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“No,” I say sharply.

That gets her attention. Her head whips to me, eyes wild.

“Why not?”

“Because this,” I gesture to the gun, to her clenched hands. “This isn’t yours to carry, sweetheart. It’s mine.”

“No, I can’t. I have to do this!”

“You don’t,” I counter, standing in front of her and cutting off her line of sight. “You don’t need to cross this line, Cassie. This is my line. You get a glimpse into my darkness but I refuse to allow you to be a part of it.”

Her hands tremble. Her lips press together, a war waging in her chest I can feel even from where I stand. She’s not a killer. But I am. And I love her too much to let her become something she’ll never come back from.

Slowly, her arm lowers. The gun tips down, her breath coming fast.

“Then do it for me. Kill him,” she says to me.

“Mi vida….”

She looks up at me, the fire in her eyes dimmed, but not gone, “Please, Damien. I need to see this. I need to know he’s gone.”

I take the gun from her gingers, steadying her hand as it falls to the side. She leans against me and I wrap my free arm around her. Miguel lifts his head, meeting my eyes. there’s no begging. He knows better.

I look down at the gun. Then back at Cassie.

“This had better bring you peace, mi vida,” I tell her.

It only takes one shot. Clean, efficient. A single shot to his chest and his body slumps. Luca doesn’t even flinch. He steps back, wiping blood from his knuckles with a handkerchief like it’s another Tuesday.

Cassie sags into me, watching the life drain from a man she once loved. There’s no satisfaction in her expression, just relief. Closure. Meanwhile, my lips press into a thin line.

Miguel’s one lucky son of a bitch. I planned to make him suffer, to torture him and draw out his punishment. But she needed to watch him die, and I would never let her watch him be tortured. Which is why I ended his life so fast.

No matter though. there’s someone else that can be the object of my rage and frustrations. Santori will be the perfect output. And it won’t be clean, not in the slightest.

I press a kiss to Cassie’s hair before leading her to the car, helping her in. She doesn’t say a word the entire ride home, simply holding to me tight. I wonder what’s going through her head. I wish she’d talk to me. The silence has me feeling anxious, worried.

Once we arrive home, I carry her up the stairs in silene, every step heavier than the last, not from her weight, but from the rage coiling inside of me.

I push the bedroom door open with my foot and lay her down gently on the bed. The moment I straighten, her fingers curl into the front of my shirt. Then she lets out a sound, soft at first, like a breath caught in her throat.

It starts to build though. A sob, shaky, gutting.

“Cassie…” I kneel down beside her. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

She shudders and then she breaks. It’s like a damn bursting open. Her sobs are violent, heart-wrenching. She clutches at me, her hands desperate like I’m the only solid thing left in her world. I sit down beside her and pull her onto my lap. She cries into my chest, soaking through my shirt, her entire body wrecked with grief. And I take it all, I absorb every shaking breath, every broken sound, because this is what she needs.

To finally cry. To grieve. She was barely able to grieve her father that. That coupled with all the things she’s experienced in the past couple of months and it’s no wonder this outpouring didn’t come sooner.

I don’t rush her. I don’t speak. My hands move in slow strokes over her back, her spine, her hair. I press kisses to her head, murmuring nothing but warmth and safety.

Eventually, the shaking slows. Her breathing steadies. Soon enough she’s asleep in my arms.

I stay like that for a long moment, watching her. Then when I’m sure she won’t stir, I gently lower her onto the mattress and pull the covers up around her. I slip out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

The moment it shuts, something in me turns. The softness drains out like a blood form a wound. And the monster takes its rightful place.

***