Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Caelian
My fists connect with Carmelo's jaw over and over again, the cracking noises instantly satisfying. Blood sprays from his mouth and nose and even splatters on the floor.
My cousin is crumpled like a broken marionette.
“Get up,” I snarl, grabbing him by his expensive shirt and hauling him to his feet. His legs wobble, but I don't give him time to recover. I slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle that brain inside his skull.
Blood pours from his swollen nose and split lip, painting his teeth crimson when he tries to speak. “Caelian, cousin, don’t—”
“What the fuck is going on?” I demand, pressing my forearm against his throat. “What's this bullshit about Zinc Co? And don't you dare lie to me, you piece of shit!”
Carmelo tries to shake his head, but I tighten my grip. His eyes bulge as he gasps for air. “I… I can’t…”
I press harder against his throat, showing no mercy, then drive my fist into his ribs. Yet another satisfying crack tells me I've broken at least one. He doubles over, retching.
“Wrong answer.” I grab his hair and yank his head back up. “Try again.”
“Okay, okay!” he gasps. “Your father... Uncle Carmine… he… he partnered with Nero years ago. They were developing a cure for heart conditions.”
I grit my teeth. “Explain!”
“They needed a test subject,” he blurts out in a rush, blood dribbling from his swollen mouth. “Someone who already had a serious condition and met the criteria. Someone they could experiment on!”
“And all of you were in on it, were you?” I growl.
“We were told—your father said—he told us you were sick anyway!” Carmelo says.
He flinches as if he expects another fist to the face.
“Many of the treatments made you sicker, but…
but as long as Uncle Carmine and Nero could advance their research, it…
it didn't matter. Sometimes... Sometimes it was better if you stayed sick. It gave more room to experiment with other treatments.”
White-hot rage burns through my veins. I turn to look at Tulio, who's been standing frozen by the desk this entire time. “And you knew. You were a part of this—you all were!”
It's not a question. Tulio's face has gone ashen, sweat beading on his forehead.
“He did fucking know!” Carmelo screams, pointing a shaking finger at the doctor. “He injected you with all of it! Every experimental treatment, every toxin designed to keep you dependent!”
Another growl rumbles in my throat, the sound barely human. My father used me as a lab rat. My own flesh and blood condemned me to years of agony for profit.
But there's more. I can see it in Carmelo's eyes.
“Who were you on the phone with earlier?” I demand. “Bragging about betraying Nero?”
“Who else?! Cristian and Coreno. We're all in on it. Your father was old as fucking dirt, Caelian. Old age was catching up to the bastard. We knew it would only be a matter of time before he croaked. We… we figured why not profit in his place?”
“And Nero?”
“We never intended to work with him long term! We let him think he was in charge… but… but did you think we’d ever want to be second fiddle to the Vorones? It’s Ziccardi first!”
“If it was Ziccardi first, you fucking stronzo, you would’ve never done what you did to me!
” I roar in his face. “But the money, the profit mattered more! You all had no problem making me ill for your own gain. And now you want me to believe you champion our family above Nero and the Vorones because your bank account will be padded?”
“It’s not what it sounds like—”
“Give me one good reason I should keep you alive.” I draw my gun, pressing the barrel against his forehead.
“I can take you to Nero! I can arrange it so you can confront him! That’s more important, right? He took your wife, didn’t he? He wanted the girl brought to him. She has the key that’ll open the lockbox. He's having her brought to his mansion by Matteo. Right now!"
All information I already deduced except for his exact whereabouts.
But it’s about as much use as I’m going to get out of him.
I step back, letting Carmelo slide down the wall. A dark grin spreads across my face.
“Now that's useful information. I appreciate what you've told me.”
Relief floods Carmelo's battered features.
He wipes at his bloody, swollen face with shaking hands.
“I knew you’d see it our way. And maybe…
maybe we can cut you in on some of the profit, you know?
When we backstab Nero. For all your trouble with your condition and the bad treatments we've been giving you. That sound like a fair trade off, cousin?”
My grin widens. These fucking idiots actually think I'd work with them after everything they've done. After what they've put me through. After they've participated in my destruction and were allied with the same man seeking to destroy me and mia bella ballerina.
“I have no interest, cousin,” I answer calmly. “You’ve already chosen your side.”
I pull the trigger. The gunshot echoes through the office as Carmelo's head snaps back, brain matter splattering across the wall behind him. His body crumples to the floor, finally still.
Tulio makes a strangled sound behind me. I turn to face him, and the old man's hands shake as he holds them up in surrender.
“Caelian, please, I was just following orders—”
The second gunshot cuts him off, the bullet hitting him in the stomach. Tulio's body hits the floor with a thud.
I holster my weapon and check the time. If Matteo is taking Nevaeh to Nero's estate, I need to move fast. The mansion is on the other side of the city. Every second I waste here is another second she's in danger.
I step over the bodies and head for the door, my heart pounding with more than just my condition. For the first time in years, the excruciating pain in my chest isn't from some experimental toxin or manufactured illness.
It's fear. Pure, primal terror at the thought of losing her.
I'm coming, mia bella ballerina. I will make it to you.
I drive through Dresden like a man possessed, my Maserati ripping through the narrow streets at speeds that would make a stunt driver shit himself. The engine roars as I take corners on two wheels, pedestrians diving for cover as I blow through red lights.
The city blurs past in conflicting streaks of dark shadows and bright lights. I tear through the industrial district where smokestacks belch poison into the night sky and the tenements where people eke out their existence in the shadows of wealth and power.
The iron gates that separate the underclass from the elite rise before me like some medieval fortress.
I punch the gas and rocket into the upper district, where manicured lawns stretch like green carpets and security cameras track my every move. The houses here aren't homes—they're monuments to excess. Huge mansions that flaunt their wealth.
Nero's residence looms ahead. The bastard built himself a palace fit for an emperor, all gleaming gold and towering columns that scream of his massive ego.
Even the fucking fountain in his circular driveway is gold-plated, water cascading over cherubs that probably cost more than most people make in a year.
I slam on the brakes, tires shrieking against pristine cobblestones. Guards rush toward my car before I've even killed the engine.
But I’m ready for them, stepping out with my gun already drawn.
The first guard reaches for his weapon. I put two bullets in his chest before he can even take aim. The second one actually manages to draw, but his shot goes wide as my bullet takes him in the throat. He drops, gurgling blood onto the gold inlaid stones.
The third guard—smarter than his dead friends—throws his hands up in surrender.
“The code,” I bark, aiming between his eyes. “For the security system.”
“I… I can’t—”
“Wrong answer.” I cock the hammer.
“Okay, okay!” His fingers shake as he punches numbers into the keypad beside the massive golden doors. “Six-five-six-zero-one.”
The locks disengage with a loud click. I shoot the guard in the chest anyway, and he crumples beside his friends.
The back entrance is easier—servant’s quarters always are. I slip through a side door that leads to the kitchens, past marble countertops that cost more than most people's houses.
Everything inside reflects the outside. Golden and crystalized and a show of excess.
I follow the sound of voices and clinking silverware through corridors lined with oil paintings of the Vorone family history. The dining room door stands slightly ajar, warm light spilling into the hallway.
I kick it open and step inside with my gun raised.
Nero sits at the head of a table long enough to seat twenty, cutting into what looks like a perfectly prepared steak. Across from him, a blonde bimbo with huge tits she’s squeezed into a dress picks at her salad with the bored expression of someone used to dining with monsters.
Neither of them even flinches when I enter.
“Where is she?” I demand, my gun trained on Nero.
The egotistical asshole doesn't look up from his meal. He cuts another piece of steak as if he has all the time in the world, chewing thoughtfully then dabbing at his mouth with a cloth napkin.
“Good evening, Caelian,” he says calmly. “I was wondering when you'd arrive. I expected you would.”
“Where the fuck is Nevaeh?” I shift my aim to the blonde, who finally looks up from her salad with wide, startled eyes. “I’ll put a bullet in your girlfriend's fucking head if you don't fucking tell me.”
Nero sets down his fork, his smile cold and triumphant. “You mean your bella ballerina? She's already dead.”