Present
As I step into the abandoned warehouse, the air clings to me, heavy with the stench of decay and neglect. Working lights are strung up all around the edges of the structure in neat rows. The illumination cuts deep into the room’s darkness, casting shadowed lines on everything it touches. My gaze sweeps across the vast, empty space, my heart pounding with anticipation. We’ve all waited for this moment, but only Mira and I feed ravenously on the promise of revenge.
I find him hanging from a heavy chain bolted to the ceiling. Nunzio’s face is ashen white, his naked chest drenched in sweat, his pants stained with blood from the wound in his leg. For a moment, I remain still, watching him, taking in the scene of a man I have hunted for months. A man who took the one thing I love most—the one person God has put on this Earth for me and me alone. He hurt her. He tortured her. He violated her in ways only a monster could. He stole our peace from us, and he broke my hummingbird. But little did he know that, like a phoenix, she would rise from the ashes and come out stronger, more beautiful…and more deadly.
Everyone’s here. Alexius. Caelian. Isaia. Maximo. We stand together, a wall of power. We are the Dark Sovereign, a society of men, a family, who the Ferreros have been targeting for years, trying to be what and who we are. But they will never be us because we don’t find our strength in bloodshed, tyranny, and cruelty. We find strength in each other. In our family.
Mira clears her throat behind me, making me aware of her presence. I glance at her as she steps in next to me, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. The red of her dress is a striking contrast to her ivory skin, glowing, radiant, dazzling.
She looks up at me, her green irises filled with so much strength and power that it takes my breath away.
“You ready for this, Hummingbird?”
She nods. “Tonight, this ends,” she says, and I take her hand, bring it to my lips, and kiss it softly.
“Tonight, this ends.”
Together, we walk toward the others, Mira’s eyes trained on Nunzio. There is no sign of fear or panic or hesitation in her. She’s gleaming with confidence, draped in a dangerous mystique that makes her all the more captivating.
“You follow my lead until you’re ready,” I whisper as we approach him, and she simply nods before taking a seat on a chair Maximo has placed next to him, especially for her.
“Looks like you’ve seen better days, Nunzio,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I approach him.
His mouth curves into a defiant smile, but it lacks conviction as pain washes over him. “It’s a minor setback.”
“Didn’t think you’d end up like this, did you?” I sneer, staring into his eyes filled with fear and pain.
“Fuck you, Del Rossa,” he spits back, defiance still present in his tone despite his weakened state.
I scoff. “Arrogant till the end.”
“Who says this is the end?”
“You think you have a chance of walking out of here alive?”
“No,” he responds, then takes a heavy breath. “But I know my ghost will haunt you and your pretty wife long after you’ve buried me.”
“You think we’re going to bury you? No.” I go to stand in front of him, placing my hands in my pants pockets. “We’re going to cut you up in nice bite-sized chunks and feed you to the pigs.”
Nunzio remains silent, his head hanging down, spit and snot dripping from his nose and mouth. He looks pathetic and weak, and I have to say that humiliation suits him perfectly.
My eyes narrow as I focus on the blood pooling beneath him, originating from the gunshot wound in his leg. I lean down and yank the rope Maximo had so carefully tied around his upper thigh until it cut into his skin, stopping the blood flow and preventing him from slipping away too soon. There is no way we are going to let him die this easily.
When I straighten, I glimpse a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That’s the thing about revenge,” he starts. “It doesn’t last. You can try to prolong my death and make me suffer, but eventually, I will die. You’ll feed me to the pigs, and this will all be over.” He manages to lift his head to look me in the eye. “Revenge doesn’t last, but memories do. And I’ve given your pretty wife enough memories to last her a lifetime.”
I barely think before I fly into action, my fist a blur of motion as it crashes into his gut with all the force I can muster. A deep groan escapes his lips, and saliva explodes out from between them while I’m filled to bursting with an uncontrollable rage that begs for release. My hands ball into iron-hard fists, trembling with anger and the urge to do more. But I remind myself that I won’t be the one to make him pay for what he’s done—not entirely. That honor belongs to Mira. But goddamn, do I want to break him.
I glance at her sitting on the chair, watching us. Her toned leg is showcased through the daring slit of her red dress, tantalizing me with each graceful crossing and uncrossing of her legs. Her expression is that of beautiful calm, rich with control, but I recognize the wicked glint in her irises.
“Is that all you got?” he taunts, coughing some more.
“No. But as much as I want to gut you, carve out your spine, and hack out your lungs, your blood isn’t mine to spill.” My voice is low and menacing. “And the thought of my wife extracting her revenge from your veins fills me with so much satisfaction, it’s giving me a fucking hardon.”
“Your precious wife,” Nunzio spits, venom in his words. “You really think she has it in her to hurt me?”
“Hurt you? No, motherfucker. She’s going to fucking kill you.”
“Can’t wait to see how she humiliates herself trying,” Nunzio taunts, his sneer making his paled face look even sicklier.
I take hold of his cheeks with my fingers like iron vise grips, determined to bruise and break his fucking face. My voice is low and menacing as I speak. “You are nothing but a wasted piece of shit. You think raping and beating women makes you powerful? It makes you nothing more than a goddamn psychopath who has a special fucking corner in hell.”
I let go of him with a jerk, the chains complaining above him. And as I look at him hanging there, his breaths ragged and shallow, I know that Mira will be the one to break him. The thought of her hands on him, punishing him for his sins, both terrifies and excites me. It’s a delicate, dark dance I can’t wait to witness.
“Enjoy your final moments, Nunzio,” I whisper, stepping away from him, my eyes never leaving his. “You don’t have many left.”
And as I watch him struggle against his bounds, I feel a sense of morbid satisfaction, knowing that soon, he’ll be at the mercy of the woman he tried to destroy. And she won’t show him any.
MIRA
This moment is almost surreal.
I’ve dreamt of it so many times, lain awake at night wondering how it would feel to see him weak, vulnerable, defenseless—just like I was. Just like all the other women he’s ever hurt, and I bet there’s a lot. Psychopaths and monsters like him thrive on fear and pain. It’s what makes them feel strong. It gives them the illusion of power when, in fact, they’re nothing but a flawed version of God’s creation.
I sit on a wooden chair, my gaze unwavering as I watch Nunzio’s sickening form dangle from the ceiling, his pants soaked in blood. There’s no sign of the shirt he had on earlier, and a grotesque bruise spreads across his ribs. I’m sure he has my brother to thank for that. Even though they were told not to touch him, I know the Del Rossa brothers and Maximo gave him a good fucking beating. He deserves their wrath. He deserves mine more.
A coldness settles deep within me, hardening my heart and fueling my thirst for revenge. My body trembles with a violent rage as I clench my fists and feel the icy chill of hatred plunge into my core. This man came close to taking everything from me. Revenge may not right all wrongs, but it’ll make me feel better knowing that this bastard has suffered something, too.
“He’s all yours, baby.” Nicoli’s voice is low and dangerous and sends a thrill across my skin. He hands me a wickedly sharp knife, its handle cool and heavy in my grasp.
I remain seated, tapping the blade of the knife on the armrest. Tap. Tap. Tap. I’m making sure I commit every little detail of the scene before me to memory. I don’t want to forget a single second of it.
He doesn’t look at me. He keeps his head hanging down, snot dripping from his nose.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Eventually, he looks up. “You gonna annoy me to death with that tapping, birdie?”
“I hope not,” I say, leaning my head to the side as I watch him. “I’m just thinking, there’s something wrong with this picture, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“You’re not on your knees sucking my dick, that’s what’s wrong with this picture.”
Nicoli growls beside me, about to launch forward when I shoot to my feet, stopping him. Rage is rippling from every inch of his body; his mouth pulls in a snarl as he glares at Nunzio, ready to tear his heart out. I can’t imagine the kind of hell his emotions are wreaking inside him as he tries to control his anger. It has to be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, and he’s doing it for me.
“It’s okay, Nicoli,” I say, giving him a reassuring look. I know this is hard for him not to be able to kill Nunzio himself. Nicoli is a man of pride, of violence, a man who bathes in authority just like his twin. It’s in his blood to demand penitence from those who have wronged him, and even though I’m the victim of Nunzio’s sickness, Nicoli was wronged, too. This world is about power, and everything is bent here in a way that constraint is seen as weakness. But I know better. To me, my husband’s control is the epitome of power, love, and our unbreakable bond.
My heels click across the concrete floor, the sound ricocheting through the empty, abandoned building. Nunzio smells like sweat and humiliation, the stench of shame reeking from his pores. “I think I know what’s wrong with this picture.” I untie the rope around his leg, letting it fall to the floor, fresh blood leaking from the wound. And without taking my eyes off his, I place the blade between my teeth and start to unbutton his pants.
“You gonna play with my dick before you send me to hell, birdie?”
I yank his pants down, remove the knife from my mouth, and step back.
“You’re a feisty one,” I start, allowing the memory to seep through. “And I need your cooperation, which means I need to weaken your confidence, hence why you’re naked.”
It takes him a moment to realize I just quoted him, word for fucking word. A grin starts creeping up on his ugly face, and he lets out a laugh before looking at Nicoli. “You see, Del Rossa? I told you I gave her a fuckton of memories. She remembers it like it was yesterday.”
Nicoli’s jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. And the vein in his neck bulges with rage.
“Maybe if you fuck her better, she’ll forget about how good I made her feel.”
I slice the knife across his chest in one swift, precise motion, blood instantly spilling tears of red down his stomach. He doesn’t scream, which is disappointing, but his face contorts in pain as he hisses, and my soul eats it up like it’s mana from Heaven.
With another single violent swish, the knife draws its path across his exposed skin—this time slicing into muscle lower on his stomach. I angle the blade so that I don’t dig too deep, knowing if I do, he might bleed out before I’m done.
There are blood splatters on my hand—only a few specks, but Lord help me, the sight soothes something in me, like it’s slowly healing an open sore that’s been infected for months. Revenge courses through my veins like liquid fire, and I can’t suppress the sadistic smile that creeps across my lips.
My gaze rakes across the fresh cuts on his stomach and chest, blood oozing from them, dripping on his ugly, limp dick as he hangs naked. Ugly. Revolting.
“Is that the worst you can do, birdie?” He challenges me, but his breaths are labored, sweat beading across his skin. Every inch of him is marred with suffering, and it’s the most beautiful sight.
I let the flat side of the blade dance across his battered skin two more times, watching him flinch at its touch. “You thought breaking me would make me weak. You were wrong.”
“You sure look like a broken doll to me,” he hisses, his eyes narrowing as he tries to maintain control over the pain. “It’s only the bold and the broken who crave blood. You, birdie, are not bold.”
“I’m not the one about to die…am I?”
“That says nothing,” he hisses. “You’re gonna kill me, but I’ll still haunt your dreams. My face will still be what you see when your husband fucks you, and you’re going to think of him, wishing it was my bloodstained cock fucking your ass.”
Nicoli roars behind me—guttural and brutal, a violent tenor of rage rippling from his throat. He launches forward, a knife in hand, and jabs the blade into Nunzio’s thigh, hacking it up…and up…Nunzio’s screams ringing through the warehouse, mingling with the thrumming of my own heartbeat in my ears. Nicoli tears the knife from his thigh only to stab it back into the already gaping flesh, blood gushing from the wound.
It’s everywhere. On Nicoli’s hands, the floor, my dress. And as I witness the anger on my husband’s face, I realize it’s unfair of me to expect him not to get his pound of flesh simply because I want it all for myself. I’ve been obsessed with getting my revenge. I lost sight of Nicoli’s hunger for it, too. So I step back, watching as Nicoli unleashes his worst.
Nunzio’s screams reach a fever pitch, and I glance at Maximo, recognizing the ruthless desire for blood on his face. Our eyes lock, and I nod, giving him the permission he needs from me. He charges toward Nicoli, who is still savagely shredding Nunzio’s flesh, and my brother roars as his blade penetrates Nunzio’s other thigh, slicing it open.
Alexius, Caelian, and Isaia all circle around our enemy, every one of them cutting and stabbing him, his monster screams filling the open space around us. Like avenging angels, the Dark Sovereign takes back the control this man has stolen from all of us. This isn’t just my battle, my war. It’s theirs, too. It’s ours. We’ve all been fighting it. And now we’re all claiming victory over it.
I have no idea how Nunzio is surviving this gruesome onslaught, but I’m thankful he does. His agonized screams penetrate my soul, and that open sore inside me continues to heal. It’s a beautiful relief. An exquisite peace that fills me to the brim. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
Blood pools around Nunzio’s feet, its sickly sweet aroma seeping into the air.
Nunzio’s cries start to fade, and I yell, “Stop!”
Like a machine, the five men stop abruptly, all at once, Nunzio going limp as he hangs from the chains. His body is a plowed land, his legs and shoulders mauled, carved and hacked, his flesh gaped open, but none of them stabbed him in the chest or abdomen, somehow avoiding major organs and arteries. All these years of blood and violence have molded them into skilled killers. And now, they’ve left me the death blow.
I walk up to Nunzio, his head hanging down, lifeless and brutalized. My heart is beating impossibly fast, but this unexplainable calm stems from within me.
Nicoli moves in behind Nunzio, grabbing his hair and yanking it back. “Look at her!” he demands. “Look. At. Her.”
With a labored breath, Nunzio opens his eyes, but the life in them is already half gone.
My pulse quickens, adrenaline flooding my system as I stare into the eyes of the monster. I lean closer, pressing my blade against his throat as I whisper, quoting him one final time, “We had some fun times, Nunzio. But I’m afraid it has now come to an end.”
Slow, precise, controlled, I drag the blade across his throat, blood starting to spurt more and more as the cut grows. Searing crimson spills out of him, the blood warm, wet, and slick on my hands as I continue to carve the life from his veins.
The sensation sends a shiver down my spine, each droplet of crimson reminding me of how I survived a monster like Nunzio Ferrero, how I refused to break. And now…it’s over.
It’s finally…over.
His eyes widen in horror, his body convulsing as gargled sounds choke in his throat, his final moments of life gripped with pain, torture, and the horror of dying by a woman’s hand.
I stand back, seeing Nunzio’s lifeless body hanging limply from the chain, a pool of crimson forming beneath him. A strange sense of satisfaction washes over me, and I finally feel like I’ve reclaimed control over my own life.
Nicoli is watching me, his gaze piercing me to the core, those blue irises the only beacon of hope in the darkness that’s slowly fading away.
“Nicoli,” I say breathlessly, my voice heavy with emotion as exhaustion floods me. “It’s over. He’s gone.”
“It’s over, Hummingbird.”
My legs give way, and I collapse, Nicoli catching me just in time. “I got you, baby girl,” he murmurs, holding me tight. “I got you.”
