The Heir

Epilogue - 5 Years Later

This is taking far longer than I expected it to. That's all I can think as I slam the hammer down on the man's hand. His bones shatter, crunching sounds echoing in the bare room.

Sofia, stupid naive Sofia, has the worst fucking taste in men. Truly. The bleeding form in front of me is clear proof of it. Fucking bastard put his hands on her, slapped her last night when they were out drinking.

She didn't go to our dad though, Uncle Gio either. They're both getting up there in age and at the end of the day, they aren't as formidable as they used to be. Instead, she showed up on my doorstep crying with the red mark still present. She knows I'll always have her back. They all do.

That's why I loom over this trembling coward. He had no fucking idea who he was messing with. Ryan picked him up within the hour and we've been down here since. It's not like I need anything from the guy, I really don't have to be torturing him like this. But I've been frustrated for a while and this is an excellent excuse to let it out.

"I can take over," Ryan offers quietly. He takes a step closer and twists the knife in his hand.

"No," I spit back. "This is personal."

Ryan rolls his eyes before slicing the other man's bicep. He hisses through his teeth at the pain. I glare at my best friend as I approach the table of tools.

I grab the cigar cutter. It's not something we use often but it is pretty fun. I return to the bleeding man and crouch down. His tear rimmed eyes meet mine and I smile.

The blood loss and hours of pain has left him more or less malleable. It takes very little effort to slide his finger into the opening. I maintain my smile as I cut his finger off. He screams loudly as his blood spills.

Ryan's phone buzzes as I line up another finger. The satisfying crunch fills the air and some blood splatters across my cheek. I grab the blowtorch and hold it against the fresh wounds. The man screams before slumping in the chair, but he doesn't pass out. Impressive.

"Elle," Ryan calls out.

I look at him over my shoulder, "what?"

"It's almost eleven," he states. "Let me take over."

"Fuck," I curse under my breath as I stand. "I can't be late."

"Better hurry then," he gestures to the metal door.

I brush past him and head for the fifth floor. The soldiers nod in respect as I pass but I don't pay them much mind. I hadn't realized how long I was down there. And I cannot be fucking late to this.

I scan my hand and punch in the code before entering the floor. I strip as I walk, tossing my blood stained clothes on the floor. I hop right in the shower and begin to scrub. The blood collides with the water, forming a pink hue as it circles the drain. My phone buzzes on the counter but I ignore it; I know who it is and I know what it's about.

As soon as I've gotten rid of the blood, I head to my closet. I toss on a simple black dress and some heels. I pull my hair into a tight ponytail as I go back to the bathroom. I quickly apply some mascara and lipstick before grabbing my purse and phone.

I rush down the stairs and outside where a running SUV is already waiting. The driver holds open the door and I climb in, muttering a small thank you. Without a word, he takes off.

I unlock my phone and open a text thread.

Duke: hey
Duke: where are you?
Duke: got seats up front
Duke: are you on your way yet?
Duke: you're cutting it close princess

Me: I'm on my way now

I keep glancing at the time on my phone. I seriously cannot be late to this one. There's very few people in the world whose opinion I give a shit about. This is one of them.