{Nico’s POV}
Before we left to get Elena back, we dragged Marco to the cellar. The deep one. The one no one left breathing. The walls were thick concrete, the air cold and damp. The kind of cold that crawled into your skin and stayed there. Matteo chained Marco’s wrists to the ceiling hook while I rolled up my sleeves, slow and precise.
Marco’s lip split wider as he laughed under his breath.
The sound echoed, sharp and ugly, in the narrow space.
“You think you’ve won, Nico?” His voice rasped, thick with sloth and blood. He spat on the ground at my feet. “You’re too stupid to see what’s coming.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. My knuckles cracked as I flexed my hands. Slow and calm.
Always calm before the storm.
Marco smiled wider, teeth red and broken.
“You think she loves you?”
