Chapter 25: Scarlet

25

SCARLET

I stepped into the old warehouse from the vehicle that pulled right inside, my heart racing as I took in the grim scene before me. The musty air hit my nostrils, thick with the metallic scent of blood and sweat. A man sat strapped to a chair in the center of the room, his face a mess of purple bruises and blood. His eyes, barely visible through the swelling, darted around in panic. Tyrone stood nearby, his massive frame casting a shadow over the captive. His knuckles were raw and flecked with blood, whether it was his own split skin from beating on the man or it was the man's, I couldn't say. The sight made my stomach churn, but I steeled myself as Julian and Cristian guided me towards the pair.

The warehouse stretched out before us, a cavernous space devoid of life save for our small group. Beams of afternoon sunlight pierced through the grimy glass skylight above, casting long shadows across the concrete floor and illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. I couldn't help but shiver as I took in our surroundings, the isolation of this place weighing heavily on me. Tucked away in some forgotten corner of the industrial district, this building was the perfect spot for shit to go down. No prying eyes, no nosy neighbors, no chance of interruption. Whatever was about to unfold here would remain our dark secret, hidden from the outside world that continued on, blissfully unaware of the horrors taking place within these walls.

"This is Angelo Russo, head of the family," Tyrone announced, his voice cold. "His two sons carried out the kidnapping and attack, ordered by him."

I swallowed hard, wondering why I'd been brought here. This wasn't my world. I didn't belong in this nightmare of violence and retribution, did I?

Angelo's one good eye flickered towards me, confusion evident in his battered features.

Tyrone gestured in my direction. "This is the woman you took, whose life you endangered. The one you took alongside our brother."

Cristian's voice cut through the air like a knife. "She's ours, fuckface. And we protect our own, we kill for them."

I flinched at his words, glancing at Kenny in Cristian's arms, unfussed by this scenario, as if he was accustomed to being brought to such things. He probably was for all I knew. He also likely had no idea what was going on.

"Why am I here?" I finally found my voice, surprised at how steady it was despite the fluttering of my heart.

Tyrone turned to me, his dark eyes unreadable. "You're here because you were involved. They took you, put your life in danger, and now, you get to see what happens to those who threaten our own. The Russos need to learn their place."

I glanced back at Angelo, noting the fear that now clouded his remaining eye as he let his gaze fall to the floor. He knew what was coming, and so did I.

I stood there, my breath hitching in my throat as Tyrone's words echoed through the warehouse. "She's ours" he declared, his voice a low rumble that filled the space with an undeniable weight. My stomach clenched as he grabbed Angelo's hair, yanking his head back with a cruel twist of his wrist. "Look at her, Angelo," Tyrone commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. "Look at the woman you were stupid enough to threaten."

Angelo's one good eye rolled in its socket, trying to focus on me. I could see the fear etched into the lines of his face, the tremble in his lips as he realized the gravity of his mistake.

"Did you really think you wouldn't pay for that? Get your last look at her," Tyrone continued, his voice as cold as the steel of the gun tucked into his waistband. "Because she's the last thing you'll ever see."

Before I could fully comprehend his words, Tyrone's thumbs dug into Angelo's eyes with a sickening squelch. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling the gasp that threatened to escape. The sight was horrific as Angelo's screams echoed around the warehouse, and I took an involuntary step back.

Julian's presence loomed behind me, a solid wall of warmth in the chilling atmosphere of the warehouse. I turned into him, seeking refuge from the scene before me. Kenny was cradled in one arm, squished between us as he wrapped his other arm around me.

"We protect our own, pyro," Julian murmured into my hair, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you choose us, no one will ever hurt you again."

I shook my head slowly, the words catching in my throat. It was too much to take in, too much to process. The violence, the promises, the sickening feeling of being trapped in a world I never asked to be a part of.

I turned slightly in his arms, unable to keep from glancing back at Angelo.

As Tyrone released his hold on him, he slumped forward in the chair, sobbing pitifully, and I gritted my teeth. I felt Julian's hand on my back, a silent reassurance that I was safe here, at least for the moment. I took some small comfort in that.

Tyrone turned to Cristian, his expression hardened into a cold mask. "Do you want to do the honors, brother?" he asked, his voice carrying across the warehouse.

Cristian stepped forward, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he took in the sight of Angelo's mutilated face, blood and the remnants of his eyes oozing down his cheeks. Cristian glanced at me, his gaze lingering for a moment before he nodded at Tyrone, accepting the offer with a chilling smile.

I buried my face into Julian's chest, knowing I didn't want to witness what was about to follow.

My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as Angelo's screams filled the warehouse. The sound was jarring, the repetitive cries making me flinch each time, my heart pounding with the pain and terror echoing in them.

I focused on Kenny, one hand finding his small body and my fingers gliding through his fur in an effort to soothe my frantic heart.

The screams eventually subsided, giving way to an eerie silence that was almost worse than the sound of Angelo's agony. I couldn't bring myself to look, but I knew he was dead. The sticky wet sound of the knife plunging into his body had ceased, replaced by the heavy breathing of Cristian.

"This is the darkness of our world, Scarlet," Tyrone's voice rang out, strong and clear despite the bloodshed that had just unfolded. "Bloody, brutal, raw."

I should have been terrified. I should have been shaking, screaming, demanding to be let go. But as I huddled against Julian, I found a strange sense of calm washing over me. This man, Angelo, had been ready to have me killed or used as currency in their twisted world. He would have ended my life without a second thought. His death was a direct result of his own actions, and while I knew this shouldn't be something I could accept so easily, I couldn't find it in myself to feel bad for him. Sure, his screams had hit me hard, but now that it was over, any sympathy for him had evaporated as the reality sunk in.

Slowly, I turned my head, my cheek brushing against Julian's chest. My eyes fell upon the lifeless body of Angelo Russo, a man who'd ruled a rival family, now nothing more than a bloodied, battered corpse. He was no longer a threat to me, to Julian, to any of us.

I lifted my gaze, first to Cristian, who stood there, his chest heaving, the knife still gripped tightly in his hand, blood splattered across his face like war paint. His eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something beyond the rage and the violence—a flicker of concern, perhaps?

Then I turned to Tyrone, whose dark eyes were locked on me. They narrowed as he took a step closer, the corners of his mouth turning down in a contemplative frown. He sauntered over, each step deliberate and full of purpose, and I found myself holding my breath.

As he approached, Julian's grip on me tightened ever so slightly. I refused to cower, to show any sign of weakness in the face of the man who had just orchestrated a murder right before my eyes. A murder for me, of the man who'd stolen me from them .

I was surrounded by violence, by men who wielded death as easily as others might wield a pen. And yet, in this moment, I understood their world, their methods.

Sometimes survival meant being the one left standing when the dust settled. The one with the most blood on their hands.