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“Just tell me why the fuck you’re blowing up my phone, stronzo,” I threw back, deciding to keep moving. Each step sent a burning sensation shooting through my leg.

I’d had worse, but walking with a stab wound was still a bitch. Luckily, I didn’t have to figure out how to get past a lobby of tourists while covered in blood like in the old days. I did enough work in Japan that I’d acquired a safe house here.

The graffiti marking the entrance came into view as I waited for my uncle’s second-in-command to tell me what the fuck was so urgent. That had me more concerned than the potential gangrene.

“You have a job…and a family event your uncle is asking you to attend,” he finally answered when it was clear I wouldn’t elaborate on my whereabouts.

I couldn’t contain my condescending laugh. Dominick only had his lackey contact me when he needed to exploit me. The fact that Enzo thought I’d accept that lie was insulting. I’d bet money, though, that he was scowling on the other end of the line at my reaction, ever the good lapdog.

“Bullshit. He’s not asking. He’s demanding that I do, Enzo.” His silence spurred me on. “Quit the lies. It’s unbecoming. Have the balls to tell me how it is,” I said, sagging against the smooth metal panel. It pissed me off that it took more than one attempt to press my thumb on the biometric scanner standing. Lights flickered on, and my eyes tried to adjust to the change as I made my way to the first aid equipment in the bathroom.

“Maybe one day you’ll be smart enough not to bite the hand that feeds you, Scarletta,” Enzo spat out. The vitriol of his words caused me to stumble as anger thrummed in my veins at his accusation. He’d even added a fucking sigh of disappointment. Like I was a petulant child who chose to act like a brat.

I bit the fucking hand because it never bothered to feed me, and I’d cannibalize that fucker before ever going hungry again.

But golden boy wouldn’t understand. If Dominick asked him to jump in front of a train, he’d ask which one.

“Maybe one day you’ll stop kissing his ass, Enzo. But honestly, hell will probably freeze over before either of those happens,” I threw back, putting the phone on speaker to strip out of the blood-soaked clothes before playing doctor for the thousandth time.

“Bella, you aren’t still upset, are you? I told you she—”

“Enzo, this has nothing to do with that. And use my fucking name when you talk to me.” I squeezed my lids shut, attempting to slow my quickening heart. He did this every time he sensed me pulling away. Laced his tone with tenderness, knowing it stirred up memories of our bodies tangled in ecstasy and the emotions I’d believed we had for each other.

“What’s the job?” My voice sounded small, tired.

The sharp scent of rubbing alcohol flooded my nose, giving me flashbacks of a frail child huddled in a dirty corner with her wrist hanging at an odd angle and a young boy with dark hair cleaning the cuts. I needed this conversation to end before I spiraled into an emotional pit of memories that would take me all night to climb out of.

“What. Is. The. Job?” I demanded again when he hadn’t answered. My adrenaline and patience were waning.

“Where are you, Bel—Scarletta? I’ll tell you over dinner.”

At one time, I would’ve swooned at the bare minimum he was willing to do for me, but now I heard the undercurrent of irritation in his words. He was pissed that I wasn’t bending to his will.

“Answer my fucking question, Enzo.”

The need to think about anything other than him and me together had me pouring a generous amount of alcohol on the wound, welcoming the cleansing burn. A groan slipped from my lips as the liquid hit the gouge on my thigh. My lungs hurt with each deep inhale through my nose as I fought the pain.

“What the hell is going on, Scarletta? What are you doing? Are you…with someone?” he asked, his tone making a full one-eighty from what it had been seconds ago. Now it was laced with jealousy.

Fucking ironic.

“You have two seconds, Enzo. Are you answering me or not? Because my time is valuable, and I’m tired of this little game you play. If you know you’re not telling me shit, say that.” Silence stretched between us. He hated being tested.

“Two Mississippi, motherfucker,” I yelled as I slammed my middle finger on the End button. Instantly, the phone began vibrating, but I ignored all ten calls, focusing on keeping my sutures as neat as possible.

A sigh left my lips as I took in my handiwork. Another scar to add to the list. A single short vibration rattled against the countertop, accompanied by a text notification banner flashing across the screen.

Enzo: Job’s on Friday. File retrieval.

Enzo: You’ll get details later for the event. Don’t run this time.

Bloody towels hit the floor as I glared at the texts, ice flooding my veins. I’d only tried running once. I was twenty-five, and I’d figured Dominick wouldn’t be able to find me—that I was finally free. Three broken fingers and a shattered orbital later, I’d learned my lesson. A lot of lessons were learned that day. The most important one was that I didn’t need a hero.

I’d rather be the villain. A walking nightmare for those who got in my way.

So Cain was born, spilling the blood of others onto the earth.

The fucking problem was, I still had to keep up the charade with my uncle and Enzo. Bowing like a bitch when they beckoned me.