Chapter Seven

Coda

The fluorescent lights of the emergency room buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow over the waxed floor. Sick people huddle in chairs all over the waiting room, mindlessly waiting to be called.

I stride past them, heading for the door to the back.

A middle-aged nurse at the reception desk looks up at me, opens her mouth, and quickly snaps it closed.

Good.

I don't have time for bullshit.

I shove the door open so hard it slams against the wall, announcing my arrival like a raging wind. My breath is ragged, my heart slamming against my ribs as if it's trying to escape my chest. It's been pounding the same way since the fucking doctor called, telling me that Karina was here, asking for me.

I haven't taken a breath since.

"Sir, you can't go back there!" The nurse at the desk finds her courage too late to slow me down.

I shoot her a look so venomous it silences her again.

"His wife is here," Domani lies as he and Mattia flank me, their presence a silent threat to anyone else who tries to challenge me. They were with me when I got the call. I'm unsure if they're here to support or contain me. I don't care.

I don't give a fuck about protocol or permission, either. The rules don't mean a goddamn thing to me right now.

Karina is here, hurt and alone. Every second I waste with bullshit is another second she spends afraid. That's intolerable to me.

The area beyond the door is chaotic. Nurses and doctors flow this way and that down cramped, stark white corridors. Medical equipment is tucked into corners, waiting to be grabbed. I ignore it all, fear clawing at my insides as I hurry toward the room holding the only thing that matters to me.

I don't knock. I don't announce myself.

The door swings open, and my heart shatters into a million jagged pieces.

She looks so fucking small and broken in the bed. Scratches and bruises mar her perfect skin. A bandage covers her forehead, hiding God only knows what sort of damage. Dried blood streaks her face.

Something primal rises in me as I stare at her, a dark wave of rage threatening to wash away all reason. She shouldn't be here. Not her. Not like this.

If I find the motherfucker who hit her, I'm going to kill him.

She lifts her gaze as if sensing me. Those gray eyes that have haunted my every waking moment now swim with pain. The sight claws at my heart.

"Coda." Her bottom lip quivers, and tears spill over.

I feel every single one like a knife in my fucking heart.

"Karina," I breathe, closing the distance between us. The monster inside me claws at its chains, desperate to break free and kill in her name. I battle it back, ruthlessly slamming the doors of its cage. Right now, she needs me, and that's what matters.

"Coda," she whimpers again.

"Shh," I whisper, reaching out as gently as possible to lift her out of the bed and into my arms. "You're safe now, angioletta. I'm here."

She clings to me, her fingers wrapped in the fabric of my jacket as if she intends to anchor us together. "I'm sorry, Coda. I-I s-shouldn't have gone. He was s-so m-mean. I just w-wanted to get away. I was d-driving too f-fast to stop." Her words are muffled against my chest, but I understand enough.

She was at her father's. My blood turns to ice. "You were trying to get away from your father, cara? That's what caused the accident?"

Mattia and Domani shift restlessly.

"Cazzo," Mattia mutters. He knows me well enough to know this isn't going to endear the bastard to me.

Karina nods, trembling in my arms. "We got into an a-argument. H-he called me…" she trails off, but I don't need to hear it.

Cold fury settles over me. That motherfucker had the audacity to call her names? His own daughter? He's the reason she's in this bed right now? The reason I could have lost her today?

"W-whore," she finally whispers.

The word rips through the room like a bullet, hitting me right in the heart. And I fucking bleed.

He called her a whore. The fiery little angel who lights up the dark. He had the nerve to twist his lips and call her anything other than perfect?

He's crossed a line no man should ever cross.

"Listen to me, Karina," I say, my voice deadly quiet as I hold her to my chest, rage pounding through me with every jolt of my heart. "He'll never speak to you that way again."

I meet Mattia's gaze over her head. He simply nods, already knowing that my decision is made and nothing anyone says will change my mind now.

Her father had no mercy for her; I'll have none for him.

For her, I'll burn his fucking world to the ground.

I crouch in the shadows outside of Alessepo's house, the familiar weight of the gun cold in my hand. It's pitch-black out, the moon hiding behind a thick blanket of clouds. I take it as a sign—even the heavens are aligning to help ensure this motherfucker pays tonight.

I move silently, every step calculated, every breath measured. Finding an unlocked window takes only moments. Alessepo's too fucking sure of himself, confident of his safety in his own little kingdom. It'll be his downfall.

I don't make a sound as I slip through it into an office, pulling the window closed behind me. My boots make no sound as I slip down the hallway, a ghost haunting the threshold between justice and vengeance.

I don't bother looking around. There's nothing here that interests me except the motherfucker I came to handle. The stairs are silent under my feet, the only sound the pounding of my heart and the ticking of a clock somewhere below.

The door to his room is open, a sliver of moonlight beckoning me forward. I pause on the threshold, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breath. Every few seconds, he grunts through a snore. Even from across the room, I smell the alcohol on him.

My fingers tighten around the grip of my gun as I battle back rage. It would be easy, so fucking easy, to end his life with a single squeeze of the trigger right here and now. To watch the life bleed from him.

I step into the room, keeping to the shadows. For a moment, I simply watch him, the twisted look of peace on his face fueling my rage. How dare he sleep peacefully when he's turned her world into a living hell?

The prick didn't even try to show up at the hospital today. His daughter could have died because of him, and he couldn't even be bothered to act like he cared. He was too fucking drunk to notice.

I inch closer at the reminder. I'm a predator on the precipice, caught between the savage sweetness of revenge and the knowledge that it's not just my soul on the line—it's hers, too.

I press my gun to his temple, my boot connecting with the frame of his bed in a sharp kick meant to jar him awake.

"Wake the fuck up, Alessepo."

His body jolts, and his eyes snap open, bloodshot but clear. Good. He's sober now.

He doesn't scream or plead for mercy. As he processes the situation, resignation sweeps through his gaze. He's stared death in the face before, perhaps not this closely, but close enough to know there's no begging your way out of it when your number's up.

He should know. He's been on this side of the trigger.

"Who—?"

I silence him by pressing the gun even harder against his temple. "The motherfucker who took your daughter from you."

"The party," he says, his voice gravelly from sleep.

"You lost her long before the party. She knows what you are and the things you've done."

His gaze flicks across my face, assessing, trying to determine what I know or if I'm fishing. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a cop."

My finger twitches with the effort it takes not to squeeze the trigger. "And you've been dirty your entire fucking career," I growl, the past clawing its way up my throat like bile. "Remember Andres and Letty Passero?"

A brief flicker in his eyes is his only response, gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I was there the night you killed them. Twenty-five fucking years ago. Don't act like you've forgotten their blood on your hands."

He blinks, slow and deliberate, that practiced, cool facade sliding over his features like a mask. Cops wear it so goddamn well. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lies, so smoothly it almost sounds like truth.

"That's fine, Alessepo. I don't need your admission. I was there. I saw it. I've lived with it haunting me every fucking day since." I smirk, an unholy, savage smirk. "Now, it's going to haunt you."

Uncertainty filters through his expression, the first hint that he's not as calm and collected as he'd like to appear. There are cracks in his armor. Miles Alessepo is starting to unravel.

Good. I hope every thread slices deep.

"I wanted to kill you, but your daughter doesn't need to live with that on her conscience. And after everything you've done, death is too easy for you," I say. I'm jury and executioner, and I'm handing down my sentence. "You took something from me. Now, I'm taking everything from you. Your daughter is already mine, and brick by fucking brick, I'm going to dismantle your little empire until you're left with nothing. By the time you fall, everyone in this city will know exactly who and what you are."

I remove the gun from his temple, the gesture deliberate. This isn't mercy. I'm not letting him off. There is no hope of redemption for him, and I'm not giving him an opportunity to seek it. He's going to plummet from his pedestal, and I'm going to make it happen.

I just declared war with the entire fucking police department.

It is what it is.

With swift brutality, I swing my arm. The crack of his nose breaking is music, the bright spray of red immediately satisfying.

"If you ever put her in danger or disrespect her again, I will kill you next time, Alessepo," I warn him, my voice cold. "So fucking slowly, you'll spend days begging for death before I let you have it." I wrap my hand around his throat, yanking him up until his eyes are level with mine. "And getting to you is fucking child's play for a motherfucker like me. There is no hole deep or dark enough to keep you from me."

He gurgles, his eyes bulging as he fights to breathe. For the first time since I entered his room, fear sweeps through his gaze. For the first time, he knows exactly how he made her feel.

Good.

I hold him for a moment, my hand a vise around his miserable throat to ensure the lesson sinks in, and then I drop him.

He's still gasping for breath when I stride from the room, leaving him groaning in the dark.

Killing him would have been so fucking easy, but it'd chain Karina to him in ways that can't ever be undone. I intend to break those chains, not forge new ones. That's the future she deserves—one free of this motherfucker and the pain he's caused her.

If I have to dismantle the entire goddamn police department to make it happen, so be it.