Page 55 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

ZVER

T he crowd stirs, restless, smelling blood.

Andre turns to leave.

“One more thing.” I grind the words out, dangling one last carrot in front of the bastard’s face. “I still have the Black Necklace. It’s yours. You don’t even have to save me. Just give me one thing.”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “And that would be?”

“Tell me what happened to Antonio D’Angelo. Before I meet my maker.”

He studies me, long and hard, then strolls so close, we’re eye to eye. His voice is a razor’s cut at my ear.

“You’ll never know how fucking close you were.”

The words hit like a sledgehammer, crushing bone, splintering straight through my chest until there’s nothing left of my heart but shards.

My mind claws at every word— how close? What does it mean?

Where is my father?

But I don’t let him see the blood in the water.

I bury it deep, let Zver take the wheel, and burn everything else to ash—fear, grief, every flicker of emotion—until there’s nothing left.

Nothing but ice behind my eyes and one big, fat fuck you, asshole.

I give him the smallest nod.

“You know what, Andre? That’s ironic. Because you’re so fucking close too.”

Then I drive my knee straight into his balls.

He folds instantly, crashing to the floor in a heap. His breath explodes out of him in a wheeze, pathetic against the roar of the crowd.

I don’t give him a second.

I nail him again, and this time he pukes—whiskey and bile splattering across the floor. The stench of acid fills the air, sharp and rancid.

I don’t stop. And not because I'm a damn robot on auto pilot. I don't want to stop.

I kick him in the groin, the gut, the ribs. Chains rattle with every strike. His head snaps sideways when my boot catches his jaw, blood streaking from his mouth as he sprawls across the concrete.

This isn’t about me.

I do it for Riley.

For my family.

For everyone Andre ever scarred, betrayed, destroyed. For the women and children who’ve been rescued.

And fuck it all—I do it for my father. Because deep down, I know Andre’s behind his disappearance. Just as sure as I know now I’ll never be able to prove it.

And I don’t give a fuck.

Today might hold my last breath. But I’ll make damn sure I drag this bastard as close to the grave as I can.

The roar of bloodlust thunders in my ears. They never care who bleeds. Only that someone does.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t stop until nothing’s left of Andre but his teeth, but the party has to end sometime.

A few lackeys finally rip him out of reach.

A wave of boos rolls through the air. And for once, I’m with them.

The Keenans rise—two full rows of Irish muscle—and the crowd falls dead silent. They give the MC a single nod.

“Begin.”

So this is how I die.

Auctioned off like prime meat at a slaughterhouse.

The bidding ignites. Voices climbing over each other, fighting for a shot at my carnage. Millions tossed out like pocket change.

Five million jumps to fifteen. It keeps climbing until I’m not sure if they’re bidding on me or a fleet of jets.

And then?—

“One hundred million dollars.”

For a beat, no one moves. No one breathes.

Then the crowd turns—everyone swiveling to find the source of the voice. Even me.

My eyes slam shut. Fuuuck.

Enzo .

“One. Hundred. Million. For Zver’s head,” he calls out, his voice slicing through the theater.

Then colder, deadlier. “The bastard’s been blowing up my buildings all over town.

So before anyone outbids me, I’ll make it simple.

I’ll put a bullet in him right here, right now, in front of all you fine people. A sacrifice to the God of War.”

The crowd loses their absolute shit.

The masses ignite, a pack of wolves drunk on the scent of fresh kill.

My gut knots, twisting me inside out.

I could shout the truth. I could beg him— Enzo, it’s me. Don’t do this. For the love of God, don’t kill me.

But… I can’t.

If I give myself up, I don’t just sign my own death warrant—I put Enzo in the line of fire too. And then it’ll be open season on every D’Angelo.

So I face him.

My own brother.

Knowing he’ll be the one to end my life.

And when he carves the mask from my corpse and sees my face, I’ll be the one to destroy him.

Someone from the Keenan's speaks. “The bid is accepted. The kill is yours, Enzo.”

The cage door screeches open.

Enzo steps inside, gun steady, eyes colder than ice.

“So…” he exhales slowly. “Who do we have here?”

His hand jerks at the mask.

It holds firm.

Thank God.

Then his fist connects.

White-hot pain detonates across my jaw, my skull ringing like a church bell. Chains keep me upright when I should already be face-down.

For the record, this is a low blow—he’s a prize MMA fighter.

And me? Shackled.

I spit blood, steal a breath, and manage a smile.

“You know, Zver,” he growls, “I’m gonna miss this. You blowing up my buildings. Me vowing vengeance. This thing we’ve got.”

“Not as much as I am,” I admit. Honest, for once.

“Any parting words?” He steps back, about ten paces, levels the biggest Glock I’ve ever seen right at my chest.

My throat works around a swallow. I pray silently— You are loved. You are my brother. Please forgive yourself, Enzo.

And then I say the only thing that might save us both.

“Take care of your wife. And her sister— as if she was your own .”

For a half-second, I swear he understands. That maybe—just maybe—he won’t pull the trigger.

That somehow he will realize it's me and we will get the fuck out of here.

Then, his brow furrows, head tilting like I’ve just spoken Greek.

He lets out a long, slow breath. “Thanks. I will.”

Of all times to be thick as a brick, he picks now.

The crack splits the air a half second before the pain registers.

My shoulder explodes, fire ripping through me until the world whites out.

Too much pain to breathe. Too much to see.

Through the haze I catch him holstering the gun, only to draw a knife, flipping it easily in his hand.

That’s my brother. Always prepared.

“Well, Zver… Arrivederci, motherfucker.”

He slams his shoulder into mine, right where the bullet tore through. The pain is blinding.

Then, I feel it. My gut ignites. The world tilts sideways.

And with what little life I’ve got left, I force the words out.

“Enzo… Riley…she’s carrying… Dante’s baby.”

Blood chokes me. My vision tunnels. This is it—the end.

I’m clawing for air, fighting through my last breaths, when Enzo leans in, ice in his eyes.

“I know.”