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He can try and he surely will, but I have literally nothing more to lose.

When he strides inside, my heart twists so hard, the pain is instant.

After months, his presence sucks all the air in the room, seizing my lungs. His imposing presence leaves me breathless and craving him.

My first mistake was to want his attention.

My second mistake was to crave his presence.

My third mistake was to fall in love with him.

My fourth and final mistake was to think he’d realize that I could never kill him.

While I look like a mess, caked with dried blood, grease and sweat, Enzo is the definition of class and elegance in his black pants and button-down shirt open at the top and revealing a patch of tanned skin.

He cocks his head, his gaze filled with coldness, but something else flickers in them—pain. I want to soothe him, apologize, love him with all my broken pieces. I don’t want this to be the end of us.

He draws his gun and points it at me. I jerk my chin at him, a solitary tear rolling down my cheek.

So be it.

“Do it. But I doubt you can.” At least that’s what I hope because there’s nothing more I wish than to get a second chance. Not because I’ve lost it all, but because I want to build something new on the ashes of my past—with him.

A shot rings out.

I guess I was wrong.

Four months since she shot me, she’s here. When the guards deliver her to me, she is still out from the sedative. I stare at her face for long minutes, having difficulty realizing that she’s real and not a figment of my imagination.

The clearing throat of one of my men shakes me out of my stupor, and I notice she was shot. That was not the deal and rage unfurls, wanting to cut open whoever dared to touch her but me.

“The wife of the Boston boss shot her,” he says apologetically, but at least she’s alive. After the chaos Luciana brought them, this is a small price to pay in retribution.

I could have the doctor tend to her wound, but I want her to wake up and feel the pain that won’t come close to what I’ve lived with.

“Where do you want her, boss?” my head of security asks me.

I take her from his arms, not liking that he holds her.

Then I bring her to the underground building.

In the basement, I gesture with my hand to leave me alone with my ruin and the demons that mock me.

Placing her in the metal chair set in the middle of the room, I secure her wrists and ankles. I look around the sparse room except for the gray closet where I store my torture tools, a metal table and another chair.

This is where I brought the men responsible for my father’s death and my sister’s kidnapping. I tortured them until their blood covered my skin, and their screams pierced my ears. It’s a soundproof cement room with a prison cell spanning the left side.

Every second in her vicinity tears at my sanity, knots up my heartstrings and seizes my lungs. I can barely breathe. My love has long switched to hate after agony and hurt flooded my chest, drowning my heart.

Letting her sleep off the drug, I stride toward my home, needing to get a grip on my composure. Luciana has an uncanny ability to make me react impulsively.

My sister intercepts me, staring me down. My decision is controversial but, in my position, I don’t need to justify myself.

Dahlia purses her lips, a veil of incredulity coming down her face. “You really brought her here?”

“You’re safe.”

“Oh, brother. I don’t worry about me,” she mutters, and walks away, leaving me to ruminate over the words she didn’t say.