CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Tierney
“It is time.” Achilles propped his arm against our bedroom’s doorframe.
Three words, and yet, I knew exactly what they held inside them. I knew who he was referring to and what needed to be done.
Butterflies took flight behind my rib cage, reminding me that at my core, deep inside, a part of me was and always would be a killing machine.
“What makes you say that?” Clad in a black satin robe, I met his gaze through the mirror of my vanity. I was getting ready for a night out with
Frankie. She was in town for an event, and we thought it would be a good idea to catch up over dinner and drinks. I no longer frequented parties, charity events, or lavish yacht trips with society’s upper crust, but I still loved Frankie dearly. With her, I didn’t have to pretend. Not much, anyway.
“He’s broken.” Achilles pushed off the door and strolled toward me.
I put my mascara down and picked up my bronzer next, watching as he placed his palms on my shoulders.
“Mentally and physically unwell. He’s begging for his death.
Willing to speak in order to get it. This is usually when they’re primed to give you the truth. ”
His interrogation techniques were less than humane, but in my father’s case, I didn’t really care.
“Do you think he’ll tell us why he did it to me?” I asked.
Achilles nodded, his gaze holding mine in the mirror.
“When do you want to do it?” I asked.
“Why don’t you have your fun with Frankie and then swing by the Long Island mansion? I have a meeting with my brothers there anyway.”
I nibbled on the corner of my lip. Was this really happening? Was I going to watch my father die? Contribute to his death in some way?
It seemed odd to even call him my father after what he’d done. But the truth was, a small part of me always held on to the hope that we could find a way to really be family.
After Tiernan killed Fintan last year, my twin brother was completely broken. He never said it in so many words, but I saw the way it altered him. Being betrayed by your own kin changed you in a fundamental way.
I had a feeling what was about to happen tonight would change me, too.
“We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.
” Achilles wove his fingers through my short hair tenderly.
“I will follow your lead on anything you decide. We can let him go and send him into exile. I could kill him and let you know it’s been done.
Or you can do it yourself. The choice is yours, and yours only, sweetheart. ”
I closed my eyes, drawing a deep breath.
When I opened them, our eyes met in the mirror again.
“I want you to do it, so I can focus on watching, and I want it to hurt. I want him to feel the pain I felt every single day as a child in a work camp, dreaming of the father who abandoned her. I want him to know, on his deathbed, how much I truly loathe him and that I’ll never forgive him. ”
Achilles jerked his chin in a nod. “You know, Tier, once a promoted pawn is queen, she cannot be captured by a king. But she can put the king in a position he cannot escape. A checkmate, allowing another piece to capture the king and bring about endgame.”
Licking my lips, I stared at him, understanding exactly what he was saying. “I’m ready for the endgame, Achilles.”
“Your wish is my command, my queen.”
A Camorrista drove me through the pouring rain from my hangout with Francesca to Long Island.
The Italian man behind the wheel couldn’t have been much older than nineteen, with traces of acne still adorning his fresh face. He didn’t look at me once and addressed me as Mrs. Ferrante when he opened the door for me, which must’ve been what my possessive roommate instructed him to call me.
I was getting used to the idea of marrying Achilles.
Only so much love could be poured into a person before you allowed it to soak in and accepted it.
Achilles drenched me with devotion, attention, and affection.
No matter how hard I tried to fight it, I couldn’t.
Our souls clicked, like two pieces of an intricate puzzle, and I knew that no one, nowhere would ever fit me the way he did.
Still, my stomach was in knots. It had been months since Achilles captured Tyrone.
A lot had happened in between. And though Tyrone’s hands wouldn’t be able to touch me, his words still could.
I recoiled from guessing what they’d entail.
What it’d take for a father to turn on his daughter like that.
“Mrs. Ferrante, we’ve arrived.” The young driver parked in front of the main entrance, got out of the car, and opened the door for me, holding an umbrella to shield me from the rain.
I stepped out, my Chanel jacket casually draped over my shoulders.
I walked toward the doors, which swung open as I approached on the CCTV.
Guess you could take the stalker out of the game, but you couldn’t take the game out of the stalker.
Enzo and Luca emerged from the house, wearing designer peacoats with popped collars and sporting immaculately styled hair. Luca breezed right past me, ignoring my existence. Enzo stopped to kiss my cheek. “Good luck tonight.”
He knows.
I gave his arm a quick rub. “Thank you.”
“All right, that’s enough affection for a lifetime between you two,” Achilles grumbled from the doorway. “Tierney, come.”
When I entered, he peeled the jacket from my shoulders to hang it and kissed the side of my neck. “Had a good time with the First Lady?”
“It was nice to catch up. Why is your errand boy calling me Mrs. Ferrante?”
“Because he doesn’t have a death wish,” he answered in a deadpan.
“We’re not even engaged yet.”
“We’ve been engaged since we were seventeen,” he corrected dryly. “I’ll have you recall you promised to accept my proposal.”
The wild fluttering in my chest increased tenfold. “You haven’t given me a ring.”
“Do you want one?”
I did. And that frightened me. I strutted deeper into the house. It was the first time I felt fully welcome in it. All the other times before, I was an extension of Lila and Tiernan, something the Ferrantes had to endure. “Which way to the basement of horrors?”
Achilles tilted his head to the left. “Follow me.”
I did, walking past the crème columns and golden accents to a guest room on the far side of the mansion. Inside, he led me into a walk-in closet. Then, he opened another door, which was padded on the inside.
As we stepped down the steep, cobbled stairway, a shiver of terror ran up my spine.
We descended into the bowels of the house, entering a massive basement that seemed as large as the entire first floor.
The dark space was filled with devices of torture.
A sinister smell clung to my nostrils, a mix of bleach, smoke, sweat, and blood.
A glass tank sat on a long, wooden table in the center of the room. When I reached the end of the stairway, I spotted a cage the size of a bathroom stall. Inside it was my father.
Or…what was left of him, at least.
Tyrone was shirtless, wearing what looked like pajama bottoms. His once salt-and-pepper hair was now completely white and in disarray.
He looked gaunt, and streaks of filth adorned his cheeks and torso.
When he saw us enter the basement, he rushed to his feet, tossing himself over the corroded bars, clutching them desperately.
“Oh, Tierney! My sweet pumpkin. My little girl.”
I stopped a good ten feet away from him, staring him down.
“Pumpkin, I can explain,” he rushed to say. His upper lip curled over his gums, like he’d lost his front teeth, and his speech was off. “Everything. Trust me. This is all a big misunderstanding. Tell him to let me go.”
I flicked my gaze to Achilles. He said nothing. He was letting me lead the way. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Sure, I’ll hear you out.”
Tyrone licked his cracked lips, his eyes clinging to my face. He was calculating his next words. Like they could make a difference.
“Are you going to deny collecting intel on the Irish and your own family and selling it to Vello?” I probed. “Because we’ve got receipts.”
Vello himself blew Tyrone’s cover the day I met with Tom Rothwell, so there was no way he could deny it.
“Well, no, but—”
“Are you suggesting, then, that Vello fabricated my meeting with Agent Rothwell on the same day I actually met him?” I proceeded.
Whatever little color he had in his face was gone now. “I’m not saying that.”
“What are you saying, then?”
“I’m saying I never thought this would blow back on you this way!” He rattled the bars of his cage desperately, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. “I thought—I thought Tiernan would take care of it. He always does. The lad knows what he’s doing.”
“You sold me to the Camorra,” I said. “And the rest of your people, too. Why did you do that? Money? You’ve got enough of it.”
The Irish’s business was booming. The Callaghan clan was never as prolific as the Camorra—not in size and not in contracts—but Tiernan was doing very well for himself. He made sure to pay Tyrone a monthly cut. He lived in a lavish mansion and had luxury cars.
“I—I thought I was helping everyone!” he stammered. “I swear it. I thought if the Camorra knew they had an insider from the Irish operation, they would be less suspicious of us and do more business with us. All I ever wanted was to help.”
I tipped my head back and laughed, a laugh that felt bitter in my throat. “How stupid do you think I am, Dad?”
“I swear—”
“All right, that’s enough.” Achilles cut in, taking a step forward.
“Tyrone, any minute you’re not giving us the truth is a minute I’m not spending inside your delectable daughter, and I’m afraid I’m running out of patience.
You have one more shot before I start cutting organs.
” He flipped his knife open and angled it in my father’s direction.
“I’m going to go slow and make sure you feel every single minute of it.
Help me help you. Talk and get it over with. ”