Maldito Imbécil

𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘

~~~

Ryan Reigns.

The name alone still tastes like smoke and sin on my tongue. The man who once made me forget who I was, forget the world, forget everything but the way his hands could own me without a single word. Three days. That’s all it took for him to carve himself into my soul—three reckless, godless nights that branded me his before I ever wore another man’s ring.

And now he’s here.

Not the boy I once knew, but the Don. The head of the Valente group. The man every criminal in this rotten city either kneels to or bleeds for. Power clings to him like a second skin; it walks in before he does, bending the air to his will.

He doesn’t need a gun like Ryat. He doesn’t need to shout. One word from Ryan could crush empires—and I know, because I’ve seen it.

His honey eyes lock on me, then slide to his brother. Calm. Cold. Calculated. That calm is worse than Ryat’s rage. Because when Ryan loses control, the world doesn’t burn—it disappears.

And right now, I can’t decide what terrifies me more—his silence, or the memory of how I once begged for his touch in the dark.

"What are you doing?"

"Disciplining this bitch!" He presses the gun into the side of my head.

I turn to him with a scowl, damning cusses resting just at the tip of my tongue.

"Put that away."

Ryat snarls, holding the gun firmer. So firm I'd worry about him mistakenly pulling the trigger, but I know he's way better than that with firearms.

"Do you know what this wench did?"

"Not worse than you've been doing." He starts to descend the stairs, every step he takes oozes total control. Not just over his demeanor, but over the situation at hand. "Put the gun away, Ryat."

With a scoff, Ryat lets his hand fall to his side, cussing under his breath.

Something about the way he's still standing tall, with raised shoulders, infuriates me, and before I know it, I jump on my feet and my hand shoots, slapping him across the face so hard it reverberates into my palm with a sharp sting.

The room goes silent. Even the city noise outside fades.

Ryat straightens slowly, fingers brushing the red mark on his jaw. And then he laughs—a low, murderous sound that makes my stomach twist.

"Congratulations, wench," he says, his voice almost tender. "You just signed your death warrant."

In a flash, the barrel snaps back between my eyes. Then—

A thunderous crack splits the air, plaster raining down as the bullet punches into the ceiling instead of my skull.

Ryan’s hand clamps Ryat’s wrist in an iron grip, forcing the gun skyward.

My heart stops, the hair on my neck goes erect, and I feel my bladder fill with waste water.

He actually pulled the trigger.

This motherfucker actually shot at me.

Ryan jerks the gun from his brother's hand and throws it across the room. His eyes glaring fire into the douche's face.

"She deserves to die!" Ryat's voice comes first, defending himself even before he's asked. "She was selling her cunt to that tool Gustavo sent us for the cartel deal."

Ryan remains outwardly calm, but the deep rise and fall of his chest suggests that his insides are in turmoil.

"Your son is just a few walls away," his voice comes in calmly.

But Ryat refuses to accept reasons. "Well it would teach him never to stand a cheating bitch."

"Language." Ryan drops his gaze to the floor. "You are speaking of the mother of your child."

"Who knows if that kid is mine!?" Ryat snaps.

"What!?" I squeal, my voice cracking under a mix of rage and disbelief.

Ryan’s head tilts, his eyes narrowing in confusion—like he’s trying to process just how fucking stupid his brother can be.

Angelo has the full Reigns signature look. Dark hair, amber eyes, that Italian sharpness in his facials. My boy is a carbon copy of their bloodline. Heck, he looks exactly like Rex—their goddamn father.

"What the fuck are you yapping about, huh? ¡Maldito imbécil! If you weren’t so busy sticking your dick in every cheap whore in New York, maybe you’d notice your son looks exactly like you!"

He steps toward me, but Ryan steps between us, his eyes doing the talking.

"That's enough," he breathes. "There will be no more arguing. Saint deserves a peaceful home. That's the least you two could do for him."

I stumble back, breath hitching, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Ryat scoffs, spits on the marble floor, and turns to leave—but he doesn’t make it two steps. Ryan’s hand lands softly on his shoulder, making him turn around.

"What—"

CRACK.

The slap is so sudden it steals the air from my lungs. Ryan’s hand collides with his brother’s face in a single, fluid strike, the sound ricocheting off the marble walls.

Ryat doesn’t stumble—he drops.

Flat on the floor.

Silence swallows the room. Ryan stands over him, chest steady, eyes calm—too calm.

And that calm is scarier than the slap.

He groans, hand massaging the red explosion on his face. "What the fuck?"

"I guess nobody ever taught you—for that, I'm sorry—but you never lay a hand on your woman." He claps his hand as if dusting an insect off his palm.

Ryat pushes back on his feet and charges my way.

I fall back.

"She hit me too!" He growls, pointing my way.

Ryan's eyes only drifts calmly, his aura remaining the same. "You want me to hit her too?"

Just the suggestion of it makes me curl into myself, dreading the actual action.

Ryat fumes, fisting his hand, glaring into his brother before he finally turns, storming away. This time, nobody stops him.

Once he's out of sight, I close my eyes, letting out a breath. Thanking my stars for Ryan's timely interference.

"Are you alright?"

I shoot my lids open, brows furrowed, refusing to believe what I heard.

"Huh?"

He leans back calmly. "Are you alright?"

I nod, pulling a tight smile. "I'm fine. Very fine."

The silence stretches between us, him refusing to move, and me unable to.

Slowly, he lifts his hand to my face where his lunatic of a brother struck me earlier. He gently runs his fingers over the skin, his touch burning hotter than the slap did. "Sorry about this."

I gulp, swallowing the boulder-sized lump in my throat. "Why are you sorry?"

He retrieves his hand, pocketing it. "For—"

"For leaving me in a void of unanswered questions that day?" My voice cracks, the sting in my eyes blazing until the tears threaten to spill. "For making me believe in something so damn sweet… only to rip it out of my chest like it never mattered?"

He doesn't talk. Probably doesn't have anything to say, or maybe, he just doesn't feel the need to defend himself.

He never does, never wants to have this conversation.

But I continue. "Don't even act like the almighty angel now, Ryan. Don't even dare!"

The first tear runs down my cheek, trailing a hot line along my skin, then follows more drops, until I'm literally pouring.

"If you hadn't left me that day, I'd never be in this situation." With that, I turn away, storming up the stairs.

I think I hear him faintly call after me, but I don't stop. He didn't turn back when he left me—why should I now?