NADIA
The bastard dodged the bullet.
As I stood there, my finger trembling on the trigger, I unleashed a torrent of venomous words at Vincent. "You know what? I'm doing the world a favor by getting rid of someone like you." My anger and hatred poured out, fueled by the injustice and pain he'd caused.
Vincent's smirk only grew wider, "You wouldn't understand. You're too young." He sneered, "You're fresh into knowing all of these things." His words dripped with condescension, but I refused to back down.
"Either way, I'm glad my son is no longer distracted by you," he continued, his voice laced with malice. "I never liked you in the first place. You were just too good for him, but I'm glad that was all an act." His eyes gleamed with triumph, "My legacy will live on through Elijah. Not that bitch Vicky."
My outrage boiled over, "How can you talk about your daughter like that? Don't you have any feelings? Any conscience?" Vincent's expression remained unmoved, "Why would I feel sorry for someone who's not even my own daughter?"
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and I felt a chill run down my spine. I had suspected Vicky wasn't Vincent's daughter, but hearing him confirm it was like a punch to the gut. Memories of my mom's stories about the past flooded my mind, and I realized the truth – my dad was likely Vicky's father.
My heart racing, I snapped, "Is that all you care about? Your stupid legacy? You've ruined and killed so many people's lives, and that's all you care about? Do you think Elijah is proud to call you his father?" Vincent's eye twitched, and I knew I'd struck a nerve.
"I couldn't care less. As long as Elijah is by my side, as long as my blood runs through his veins, I don't care about anything else. He's my legacy, and he'll carry my name."
The disgust I felt was palpable, "You're a monster," I whispered, my voice barely audible. Vincent's words left a foul taste in my mouth, and I couldn't believe Vicky and Elijah had grown up with him as their father.
As I stood there, gun still trained on Vincent, he suddenly chuckled and said, "Don't worry, he's not your brother ." His words were laced with malice, but they brought me a twisted sense of relief. "And neither is Vicky related to you," he continued, "and that's the one thing I'm grateful for. If she was were of your blood, I would have killed her from the day she was born."
His words ignited a fire within me, and I felt a surge of protectiveness towards Vicky, despite our current differences. But there was also a part of me that was relieved – relieved that I wasn't related to Elijah, that I wouldn't have to deal with the chaos that came with being part of Vincent's twisted game.
Vincent's words cut deep, but I refused to back down. "That's the only thing your father did right – not having another kid outside of your mother," He spat and I glared at him.
As I stood there, ready to pull the trigger, my mom suddenly stood up and said, "Don't do it, Nadia." I turned to her, my eyes blazing with determination. "Mom, I have to do this for my father's sake," I said, my voice firm.
But my mom's expression was resolute. "Your father wouldn't be happy with you right now," she said, her voice calm and steady. "I don't want you to get your hands dirty with someone as evil as him. He doesn't deserve it, and he doesn't deserve you getting your hands dirty."
I hesitated, my finger still on the trigger. My mom's words struck a chord within me, and I slowly lowered the gun. My mom stepped forward, her eyes locked on Vincent, and pointed her own gun at him.
Vincent's smile was twisted and cruel. "This is how I always wanted it," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "I didn't want to die in the arms of another person or by the end of another person other than you or by your side."
I looked at him, my disgust and hatred boiling over. "You're such a sick bastard," I spat, my words dripping with venom.
My mom's expression was cold and unforgiving. "I cursed the day I met you," she said, her voice steady. "I wish I never met you. I wish you died twenty years ago, when it was still early and fresh. I wish I didn't have to endure all these years being surrounded by you."
Vincent's smile faltered for a moment, and I saw a glimmer of real emotion in his eyes. "I don't regret it," he said, his voice cracking. "I enjoyed seeing you every day. I wanted you to be mine."
My mom's laughter was cold and mirthless. "I would choose him ten times again in seven different universes," she said, her voice firm. "I would never get involved with someone like you. You're the reason I'll never get involved with you – you're the reason I'll never love someone like you."
Vincent's face twisted in anger, and he slammed his fist into the wall, crushing his cigar. "What did he have that I don't?" he snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. My mom looked at him, her expression contemptuous. "He's a real man," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "He had a heart, something you'll never have."
As Catherine's words hung in the air, she suddenly plunged the knife into Vincent's chest, twisting it with a ruthless precision that made my blood run cold. The sound of the blade piercing skin and bone was like a symphony of crunching and squelching, and I could almost feel the weight of Vincent's life force ebbing away.
The sound of Vincent's body protesting the invasion was almost deafening – the crushingt of ribs, the squelching of organs, the twisted agony that seemed to sear itself into my soul.
I felt a wave of revulsion wash over me, and I looked away, unable to bear the sight. Yet, despite the disturbing nature of the act, I couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of relief. I never thought I'd say this, but I was grateful that someone was dead – and who better than my father's murderer?