Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Cayed was a place beyond the reach of the royal army, a stronghold for the lords of crime. It was where the wicked thrived, where shadows whispered secrets, and where deals were struck in the dark. If you sought to do evil, there was only one place to go.
Cayed.
And Cayed alone.
DESERT-FACING MOSQUES chimed midnight as Giancarlo came face to face with the entity that had shaken the criminal underworld.
Why offer a hundred mil just for information about him?
And why offer another hundred if he were captured alive?
The name "Seijcut" seemed to hint at Japanese ancestry, but it was only after weeks' worth of studying the entity's every move did Giancarlo realize the name was a play on the word 'justice'...which consequently led to even more unanswered questions.
Was all of this retribution for a past wrong?
A vendetta against his famiglia?
Or could Giancarlo represent unfinished business... since it was Seijcut who had attempted but failed to kill him the first time around?
The questions burned in Giancarlo’s mind as he studied the masked figure before him. They stared at each other...and then—-
Now!
Giancarlo lunged first, gaining a fleeting advantage.
But Seijcut recovered quickly, and what followed was a brutal dance of fists, blades, and kicks.
Each move was anticipated, every strike countered with precision.
It was as if they were reading each other’s minds, their movements mirroring one another in a deadly rhythm.
Finally, Giancarlo seized his moment.
He ripped the mask from Seijcut’s face, and even the darkness of the night held its breath as if even it dared not disturb the moment.
Why must it be you?
Chapter Two
THE BEST TIME TO LEARN about pain was when you were hurting too much to feel anything.
When your heart was torn out of your chest, there was nothing else for the enemy to target.
Nothing in your body that knew what it meant to fear.
All you had left was a brain that calculated the odds...plus a body that had been trained nonstop in the past three months by none other than the Prince of Killers himself.
The man had been merciless even as she had cried and screamed in front of him. But she realized now that all those seemingly endless hours of combat training were worth every second. If not for his brutal conditioning (and reconditioning), she would have been dead a long, long time ago.
Then again, maybe death was already knocking on her door, with how tonight was currently shaping up.
Every strike of her opponent was like an echo from the past—frustratingly fluid, eerily precise, and devastatingly familiar.
The way this person anticipated her every move, even the way he deflected her attacks with an almost taunting style of grace—-
She had seen someone move like this just once, when she had snuck inside the Marchettis' warehouse in downtown Boston. Her sole purpose at that time had been to cause trouble. She had wanted to give them another reason to admit they had made a mistake in taking her in.
But instead, it was the opposite, and what she had seen that day made her realize she and Giancarlo had more in common than she was willing to admit.
That was the only time she had seen Giancarlo fight.
The only time she had seen him draw and shed blood.
But instead of fearing him, she had wanted to copy his every move—possess the same icy composure he had displayed even when the odds were stacked against him.
Once was all it took, and Sarica knew she wanted to be exactly like Giancarlo when facing death.
And what she had seen that day—
No.
Don't go there.
Just don't.
This had to be someone who knew him well and long enough to mimic the way he fought.
But why, though?
Was it to simply mess with her mind?
Or could it be this person didn't even realize what they revealed with every swing of their fist?
Viktor Biancardi.
Her body shook with rage as soon as the name flashed in her mind, and the more she thought of it, the more it made terrible sense.
The Marchettis had all treated Viktor as one of them.
She herself had looked upon him as a brother.
All of them had seen him as famiglia.
But in exchange for their loyalty, Viktor had done the one thing none of them ever saw coming.
And because of him—-
Giancarlo was no longer with them.
Why, damn you? Why?
If this was truly Viktor she was now fighting against—-
I just want to know why!
Sarica knew it was foolish of her to lose control of her temper now of all times—
Why?
But pain and grief had already consumed her sanity, and all she wanted now was to know the truth.
How could you do that?
Her fingers tightened around the knife concealed in her sleeve, its blade laced with poison.
I'm sorry, God.
She knew she was hurting Him by letting rage take over.
She knew she was slipping away farther and farther from Him as she considered doing the unthinkable.