Page 151 of The Colour of Revenge

Enzo has been drilling Italian into me for months, but I still don’t catch all of it.

“What does that mean?”

Carina wipes the blade against her thigh, gaze steady.

Her lips curl slightly.

“You will all pay for your sins in hell.”

The words hang in the air, thick with finality. The moment feels... perfect.

40

What Do I Do Now?

Hypothetical Question: You have to pick an animal to fightin a cage match for your freedom. What animal do you pick, and what’s your plan to defeat it? An armadillo or a sloth?

Carina

It’ssilentaswestare down at the three bodies, their blood staining the floor in dark, pooling rivers. The metallic scent clings to the air, mingling with the sharp tang of something deeper—something more personal. It's everywhere. A suffocating presence that seems to close in around us.

A tear slips down my cheek, hot and heavy, carving a path through the blood smeared across my face. It's not just the violence that’s overwhelming me now. It's everything. Every moment that’s led up to this.

The years I spent in captivity.

The days when I was nothing but a broken shell, my body a prison, my mind a constant battlefield.

Those men—those monsters—who thought they could crush me, strip me of my will, my humanity.

I was supposed to die at their hands. I was supposed to fade into nothingness, just another victim. But I didn’t.

Then came Italy, the months of numbness and solitude. The slow, painful process of healing. Every step forward felt like a battle, each day a fight to reclaim pieces of the person I once was. But I wasn’t the same. I couldn’t be.

That pain—the raw, gnawing agony—fuelled something dark in me. Something that burned hotter than the sun. Fury. Pure, unrelenting rage. It consumed me, twisted me into someone I didn't recognise. Someone who could take a life without hesitation. Someone who could look at blood and feel no remorse.

But now... Now that it's done, there’s a hollow, gnawing emptiness where satisfaction should be. The vengeance I so desperately craved is no longer enough. It feels like an abyss, one that keeps widening with every breath I take.

What do I do now?

I thought this was the only thing that could keep me afloat. The one thing that could fill the aching void in my chest. But now... now that it's over, I'm sinking. Drowning in my own thoughts, my own fears. The weight of it all crashes down on me. The lives I've taken, the pieces of myself I've lost in the process. It’s too much.

I can't stand. My legs buckle beneath me, the floor rushing up too fast.

But Nate’s there, his arms wrapping around me before I hit the ground. He holds me tight, steadying me, his strength a stark contrast to my sudden weakness. His grip is firm under my shoulders, his touch warm, grounding. His presence is a tether to something—anything—real.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough, steady.

I try to speak, but my throat is tight, constricted with everything I can't say. The tears flow freely now, spilling down my face, as the weight of what I’ve done crashes over me.

"I don’t know what to do anymore," I whisper, my voice broken, raw. "I thought this would make it better. But it doesn’t. I’m lost, Nate."

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just holds me. I can feel the steadiness of his heartbeat against my cheek, a rhythmic anchor in the storm that’s raging inside me.

"You’re not lost," he finally says, his voice low but firm. "You’ve been through hell, Carina. But you’re here now. You’re not alone in this."

I shake my head, feeling more fractured than ever. The guilt, the shame—it’s all there, bubbling up with every passing second. “I killed them.” The words are foreign on my tongue, as though I’ve never said them aloud before. Like a confession.

"You did," Nate acknowledges softly. "But they deserved it. Every last one of them. And you're still here, still standing. That’s what matters."