CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE Zagreus Vitale
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Zagreus Vitale
I’ve always believed the world was a carcass.
Rotting and useless. A playground for men too weak to crawl and too afraid to burn.
But I… I was different. People talk about destiny and justice and kindness when all that saccharine bullshit is meant to tame the masses.
But I was never tamed. I was never born to kneel.
I slit my uncle’s throat when I was six for disrespecting my mother’s name.
His blood baptized me, and I didn’t even flinch.
All it took was a knife and a heart that wanted this world to burn.
I was built for destruction, and I proudly wore it like a second skin.
Violence was in my nature. The world gave me nothing but reasons to hate it, so I hated it back harder. And I fucking thrived.
Until her.
Selene Visconti.
The little girl with two crooked ponytails, scraped knees, and a smile too bright for a place as black as this earth.
An angel, if angels bled. Her heart was pure gold, uncorrupted by this darkness that made the rest of us look like ashes on her stone.
She didn’t belong here, not in this filthy graveyard of men and monsters.
And yet… she walked straight into it, barefoot, fearless as if she could cleanse the rot with nothing but her tiny hands.
And me? The bastard born of fire and ruin? Bowed at her altar.
She was the only proof I ever had that maybe hell could wear the mask of heaven. That even a man like me could feel something holy.
Selene Visconti. My curse, my prayer, and my undoing all in one.
Even her name still tasted of marrow and fire when it slipped through my head. I shouldn’t remember it this vividly, and yet I did. Every curve of her letters was etched into me like scripture carved in bone.
She was the only thing I didn’t poison. For her, I stripped myself bare of blood and knives.
For her, I swore I’d be more than the devil they raised me to be.
I never killed a man in her presence. I begged on my knees for her.
Zagreus Vitale, the prodigy, the untouchable, and the fucking nightmare of men, begged for a woman to stay.
And she did. She let me make her my wife.
For a moment, I thought I had cheated fate. I thought I’d stolen something pure and pressed it into my rotten chest until I could feel it beat again. But fate is cruel. Crueller than any blade.
I lost her.
I lost the only goddamn thing worth bleeding for. Buried her with my own hands, laid her down in the grave I carved out of my chest, and shoved my heart in with her. Her carcass. Our unborn child. My devotion and my ruin. Gone. In one second. In one heartbeat.
I promised her I’d follow her into whatever afterlife dared to claim her. That no god, no man, no grave could keep me from her. I made a vow, and I never fucking broke vows.
The note on my desk mocked me now. And I knew I fucked up. A little slip. Overwhelming emotions, I let them take over earlier.
Ghosts and brides shouldn’t exist together.
My jaw locked. It was a bad idea to host the party here.
I shouldn’t have done it, knowing what the consequences would be.
But it was mandatory. Diana Visconti needed to leave her den.
She needed to make an appearance. Though she didn’t, her minion did.
And for now, everything is going according to plan.
I knew my little wife would take the bait.
She loved her freedom more than her life.
I left the doors unguarded on purpose, let her run on her pretty bare feet until she tasted the illusion of escape.
I wanted to see which vulture would swoop first. And he did.
Corvin always took the bait when the prize was her.
It was never about the party, never about the guests or the charade of crystal glasses and silks. It was about smoking out the rats who thought they could use my wife as their pawn. They thought they’re clever, but they forgot who built the fucking game.
Though some things went unplanned, I’d have my fun soon.
But why did it feel so empty? My temple throbbed, and my pulse clawed at my throat. I raked a hand through my hair, tugging hard enough to tear the roots from my skull. Corvin. The bastard. The leech.
He touched her.
He laid his filthy claim on what’s mine. And the world expected me to remain still? To remain calm?
I mashed the edge of the desk with my fist, and the wood cracked beneath my knuckles. I tasted the iron on my tongue, and it took me a second to realise I’d bitten through my lip. Blood reminded me I was still flesh, still mortal. Not the goddamn ghost they all whispered I was.
But my bride… was flesh too. Warm and frightened, probably. Running through the dark with her heart rattling against her ribs. And in her terror, she will mistake the arms that catch her for sanctuary.
I was fifteen when I inherited the underworld. I’ve burned empires less than this. And now they want to gamble with my goddamn soul? They forget I already buried one wife. And I’ll be damned before I bury her twice.
Selene. Celestine. Angel. Bride or ghost. Whatever name she bears, she is mine. She will always be mine. And I will raze the world until the smoke spells her name in the sky if I have to.
I crumpled the note.
I married her once, she was my wife once, and I lost her. I found her again, married her, but this time, I won’t lose her. Not again. Not until she remembers me. Not until she calls me hers again.
If fate wants war, I’ll give it hell. My own hell.