arm is now in biting range.
If he screams, I don’t hear it. But there’s a tearing feeling as the skin beneath my teeth begins to give, and his arm retreats.
I have enough time to spit out his blood before the next attacker reaches me, shoving me into a table.
With one hand, I manage to keep him at bay as my other reaches for a bottle. Smashing it over his head does very little to deter his vengeance on me. But stabbing the shattered glass into his neck works better.
I kick the spluttering body off me to find the final body crouched over the one cradling his torn-up arm.
I spit more blood from my mouth as I watch them carefully. They’re not attacking anymore. But the quiet hasn’t subsided. There’s still a threat then.
And they should pay for this.
I take a step closer, but they back up. The one cradling his arm drags the other by his sleeve to the door. It’s not a satisfying ending, but that doesn’t matter.
Because Isabella has stopped laughing.
Dread pools in my stomach as I turn toward them.
Luis.
He’s straddling her. His hands are over her neck and he’s grinning like a madman, despite the fact one of his eyes is…is…well, it’s gone. All that remains is a bloody smear that’s dripping down one side of his face.
But Isabella. Isabella.
My Isabella.
His hands.
He’s going to lose those hands.
If it was quiet before, my mind is deafeningly silent now.
My foot collides with his ribs, and he goes flailing into the wall.
Isabella is still breathing; I can see her chest still straining to rise and fall. That will have to be enough for now.
I approach the bar and find what I’m looking for quickly. Quick enough to return to Luis before he has time to right himself.
He’s saying something to me, I think. But I can’t hear him. And he’ll stop soon enough.
I grab him by the collar and slam him into the floor, straddling him like he’d been doing to Isabella moments before. There’s no hesitation as I grab one of his arms and pin it above his head.
The knife is too blunt for this not to be messy.
His other hand claws at my arm as I commit myself to the task. Nails scratch helplessly at my skin, leaving bloody tracks behind.
But I keep going. Keep sawing.
At some point, he stops fighting it. His skin turns grayer, and his remaining eye starts to slump closed. Maybe he passes out from the pain. I don’t really know or care.
But finally, his hand comes loose.
And there’s a soft touch on my shoulder.
“Teo.”
Her voice isn’t right. He ruined her vocal cords.
The knife slashes across his throat in one swift movement. The body beneath me goes limp in an instant.
“Where else did he touch you?”
“He’s dead.”
“Where else?”
A gentle hand covers the one that grips the knife.
For a moment, I think she’s trying to take it off me. But she’s not. She’s guiding me.
The knife point hovers over his ruined cheek. I slash his face without hesitation.
The thought of him touching her there, a gentle caress or an act of violence, I don’t know which is worse.
Did he know he was touching something that didn’t belong to him? Could he not see me marked on her skin? Could he not see the ghost of my touch from only a few hours before?
“It’s done.”
I look at her then, really look at her. I take in the quiver of her bottom lip, despite the stubborn set of her jaw, pride the only thing that keeps her standing. I look at the bruises on her neck, at the blood on her hands, at her arm, slashed deeply.
I grab it instantly, a question in my eyes.
“It wasn’t him,” she half croaks, and I want to slash his neck all over again.
Instead, I raise my hand to her neck slowly, as if she were a frightened animal.
She still flinches, though.
And I feel an anger that nearly blinds as well as deafens me.
But before I can declare it, before I can burn this entire place to the ground, her touch on my arm drags me back to the moment.
She guides my hands, in control the entire time, to her neck. Those huge, chocolate eyes never leave my face, wordlessly imploring me to let her do this.
I keep my touch feather-light, and her eyes flutter closed.
Submission. No, trust .
Then, the tears begin to roll down her cheeks.
And sound finally, finally returns.
“Let’s get out of here.”
She doesn’t move. Can’t move, I realize, when I see how badly she’s shaking. Dressed in nothing more than a T-shirt and some jeans— my T-shirt and jeans—her bare arms wrap around her torso as if to hold herself together.
The sirens will come soon, so I swoop down to pick her up. If this alarms her, she doesn’t say anything. In fact, by the time I reach the exit, her hands are fisted into my shirt and her head is buried in my chest.
I wish I could drive us back like this, but we need to get to the bunker quickly. She doesn’t move an inch in the time it takes us to get back, and she’s immediately back in my arms the second I kill the engine and open the passenger door.
The bunker lights flicker on as I carry her down the stairs into the lounge, where I place her gently onto the couch, immediately throwing a blanket over her shoulders.
I don’t want to leave, especially when her fingers refuse to detangle from my shirt. But she’s hurt, and I need to get Dante on damage control.
It takes me about ten minutes to gather supplies and make the appropriate calls. But Isabella is still sitting there, staring at the door I left through.
“ Belle,” I say softly as I approach.
But she’s in too much shock. I’ve seen it before too many times. There’s nothing to be done until she comes back to me.
So, I kneel before her and begin to talk. It’s not anything of importance. I just describe what I’m doing as I do it so that she has something to anchor her to the moment.
“I’m going to take your arm now,” I say. “This is disinfectant. It might sting a bit.You’re doing really well. This will numb the pain. These act like stitches. I’m so proud of you. Drink this. It will warm you up. My T-shirt looks good on you. Let me clean your fingers.”
Inexplicably, the first response I get is. “Oh. I broke my nail.”
She’s looking down at the hand I’m cleaning with a small frown on her face.
“Well, I’m fairly certain you clawed that guy's eye out,” I bring her finger up to my lips and kiss it softly.
“You came for me.”
I look up at her. “You left.”
“You should have tried harder to keep me,” she counters stubbornly.
“This place is supposed to be impenetrable.”
“You should probably start using better encryption, then.”
This makes me jolt in surprise. “ You hacked the encryption.”
For the first time since I brought her back here, a smile spreads across her lips. “Was it supposed to be hard?”
A lot of things suddenly click into place.
“It was you?” I stutter out. “The whole time? You were the one who was blocking me from accessing the Prince’s Hand files?”
“I left an opening for you, didn’t I?”
My mind reels. “You knew we’d be there at the casino that night. To clone the network.”
“I needed you to come to me,” she sighs. “And I got a dinner date out of it.”
I gape at her.
“Why do you look so surprised? What, you didn’t think a woman could possibly know her way around a computer?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I just didn’t know you could get any more perfect.”
When she doesn’t respond, I finish tending to her arm and put the supplies away. So I almost don’t hear it when she says. “We’re fucked. Aren’t we?”
Something hard clenches in my chest. “Yes.”
“It’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“Is there…” her voice breaks a little. “Teo, tell me there’s another way. Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend you’re not…we’re not…”
I swallow hard. “Is this real?”
She takes my hand in hers and guides it to her ruined neck once more. “It’s real.”
I gently stroke across her delicate skin. “You mean everything to me.”
“Teo, please,” her eyes are glassy about this. “Can we talk about it? Can we find another way? Because this has to end one way or the other, and I can’t…I can’t lose you. Not now.”
And for the briefest moment, it’s not Isabella sat before me.
It’s my sister.
Eight years old, just like the last time I saw her. And the tears in her eyes pierce through the decades of grief and resentment and longing for revenge.
“Please,” she says with Isabella’s voice. “I just want you to be happy.”
And then, for the first time in seventeen years, I let the tears fall.