Chapter 225 Something Dark

Chapter 225 Something Dark
Marco rolled onto his side and slowly pushed himself upright. He swayed slightly as he stood, one arm wrapped around his ribs while the other wiped blood from his chin.

His smile never left. “You know…” he wheezed. “This feels familiar.”

Rico said nothing. His chest rose and fell heavily as he peered down at Marco. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles looked ready to split.

Marco laughed again, his thumb grazing the corner of his lips. “We’ve been doing this for years.” His eyes lifted toward Rico. “Ever since we were kids.”

Rico’s jaw flexed. He didn’t want to hear it after everything that had happened. "Shut up."

Marco took a shaky step forward. “You always had everything handed to you," he said as his smile widened. “The respect, the loyalty, and the power. And no matter what I did, nobody looked at me the same way they looked at you.”

Rico let out a scoff, shaking his head. He wasn't ready to go down memory lane. And the bastard was wrong. Did he seriously think Rico was the favored one? 

Luciano was. 

He was the most trusted. The people's choice. The one who had it easier. The one who got his mother's love.

Though he had since let go of the past, and blamed his dead brother for what he couldn't control at such a young age, he couldn't help it. He was still human.

And did he say Rico had everything handed to him? He was dead wrong. Rico had to fight tooth and nail to get to where he is now—he had to prove himself every second of the day to be considered a worthy option.

All these played back in Rico's head that Marco mistook the silence for distraction. Without warning, Marco lunged. His fist flew toward Rico’s face.

But Rico saw it coming. He slipped aside and drove his own fist directly into Marco’s jaw. The crack echoed through the forest.

Marco stumbled. Then the fight exploded all over again. Years of hatred collided beneath the moonlight. Neither of them held back. 

Punches slammed into flesh with sickening force. Blood splattered onto leaves. Branches snapped beneath their feet. At one point, Marco tackled Rico, and the two men rolled down a small slope hidden in the darkness.

They crashed through bushes and dirt before landing hard at the bottom. 

Pain shot through Rico’s body, but he barely noticed it. Marco was already getting up. So Rico got up too, and they kept going.

Rico drove his hard fist into Marco's right jaw, and another into the left. Marco staggered from the impact and pushed forward again. He struck Rico's face with his elbow.

But Rico didn't groan for long. He grabbed Marco by the collar and threw him to the ground. He picked him up again and drove his knee to Marco's stomach, twice.

The fight dragged on until both of them were exhausted, their breathing became ragged, and their bodies screamed in protest. Until there was nothing left except anger.

Then Rico landed a punch so hard that Marco collapsed. This time he stayed down.

For several moments, all Rico could hear was the sound of Marco struggling to breathe. Blood covered his face, one eye had swollen nearly shut, his nose looked broken, and several ribs probably were too. He looked pathetic, broken, and defeated.

Rico stood above him. His own body ached, his fists dripped blood.

One final punch—that was all it would take.

Slowly, he raised his hand, about to plant the final punch on Marco's face. But then he stopped. His eyes remained fixed on Marco’s face. And something strange happened... the rage inside him eased.

Not because he forgave him. Never that. But because the man lying there no longer looked terrifying. He looked small and lost.

Rico stilled, and the little boy Marco used to be flashed before his eyes. A child born into a world that worshipped violence. A child who had spent his entire life trying to prove he belonged, trying to earn respect, trying to become something important.

And somewhere along the way, he had completely destroyed himself.

Rico slowly lowered his hand, and he stepped back. The fight was over.

At least, he thought it was.

Marco let out a weak chuckle, then another. Rico closed his eyes and sighed. Of course, even now, the bastard couldn’t stop talking.

“You know…” Marco coughed, blood dripping from his lips. “I hate... that my plan for... Lyra was cut short that day," he said, a wide grin on his face. "Because I know... she would have looked very sexy in a... a coffin.”

Everything inside Rico froze, and his eyes opened slowly. The image of Calla inside a box, crying, terrified and nearly dying, flashed through his mind before he could stop it.

Something dark and ugly moved inside his chest. Something he had been holding back for weeks. Something black he never wanted to revisit. Something he has been trying—and succeeding—in suppressing for months since Calla came into his life and brought her light with her. 

Marco smiled. And that was the last mistake he would ever make.

Rico moved before either of them could even think. In one swift motion, his strong hand wrapped tightly around Marco’s throat, and the smug smile on Marco’s face vanished instantly.

Marco barely had time to react before Rico drove him backward with brutal force. His body slammed hard against the trunk of a broken tree. 

A sharp, jagged branch protruded from it, and the impact forced the branch straight through Marco’s back and out his chest.

Marco’s eyes widened in shock. A horrible choking sound escaped his throat as blood immediately spilled down his chest, soaking his clothes. 

His hands shot up to Rico’s arm, desperately trying to push him away. He struggled to breathe, to survive, his fingers clawing at the unyielding grip.

Rico stared directly into his eyes the entire time, his face cold and unreadable, his gaze filled with nothing but emptiness. "This ends here," he growled, his voice low and filled with quiet fury.

Then he pushed harder. The branch drove even deeper into Marco’s body.

Marco’s body jerked violently. He gasped and coughed violently, blood pouring from his mouth and then streaming from his nose. 

In a weak, gurgling whisper, he managed to choke out his final words. “I— I don't think... I ever hated you..." blood continued spilling from his mouth. "I hated... that I wasn’t... you."

His fingers slowly weakened around Rico’s arm, losing their strength as the fight drained from his eyes. The laughter disappeared too. 

Marco’s body trembled one final time. Then, slowly, it went completely still. This was the end. No more running, no more games, and no more chances.

Rico simply stood there, still holding him, staring at the man who had caused so much pain. The man whom he had spent years taunting him. The man who had nearly taken everything from him.

He was finally gone.

(Author here!🌸 How do we all like the outcome? Truly deserved, right?)