Chapter 123: Danny

The next day dawns heavy, the weight of everything that happened last night pressing down on me like a stone. I’ve dealt with a lot of calls I didn’t want to make, but this one was different. Telling Marco’s brother—hell, I can still hear his voice in my head, the anger, the shock, and finally that dead silence when it all hit him. Marco was his only family. I had to give him the truth, every disgusting detail of what Moretti did, and somehow it didn’t feel like enough. No apology or promise of revenge could make up for the fact that his brother was gone.

I clench my fists, trying to steady myself, but the thought of Moretti dropping Marco’s head on our doorstep makes my blood boil all over again. I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if Sofia had seen it. The image alone makes my skin crawl.

“Hey, Danny,” Cole’s voice snaps me back to the present. I’m sitting in the living room with him and Leo. They’re shirtless, carefully peeling back the layers of bandages covering their stab wounds, checking for signs of infection. A few days ago, the wounds had looked nasty, raw and swollen, but now the edges are starting to close up, the skin around them pink and healing. I let out a quiet breath, feeling the tension ease a fraction. They’re on the mend.

Cole raises an eyebrow at me, wincing as he pulls a fresh bandage across his side. “How’d the call go?”

I shake my head, jaw tightening. “Marco’s brother… He took it about as well as you’d expect. I told him everything. He’s furious, wants blood.”

“Moretti’s losing it,” Leo says, his voice low as he fastens his bandage. “Dropping heads on porches, lurking around like some damn ghost. He’s desperate, but that makes him reckless. And dangerous.”

We’d all agreed: as much as we wanted to shield Sofia from every twisted thing Moretti’s throwing our way, it wasn’t fair to keep her in the dark. She deserves to know the truth—or at least, enough of it to keep her on her guard. So this morning, we sat her down and told her about Moretti being on the loose, how he’s trying to find a way to get to her again. Her face had gone pale, and I could see the fear flash in her eyes. But she took it in, steady and strong, nodding as she processed what we’d said.

We didn’t tell her about Marco’s head. That… that detail was too much. No need to add more nightmares to her sleep.

Now, she’s upstairs with Nate, doing something in the spare room. Cleaning up, probably. She’s taken to doing these small, quiet things around the house, like it grounds her somehow, gives her a piece of control. Part of me wants to bring her downstairs, wrap her in a blanket, and tell her not to leave my sight. But we can’t keep her wrapped up forever.

I glance over at Leo and Cole, who are finally done changing their bandages. They’re looking better—at least physically. None of us have fully processed what happened, but each day, we’re inching closer to something like normal, even if normal is now a house on high alert, security cameras covering every inch, and weapons within reach at all times.

Cole leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. “Think she’s really okay? Or just pretending to be?”

I shrug, glancing up toward the ceiling, to where I can faintly hear her and Nate talking upstairs. “She’s strong. Stronger than any of us give her credit for. But we’ll keep an eye out. All of us.”

Leo nods, his gaze hardening. “And as for Moretti… we end this. One way or another.”

Just as the tension in the room finally starts to settle, all of our phones chime at once. The sound, usually just a regular notification, now sends a bolt of dread straight through me. I pull my phone from my pocket, exchanging a look with Cole and Leo, who do the same. Nate and Sofia’s faint laughter drifts down the stairs, and for a split second, I want to ignore it, to throw the phone across the room and leave it unopened.

But I look. And my stomach turns.

The message is from Moretti. No fake number, no hiding, no subtlety. Just a direct line of venom, dripping from the screen.

_“You can’t keep her from me forever. She’s mine. I’ll come for her when you least expect it, and I’ll carve that little bastard from her belly. I’ll make sure she bleeds out, slowly, so you can watch her die. And you’ll know that it was all because of you.”_

A wave of nausea rolls over me, and for a second, I actually think I’m going to throw up. I grip the edge of the counter, trying to steady myself, to keep the contents of my stomach from coming up as the horror of it sinks in. I can’t stop picturing it—Sofia, helpless, vulnerable, and that twisted bastard looming over her, intent on tearing apart everything we care about.

Cole’s face goes pale as he reads, his jaw clenched tight, and Leo’s expression hardens into something dark, something murderous. His hands tremble, and I don’t know if it’s from rage or the same disgust I’m feeling.

“Is he…” Cole’s voice is barely a whisper, his eyes locked on the message. “Is he even human?”

Leo swallows, his face ashen. “This isn’t just revenge. He’s sick. Twisted beyond repair.”

My vision blurs as the rage and fear twist together inside me, turning into something cold, something deadly. I force myself to look away from the phone, from those words burned into my mind. Moretti’s not playing games anymore. He’s not even trying to hide. He’s throwing his cards on the table, daring us to try and stop him.

And he’s right about one thing: this is far from over.