Page 94 of The Colour of Revenge

The words cut deeper than they should, and I hate that he knows exactly where to hit me. I’ve trusted before. Look where it’s gotten me.

“Trust is a luxury I can’t afford,” I mutter.

Enzo sighs, the sound heavy with exasperation. “If you’re going to burn the world down,bella, at least let me bring the matches.”

The thing is, he would absolutely help me do it. He has responsibilities back in America, men who rely on him, but he’s here, without hesitations, helping me see through my admittedly amateur revenge plan. I’m surprised he’s not told me I’m being stupid.

A bitter laugh escapes me despite myself. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He grins, his usual cocky charm slipping back into place. “What can I say? I’m a poet.”

The humour fades quickly, replaced by the weight of what’s ahead. I force myself to look at him, to meet the unwavering determination in his eyes.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say, my voice steadier now.

Enzo nods, his expression unreadable as he steps aside, gesturing toward the door.

The path ahead feels like stepping into the lion’s den. But I’ve made my choice.

I roll my shoulders back, steeling myself. There’s no turning back now.

24

I Want Revenge

Hypothetical Question: If you could commit the perfect crime but had to pin it on someone else, who would you pick?

Nate

Carinahasbeenholedup in her house with another man for three days. Three agonising days of silence, rage, and barely contained violence. I've watched them through the gaps in her curtains, my nails digging into my palms as they move around each other with the kind of ease that comes from history. From trust.

From something that should never fucking exist between them.

I don't know who he is. But I know enough. He shouldn't be there.

My fingers twitch at my sides. The urge to rip the door off its hinges and drag him out by his throat is suffocating. But I don't. Because I'm not reckless. Because I know Carina. And I know that whatever game she's playing, she expects me to lash out.

So, I wait. I play along. I message her daily, carefully crafting my words and keeping my tone easy. I let her think I believe her lies and that I'm giving her space.

That I'm not planning my next move.

Because something is wrong, and it's not just the man in her house. It's the way she's shut me out.

The way she's disappeared into herself like she's hiding something.

I don't just want answers.

I want revenge.

I just haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with her. Because even now, even after she’s ripped my fucking heart out and stomped all over it, I love her.

Goddamn it, I still love her.

I want this to be some fucked-up nightmare I’ll wake up from. I want her to tell me this is all part of the game. That we’re still in this together. Because I don’t want to do it without her anymore.

To be unhinged killers together—that’s what I thought we were. That’s what I thought we had.

My phone buzzes, snapping me out of my spiralling thoughts. I glance at the screen.