79. Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Mateo
A ntonio’s lip curls, contempt flashing in his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I chuckle. “That’s why we’re having this conversation.”
He snorts. “Go to hell.”
I smirk. “I’m not the one heading there tonight.”
His laugh is low, almost amused. “Are you sure about that?”
I throw my head back, letting out a genuine laugh.
“Do you truly think you’re going to see another sunrise? Look at you. You’re naked. The trackers you love to hide in your clothes? Useless. And don’t pretend you have any implanted ones. I’ve already scanned your body.”
Silence.
Antonio’s jaw clenches. I lean in slightly, pressing further.
His breathing is heavier now. He’s trying to keep his anger at bay, but I can see it, the wheels turning, his mind racing for a way out.
There isn’t one.
I lean in enough that he can see the amusement glinting in my eyes.
“Tell me, how does it feel to have gambled everything and lost?”
Antonio’s face tightens, but his smirk reappears.
“Lost?” He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
I arch a brow, goading him further. I want the names of his accomplices.
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
He leans back in the chair as much as the restraints allow, his bruised face twisting into something almost smug.
“You think this ends with me?” His voice is mocking, laced with amusement. “You think you kill me and that’s it? You think you’ll win?
“I had contingency plans in motion long before you realized what I was doing. You might have me in this chair, but don’t kid yourself. You’re still playing my game.”
I study him silently, letting the words settle. Letting him believe for a moment that they hold weight.
Then I chuckle, low and slow. “Your game?”
I shake my head. “Antonio, you were never the mastermind you thought you were. You are so na?ve, and your candle is about to be snuffed out.”
His eyes darken, the first real flicker of uncertainty appearing.
I take a step closer, rolling up my sleeve. “You know, up until today, I refused to get a tattoo.”
Antonio’s brows pull together, confused by the sudden shift in conversation.
“Not even our family crest, that mandatory mark of loyalty,” I continue, tapping the ink on his chest. “The same one you carry for the De Marco family.”
I smirk. “Oh, but we already established your loyalty is flexible.” My gaze drags over him. “Always up for grabs to the highest bidder, huh?”
His mouth twitches, but he says nothing.
I reach behind me, pull my shirt over my head, and rip off the bandage on my chest, revealing the ink beneath, the date of today, etched into my skin.
Antonio’s eyes narrow. “Cute. Were you afraid of needles before?” His tone is mocking.
I smirk. “Not needles. Tiny droplets of blood. Pathetic, right?”
Antonio smirks, but there’s something forced about it.
“You said it, not me.”
I drag a knife from my belt, twirling it idly between my fingers.
“Funny thing, fear. It holds you back, keeps you caged. But once you find the courage to face it, to embrace it?” I tap the blade against my palm, leveling him with a stare. “It becomes something else entirely. It becomes your power.”
Antonio tenses as I move, but he masks it well.
“I’m surprised your network of spies never picked it up,” I say, watching him closely. “For the longest time, I couldn’t stand small cuts. Freaked me out, some trigger from my childhood. I won’t bore you with the details. But my brother was always there to handle it. Anytime it happened, he’d take care of it.”
I crouch again, locking eyes with him. “But thanks to you, he’s no longer with us. So I got over it tonight. Let me show you.” I smile.
In one swift motion, I slash a shallow line across his forearm. Blood beads up along the cut, vivid against his skin.
Antonio doesn’t flinch. “You want me to beg, Mateo?” he scoffs.
I tilt my head, studying the wound. Then, with careful precision, I carve another beside it.
And another.
“No begging required. There’s no stopping this. But I’d love to hear about all the ways you betrayed us. If you’re really good and give me names, I won’t drag this out too long.”
Another cut.
And another.
Tiny wounds, barely deep enough to be called injuries, but they add up. The sting, the slow, grating pain of a thousand shallow wounds. It’s death by a thousand paper cuts, and Antonio knows it.
His jaw clenches tighter with each one, his breath coming in harsh bursts, but he refuses to give me the satisfaction of a reaction.
I step back, admiring my work. Then I meet his gaze, my voice calm, almost curious.
“Interesting.” I drag a finger through the blood smeared across his skin. “I feel none of the panic that used to consume me. Could be my hatred for you, I suppose.”
Antonio glares at me, his breath uneven now. “Go on. Finish it.”
I crouch down to meet his gaze, my blade resting beneath his chin.
“Oh, I will.” My voice is steady, quiet. “But I want you to feel it first. Every single cut. Every moment of it.”
His lips part like he’s about to speak, but I don’t give him the chance.
The next slice is deeper.
Then another. And another.
Antonio’s arrogance cracks. His face tightens, his body jerking against the restraints.
He grits his teeth, forcing out a shaky laugh. “You think this changes anything?”
I lean in, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes, Antonio. It’s definitely changing something.”
Then I sit back and watch him.
Minutes stretch into hours.
He doesn’t give me any names. Doesn’t say a word. But I don’t need all the details of this betrayal. Whoever he’s working with will either hide now, scared, or come out fighting harder. Either way, I’m ready.
I’m Mateo De Marco, Don of la famiglia . And I will usher in a new era.
As the seconds tick by, Antonio’s once-arrogant smirk fades, replaced by clenched jaws and shaky breaths.
His body trembles from blood loss, though no single wound alone would kill him. It’s the accumulation, the slow drip-drip-drip of his mortality slipping away.
“Had enough yet?” I ask when I’m done admiring my work.
Antonio lets out a wet, pained chuckle. “Go to hell.”
I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me. “You first.”
And with one final slice, I drag the blade across his throat.
His eyes widen, and his mouth opens in a silent gasp.
This was for you, Tiero, and all the lives he destroyed.
Antonio gurgles, hands twitching against the ropes. The blood flows fast now, pooling beneath him.
He opens his mouth, forcing out garbled sounds. I lean in closer to hear better. It’s weak, but unfortunately, I understand.
“Y-you w-will nevver win. Y-you h-haven’t s-seen th-the last of th-the Molinaros.”
What?
No!
Of course the fucking traitor used his last breath to taunt me.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response or let him see me rattled. I stare at him, emotionless, watching the light fade from his eyes.
When he slumps in the chair, I exhale slowly. I wipe the blade clean, ignoring the horrifying questions burning in my brain, focusing only on the one thing that matters right now.
Antonio Accardi is dead.