Page 83 of Lost Prince

I meet Peter's gaze, my voice steady as I respond. "You've got it all wrong, Peter. If anyone here's a killer, it's you. My family never did anything to yours, yet you murdered my parents in cold blood."

"They deserved it! Your whole family deserves to die for what you've done!"

I shake my head slowly, my voice calm despite the tension in the air. It’s strange how calm I’m acting compared to the other times I was completely unhinged.

"You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. But deep down, you know the truth. And your father? He knows the truth too. Wherever he is now, I bet he's disappointed in what you've become."

I’m surprised his head doesn’t explode from the rage pulsing through him.

"You're going to pay for what you did to my father."

“You’re like a fucking broken record. Are you going to make me pay or are we going to stand here like two pussies?”

Peter's eyes go wild, and he waves the gun erratically. This is my chance. In one swift motion, I use my bound hands to knock the weapon from his grasp. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, but I'm already moving.

Without hesitation, I loop my tied arms over Peter's head, moving behind him and pulling him into a tight chokehold. He struggles against me, but I've got the advantage now. As we grapple, I manage to work the tie off my wrists, freeing my hands.

I release the choke hold and turn him. He has no time to react as rage and adrenaline course through me. My fists connect with his face and body in a flurry of punches. Each blow is fueled by anger. Anger for my parents, for what he did to me, for hurting Lana, for threatening Diana and our unborn child.

I don't hold back. Peter tries to defend himself, but he's no match for my fury. His bones crack under my knuckles. Blood splatters with each hit. I don’t want to be a murderer, but this motherfucker needs to die.

All the pain and confusion of the past three years pours out of me as I continue my assault. Peter's face is barely recognizablenow, swollen and bloody. He's stopped fighting back, but I keep going, lost in a haze of violence.

I barely register the sound of the door bursting open or the shouts behind me. Hands grip my shoulders to pull me off Peter.

"Lazaro, stop!" Henry's voice cuts through the fog of my fury. He's trying to pull me off Peter, but I resist, unwilling to let go of the man who threatened everything I hold dear.

"Let him finish it," Matteo growls. "This should have been done when that bastard kidnapped Lana."

I raise my fist, but before I can land another blow, Elio's calm voice breaks through. "Enough, Lazaro.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. "He's done. Look at him."

For the first time, I truly see the damage I've inflicted. Peter lies motionless beneath me, his face a swollen, bloody mess. His chest rises. He’s not dead. For a moment, I want to finish him, but then I take in what I’ve done. I’ve become Peter, enacting revenge.

Slowly, I lower my fist and allow Henry to pull me away. The adrenaline fades, leaving me shaky and disoriented.

"You did what needed to be done," Matteo murmurs, but I can barely hear him over the roaring in my ears.

I stare down at Peter's battered form, my chest heaving as I catch my breath. The rage that consumed me moments ago ebbs.

I flex my bloodied knuckles, wincing at the pain. "He's not worth it. I won't become what he is."

Henry moves in to check Peter.

“Why you don’t finish him off, I don’t know,” Matteo says to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to,” Henry admits. “But I don’t want to be what he is, either.”

Several uniformed officers enter the café. I tense, wondering if I’m going to jail until I recognize them as some of Elio's men on the force.

One of the officers, a stocky man whose name I can’t remember, approaches me. "You alright, Mr. D'Amato?" He eyes my bloodied hands.

I nod, suddenly feeling drained. "Yeah, I'm fine. Take care of him." I gesture toward Peter's unconscious form. “Lock him up and throw away the key.”

Rodriguez and his partner move to handcuff Peter, who's starting to stir and groan. I watch as they lift him none too gently, reciting his rights as they drag him out of the café.

Matteo claps me on the shoulder. "You did good, Cousin. That bastard got what he deserved."

“I thought he was in jail,” I say, wondering if I was remembering what Henry and Lana had said about him when I first got home and they were trying to trigger my memories.