I held his gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“Or perhaps a new player in the game,” Stone continued, his eyes narrowing.
His words sent a chill down my spine. The glint in his eye was unsettling, as if he already knew something he wasn’t telling me.
“I can’t help you if you can’t give me anything concrete.”
“I didn’t ask for your help, Stone,” I shot back.
“And if they succeed in killing you or your family?” he pressed, his expression darkening. “They already killed your mother.”
I felt the growl rise within me, but I swallowed it down and rose to my feet. Stone puffed out his chest, as if trying to assert dominance, but I couldn’t help but find it amusing.
“They won’t,” I replied, straightening my ruined suit. “In the end, I always come out on top. That’s the only way I know how to play.”
Stone stared at me, then shook his head and walked away toward the scene.
Enzo stepped closer, lowering his voice, “You think it’s the Puppet Master?”
“Yes. But the bomb detonated on its own before we could ask the bomber any questions.”
“This is so fucked. He’s attacking innocent people now in the daylight, for fuck’s sake.” Enzo blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair.
“Wait.” Enzo stopped mid-step. “You said the bomb went off on its own?”
I nodded.
“The Puppet Master rigged it in case the bomber didn’t go through with it,” Enzo said, almost as if he was talking to himself.
The fucker was calculated and even more of a twisted psychopath than we already knew. The fact that he had my girl had my nerves frayed and on high alert, like the sharp points of a razor.
“The bomber said the Puppet Master was holding his family hostage,” I remembered, scanning the area, half expecting one of the Puppet Master’s minions might ambush us.
Enzo nodded, his expression resolute. “Once the DNA is recovered, we’ll be able to identify him and look for his family.”
I didn't care at this point. All that mattered was catching the Puppet Master and getting rid of him permanently. His time was coming up, and he was going to regret fucking with the devil.
Isettled onto the piano bench, my fingers gliding over the white keys while my dog curled beside me. Playing was the only thing that brought me any semblance of peace now.
Gigi invaded my thoughts, day and night. Every second and every hour without her felt like my punishment for breaking her. Whenever I closed my eyes, all I saw was her face, radiating with an ethereal beauty so breathtakingly angelic that it hurt to look at her. It was as if her bright light served as a shield against my darkness. But no matter how blinding that light was, I would fight against it and willingly get burned just to get to her.
Those warm and inviting golden eyes had the power to see deep into my soul, compelling me to drop to my knees and repenting my sins. I could almost feel her soft kisses and gentle touches, each one a stitch weaving together my broken heart. The more time that passed without her, the more unhinged I felt.It was as if I were standing on the edge of the cliff, teetering on the brink and ready to jump.
With one hand still dancing over the keys, I reached for my glass of whiskey, the amber liquid shimmering in the dim light. As it slid down my throat, it felt like molten lava, both burning and soothing, a contradiction of sensations that mirrored my madness. With a soft thud, I set the glass down and continued playing “You Are the Reason” by Calum Scott.
Each note resonated with the pain of my loss, the lyrics echoing the bleeding of my heart. I would sacrifice my soul to have Gigi back, even if it meant I would have to go to the fiery depths of hell.
As if sensing my despair, Demon let out a soft whimper.
When I struck the final note, a voice pierced the silence, calling my name from somewhere behind me. I turned, and my eyes widened in shock as I saw Tabi standing there.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I called your name a few times, but you didn’t seem to hear me.” She fidgeted slightly, her gaze darting between me and the floor.
I closed the lid softly, and walked toward her with one hand tucked into my pocket and the other cradling the glass.
“How are you?” I asked. She looked so much better than when we had first found her. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, carefree style, her bruises were fading, and she was no longer pale.
“I’m good,” she replied.
