Dying, I Left His Ruthless Bed

de

e from the carnage unfolding in my chest. Blood mixed with the spilled whiskey, drip

bel

drawal of my presence. My mother had promised me a broken woman. Instead, I was

s a low rumble, vibrating with a violence th

go down there

id, s

private box, the heavy door slamming shut behind me. The corridor was empty, the

as a calculation. Every breath was fuel for the inferno. She thought she could play games? She thought she could wear that dress-a d

ight, I would remind her that freedom wa

re stepped into my path, blocking m

u're about to mur

ughter of a rival family, she should have been an enemy, but my mother had always favored her.

rently spinning in t

flicking over her shoulder, s

w, intimate, designed to slide under my defenses. "Everyone is whispering. The Underboss's w

me like a phys

jaw tightening until my

s light, but her eyes were predatory. "Don't storm over there and cause a scene. T

d toward the dance f

aze on the fountain. Isabelle w

y-was bowing to her. Devon Walter. A nobody from a family that dealt i

inst his suit jacket made

ressed, sensing

er hair would only prove I was affected. But replacing her? Ignoring her while I

, my voice dev

nough to bruise. A flicker of pain cros

water. The sea of black tuxedos and polite conversation parted for us. I didn't

swelled into a waltz. I pulled Carla against me, b

ive... and completely detached from the misery she should have been feeling. De

her back. Right on the bare skin

ed for a fracti

dripping with poison. "He touches her as if she's

at its chains. That hand. That fil

mured, the promise tasti

is last dance," Carla replied, ti

y to the rhythm of the music. Isabelle hadn't seen me yet.

Because when the music stops, I'm going to