Page 42 of Tainted Blood

He considers him coldly. “Carrera stated how this was going to go upfront. We don’t change the rules in the middle of a game.” His gaze flits to the knife in my hand. “Can I borrow that?”

“Be my guest,” I say, handing it over.

“Since you like tattoos so much, Vincenzo, let me give you some more.” Driving forward, he works quickly, carving an S onto one cheek and a C onto the other. By the time he tosses the knife back, his eyes are dilated with fury. “Make this one count, Carrera. Not sure how much longer he’s going to last.”

I don’t need long.

I need one word.

I prowl around him like a lion, the dying man tracking my every move. On the third rotation, I brace my hands on the arms of the chair, my face inches from his. When I speak, my tone is dangerously low—each word enunciated with all the hate that’s boiling up inside me.

“Where did they take them?”

He hangs his head in despair. “Even if I tell you, they’re probably already dead—or begging for death. What they do to women…”

Don’t go there.

Don’t think about it.

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I jerk his head back. “Then I’ll make everyone who touches them beg for it as well...starting with you.”

He’s been tortured, but he hasn’t suffered. By the bleak look glazing his eyes, he finally understands the difference.

“Italy,” he says weakly.

Italy… A surge of urgency paints my vision black. So much distance to cover with so little time.

“There’s a town in the hills of northern Tuscany. It’s where they take them and break them. I don’t know the name of it, but locals call it ‘Città Fantasma,’ after all the ghosts that haunt it. Rich men pay to do whatever they want with them there.”

I release his hair, letting his head flop down like a broken doll’s. Taking a step back, I stand shoulder to shoulder with Grayson, as Vincenzo’s words sink into us.

We know exactly where we’re headed next.

We’re bringing them home together.

Closing the knife, I tuck it into my pocket. “I’m done here. You?”

“More than done.”

At this, we both reach for our guns, take aim, and fire.

Two bullets.

One less Villefort disciple.

Zero margin for error.

I’m coming for you, Thalia.

Chapter Eleven

Thalia

“Run, Thalia! Don’t let him catch you!”

Everything hurts. I’m pushing my body to the limits, but Ella’s war cry spurs me on more. My bare toes dig crescents into the soft sand as I force my legs to run faster… To chase the wind… To cross the finishing line in first place for once, instead of in second.

“You know your ponytail looks cute when you’re trying hard to win like this.”