Chapter 22
“Avery,” her ex-husband begged, writhing in pain, showing his palms in surrender. She saw his panic, and wished she could enjoy this change in the all-powerful Dante Coppola. There was blood everywhere, his guards were gone, and now it was just him, and her…vengeance. “Please, Avery.”
She covered her ex’s mouth, digging her finger into his cheeks to shut him up. Had her mother begged for her life? What about her cousins? Her father?
Shaking, wild-eyed, Avery knew what she must look like; blood-soaked dress, her hands and legs smeared with it. Vincent must think her insane, and maybe she was. It was impossible to think beyond the certainty that Dante had to suffer.
Vincent knew she was The Stinger, and now Millie knew, too. They’d never see her the same. Even now, her little sister sobbed as she hovered just outside of the dining room, clutching the shawl she’d been tasked to find. Millie couldn’t possibly understand this, and would only be harmed if she witnessed what Avery was about to do.
“Give me the knife, Avery.” Vincent held out his hand, palm up.
Benton, Deming, and Gilroy rushed into the room, guns drawn, and for a second, she hoped they’d take the shot. Put her out of her misery. “Avery,” Benton shouted, “put the knife down. Now!”
Knees pressed to the cold, blood-slick marble, she straddled Dante, her shoes long gone. Avery kept her ex pinned to the floor, knife to his throat. Hand shaking, she could visualize him dead. They’d shoot her, of course. She wasn’t sure which agent would pull the trigger—Deming, Benton, or Gilroy—but they would. She suspected Vincent would try to stop them, but it would be too late. Avery thought killing Dante would be worth the price. Vengeance would be served and maybe end her pain. First, she needed them to understand. She needed Millie and Vincent to know.
“He’s evil,” she said, her voice warbling. A sob caught in her throat. “He…He destroyed everything, everyone I’ve ever loved. He made me this!” She grabbed Dante’s slicked back hair, smelled the cigarettes on him and flinched, even as she pressed the flat of her knife harder against his throat. “You,” she glared at Benton, “don’t think beyond what he can give you.” She lowered her gaze to Dante, saw him swallow hard, unable to hide his fear and pain. “But he lies.” Dante spit in her face. Avery’s resolve hardened. “Deming?” she said. “Take my sister from the room, please.” Millie shouldn’t see this, or witness her sister’s death.
Vincent crouched mere feet from her. “No, Deming. Millie stays.” He tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, inching forward, his eyes on Avery’s face. “If you kill him, you do it in front of your sister. I’m not about to make this easy on you.”
She shuddered, but her grip on the knife never faltered. “Millie, do what I say. Leave the room.” A glance told her Millie was tearful, but shaking her head, unwilling to move.
“Please, Millie.” She couldn’t do it with her sister looking on.
Avery’s tears spilled down her cheeks, mixing with the blood spatter. Vincent inched closer, into Dante’s blood. The agents remained silent, guns at the ready, while Millie looked on, quietly sobbing. “Give me the knife, Avery,” Vincent said.
Trembling, her body swayed as her strength faded, as Vincent’s beautiful, busted up face grew nearer. She wanted him to hold her, because…she couldn’t make herself do it. She wanted to, but couldn’t force her hand to end Dante’s life. She wasn’t strong enough, was failing her family. Panicked sobs escaped her throat.
No one would avenge her family.
And that was her fault, because The Stinger never existed. If The Stinger had, Avery would have killed Dante long ago. Instead, she ran when Dante killed those six men, because she’d never been more than the victim Dante created.
“You don’t know what he did to me.” Avery shook her head, blinking past tears, hating her weakness. She sounded like a little girl. Yet, her knife remained at Dante’s throat, because she saw no way forward. Her next move didn’t exist. “What he took. I’m…” She sniffed, blinking. “I’m not even human.”
Vincent reached for her, but hate for Dante had shifted to self-loathing, and the pity in Vincent’s eyes undid her. The fear in her sister’s made her decision for her. It was a tipping point, and Avery snapped. She lifted the knife to her throat, and the sting felt like freedom.
She heard a shout, saw stars, and then there was nothing.