𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

Chapter Ninety-Five

NICHOLAS
RUSSO

There were at least one hundred and fifteen men stationed around the perimeter of the warehouse where Tommaso was holed up, Luciano's men—a faceless sea of vengeance. Each was poised, armed, ready to unleash fury at a single word coming from their leaders' mouth. The air was heavy, tinged with the metallic promise of war. I wasn't sure why I'd come; I told myself it was just to make sure Carlo was safe, that I had no real stake here. He wasn't my friend. Or maybe he was, though I'd never admit it aloud, even to myself.

Carlo Mariano had been an unexpected constant in my life these past few weeks, a strange good presence that I couldn't shake. The curly-haired, ink-stained boy with his loud spirit had started to carve out a space in my mind, a space I didn't want to acknowledge but couldn't ignore. The idea of friendship felt foreign to me, even distasteful. I didn't have friends, never needed them, but Carlo... somehow, he was different. I didn't know what we were. His laughter was etched into my memory, his quick retorts left scars in my mind that I carried without complaint. Perhaps he was the first friend I wanted to keep.

Were we friends?

As I stood there, waiting, Luciano's voice snapped me back into focus, slicing through the weight of my thoughts. "Listen," he growled, low and deadly, his voice laced with the restraint of barely contained rage. "I need to make sure Tommaso doesn't get out of this. I want to give him the perfect death, make him crawl before he fades. Can I rely on you to get Adeline and Carlo into the car? Safely?"

He was already gearing up, slipping on black gloves like he was suiting up for a funeral—Tommaso's funeral, to be exact. He grabbed two guns from his waistband and extended them toward me, his eyes like knives, slicing through any doubt I had.

I raised an eyebrow, the weight of the guns cold and heavy in my hands. "What about you?" I asked.

Luciano's mouth twisted into a dark frown. "I don't need weapons. I am the weapon," he snarled, his voice a promise.

I smirked, an odd mix of admiration and dread coiling in my chest. "Of course. So, let's go save them?"

He nodded, his expression hard as iron, and with that, we moved. His men emerged from the forest, shadows rising from the depths, closing in on the warehouse like predators circling wounded prey. I waited for his signal, the moment when he would drag Tommaso out like the beaten monster he was, before I could slip inside and pull Carlo and Adeline from whatever horrors they'd endured.

Ten minutes later, Luciano and one of his soldiers dragged a limp, unconscious Tommaso out by the neck, his face a bruised mask of blood and misery. That was my sign. I slipped inside, moving slowly, weaving through the chaos of the warehouse. It was a battlefield—men clashing in every corner, Luciano's army tearing through Tommaso's. Blood smeared the walls, bullet casings littered the floor, and the air was thick with the sickly-sweet scent of violence.

My boots echoed up a set of metal stairs, leading me to a heavy, closed door. A steel cage of despair. I raised the gun, fired a shot, and the lock shattered, the door swinging open to reveal a small room bathed in shadows. The sight before me clawed at my soul.

Carlo was there, tied to a chair, his face pale, a fresh scar slashed across his neck. His brown hair was messy. His head slumped forward, and I couldn't tell if he was breathing. In the corner, Adeline sat huddled, naked, her knees pulled to her chest. Her skin was marked with bruises, her face smeared with blood. Her eyes lifted to mine, empty yet fierce, a hollow defiance that tore at me.

I crouched down, my voice low, meant only for her ears. "I'll come back for you," I whispered, my words an unbreakable vow as I knelt beside Carlo, beginning to untie him as carefully as I could. The ropes had carved angry red lines into his wrists, a map of suffering traced across his skin. He was still, deathly still, but as I pressed my ear to his chest, I heard it—the faint, fragile beat of his heart.

"Don't die on me, pretty boy," I murmured, hoisting him up, my words slipping from me like a prayer. I carried him out, weaving through the gunfire and chaos, his weight pressing against me, heavy with his pain.

Once I reached the car, I laid him in the back seat, his breathing shallow but steady. With one last look at him, I turned back, forcing myself to run toward the warehouse. I couldn't leave Adeline in that cell, stripped of her dignity, reduced to silence.

When I returned, she hadn't moved, still curled in the corner, her eyes wide, hollow. Her bright blue eyes that I remember were no longer bright, she was so hollow. I could see the damage in her gaze, the fractures in her body that could never be unseen. I pulled off my shirt, setting it down beside her without a word, then turned around to give her a moment, an attempt to put on the shirt.

"Are you done?" I asked quietly, my voice soft.

A faint hum was her only reply, a sound that barely existed, almost swallowed by the emptiness. When I turned back, she'd slipped on the shirt, her legs still drawn close, hiding herself as best she could. Her face was a haunting mask of dirt and blood, a bruise spreading across her forehead. I reached out, gently taking her arm, guiding her to her feet.

"What did he do to you?" I forced the words out, choking on the bitterness of them, trying to shield her from the violence erupting around us as we moved.

But she didn't answer. Her silence was absolute, like a dark pit that words couldn't reach my ears. It was a silence carved from agony, a silence that spoke of horrors no words could hold. Would she ever be able to speak again, or if the darkness Tommaso had left in her would remain forever, or im hoping she could fix herself all over again.