One of my men stood nearby, his face tight with anger. "Miss Vienna, after Miss Leila died, Hendrix was furious. He said she brought it on herself. He wouldn't even hold a funeral for her."
"Now that you're out, should we just...?" He paused, then drew a sharp gesture across his neck.
I gave a cold, humorless laugh. "No hurry."
"She said my sister was vicious, that she wanted revenge?"
"Then I'll show her what cruelty really means."
That night, Cassidy somehow found my number, and she sent me a video.
On the screen, Hendrix's bloodstained hands were tending to her wounds with a gentleness I had never seen from him.
His face was soft with affection—an expression I had never seen before.
Her voice dripped with pride as she mocked, "You think pouring acid on me will make Hendrix despise me? He only loves me more now—he treats me a thousand times better!"
"The more you retaliate, the more he'll think you're dirty. I'm not like you. I'm pure. My hands have never been stained with blood. That dead sister of yours couldn't beat me, and neither can you."
I couldn't help but laugh—a sound colder than the night air.
She thought I'd come this far because of love.