Bronson and I don’t talk about what my job could entail, the repercussions it could have for his father. We both know. He wouldn’t expect me to jeopardize my job, and I wouldn’t expect him to turn the other cheek if it happens. There will be a penance to pay for all of us if those roads cross and whichever path we choose will be a long and winding one, but I won’t be the cause of any pain for Bianca.
‘Bronson’ flashes across my phone as it begins ringing. “Yo.”
The noise in the background makes his words difficult to hear. “I need you to get to the prom, grab Bianca, and get her back to the house. Now.”
The panic in his voice is alarming and has my heart rate accelerating as I grab my keys as I head out the door. “What’s wrong?”
“Callie was attacked. She’s at the hospital. I don’t know all the details, but I do know it was her father who ordered it. I need Bianca safe, and I’m gonna need her to be there for Callie.”
“How bad?” My stomach ties in knots. Her father went too far this time, and I know the toll that will take on him, the family, and most of all Callie.
“Could’ve been worse, but it’s pretty fucking bad. Can you do this?”
“Of course, I’m en route.”
“See ya.” He hangs up, no doubt to go back to Callie’s side.
I reach the venue and rush inside. I ignore the girl collecting tickets and push past the mass of students in the doorway. I scan the room and can’t find her. “Do you know where Bianca Agosto is?” I ask the kid next to me.
His date lifts her hand and points to the dance floor where she is wrapped in some fuckhead’s arms, swaying to a sappy ass love song. My anger is quick, spreading a fire throughout my body as my legs make quick work of the space separating us. I grab his arm and throw it off of her.
“What the fuck?” Bianca sputters.
“Have to get you home. Something’s happened.”
“And you couldn’t tell me that without having to make a spectacle acting like a Neanderthal?”
“Cut the shit, Bianca. Home. Now.” She rolls her eyes and gives the dweeb she was dancing with a kiss on his cheek, thanking him. “Pushing it, Bianca.” She knows it by the sweet angelic smile she throws my way. Nothing sweet or angelic about her. I grab her hand and drag her ass through the doors. Once I have her at the car, I lay it out. “Callie was attacked.” I hold up my hand when she goes to open her mouth. “I don’t know the details, I just know Bronson asked me to get you home.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Her entire demeanor collapses in front of me, and at this moment I’m fighting everything in me that wants to beg her for forgiveness, to take my ass back. Standing in front of me is the girl I love. She loves fiercely. No pretense. No disguises. Unadulterated perfection.
“Yes, she’ll be fine.” I can’t stop myself, I pull her into my arms and let her soak in the strength she needs. Callie and Bianca are tight, thick as thieves with a bond so unique. “Her father did this.” She shudders and her back goes stiff, she pushes out of my arms and glares up at me.
“I fucking hate him.”
“I know.”
“I hope my father kills him.” Her voice is laced with venom, pure hate.
“No you don’t.”
“I do.”
“So taking a man’s life is the answer?”
“In this case, yes.”
“You can’t pick and choose. Murder is murder. Get in the car.”
My seatbelt isn’t even buckled when she starts. “You’re jaded because of your sister. That was pointless and undeserving. This . . . this is so much different. He hurt her. He takes another piece of her each and every day. I’m afraid he will keep taking until there is nothing left, and you are going to tell me that isn’t justification?”
I’m waging a war within myself. I hear her words, but I can’t get over my reasoning. “It’s black and white. A life for a life isn’t the answer.”
“So, you’re telling me if a man hurt me, and we don’t know the extent of her injuries and what was done to her . . . you would want him living his life in a prison? That’s justice to you? Your tax dollars paying for three meals a day, air conditioning, cable, education? That makes perfect fucking sense, Dakota.”
“Fuck, Bianca. Just leave it alone. You aren’t going to change my mind.” The mere thought of anything happening to her makes me crazy, and I know I’d be capable of murder. Hell, I fantasize of it . . . have sent my sister’s file over to the office and asked my contact to look into it. They have resources the local cops don’t.
“I never thought I’d see the day you were weak, but today is the day. Aren’t you the one who told me it wasn’t cut and dry with my father? Why the change in attitude? ”
“I’m not weak. I just have a fucking moral compass and don’t go waving a gun shooting up whoever the hell gets in my way. I stand by what I said in regards to your father. It was based on your relationship, not life choices. I’ve never said what he does is right, but I also know it doesn’t change how much he loves his family. He’s not a monster.”
“I didn’t say go wave a gun and shoot people. We aren’t in a Western. I know my dad isn’t a monster, thanks for that clarification. I get murder isn’t the answer. I hate this life. I’ve come to terms with it, but I want Frank Locati dead. I don’t want him to be able to say another scathing word to his daughter. I never want him to lay a hand on her again. The scars she carries today are because of him. For that and many other reasons . . . I.Don’t.Care.If.He.Takes.Another.Mother.Fucking.Breath.” Her voice is wavering, and she is struggling to stop her tears.
I reach over and take her hand. “I agree.” And God help me, I do. How does this make me better than the monster that killed Dana? I told her to resolve her issues with her dad, but I ignored my own words. Is there still a chance for us?
“I’m scared, Dakota. What if she doesn’t recover from this?”
“She will. She has you. She has Bronson. And she has me. You do, too.”
She snorts. “Hardly. You made your choice.”
“Not to be with you. I didn’t stop being your friend. I never will, whether or not you want it. I’m here for you.”
“Tonight, I think I’ll need it.” Her hand squeezes mine, and for tonight I just want to ignore the past couple months. I want to forget I threw away her love. Forget our future is still undetermined. I want to dream I have a life with her, that she is mine and will be forever.
“You have me.” That’s the truth. She always has a piece of me. I gave her my entire heart; I’m not taking it back.
She walks in the house, and I immediately notice the guards stationed all over the perimeters of the grounds, one at the front door and two in the house. What the fuck did he do? How damaged is Callie? Time is at a standstill. Bianca changes and comes back down to me; I see her alarm taking over.
“Come here.” I pull her down to the couch with me. I position her between my legs and hold her to me. I feel her relax in my clutch, my lips drop to her shoulder, and I place them on her skin. It’s natural.
She doesn’t move a muscle, and when the front door opens, I feel her strengthen under me. She immediately stands, and when she sees Callie’s face broken and battered, the way she is struggling to walk, and the anguish covering Bronson’s face, instead of sagging under that, her resolve steels and she steps up. Ushering Callie and Bronson to the couch, she fetches pillows, blankets, ice, drinks . . . never wavering. When everyone is situated I see her sag from the weight of it all. I cocoon her in my embrace again and take it all from her. The rest of the night is a blur; meetings behind closed doors, heated words exchanged, doors slammed, and then Frank Locati walks in, flanked by the two guards that escorted him here. He doesn’t spare a glance at his daughter, his lack of concern evident.
Bianca is spitting mad, and it won’t be long until she cracks. I take her hand and pull her outside, getting her some fresh air. She’s quaking with anger. “I hate him.”
�
��I’d have to agree after that exchange.”
“That’s nothing, Dakota. Nothing compared to what he has inflicted on her. His silence is better than the vulgar words he usually has for her.” I still can’t wrap my head around murder being justified, but I’m getting closer.
The door slams and out he saunters, pausing to glance at Bianca. His lip curls up into a sneer as he watches her, daring her to step out of place and say something. He thinks he’s untouchable. He is a menacing son of a bitch. “Sorry about your friend.” Those parting words, said with lack of conviction, not an ounce of concern, empathy or care in his tenor make me realize, he needs to die. Slowly, painfully and with as much torture that can be arranged.
“Bianca, go inside.” Frank Locati pauses in his step and turns towards me, welcoming this encounter. She doesn’t move, so I play on her sympathy. “Callie needs you now.” That does it, and she heads inside with one last look over her shoulder.
“Mr. Hyatt, is it?” He’s so full of shit. He knows my name. Just like I know he’s an asshole.
“It is.”
“Did you need something?”
“Nothing in particular. Just a friendly word of advice. Don’t look at my girl like that again. I may not have been born into this life, but I’ll still make you pay.” I don’t falter, there isn’t an ounce of fear in me, this man will not threaten what’s mine.
“Your girl? Oh, one of us must be mistaken. I heard you discarded that trash months ago. Here’s my friendly piece of advice . . . don’t ever underestimate me.” He takes his leave after that, and I know whatever his next move is, will destroy many.
I walk in to hear Callie pleading, “Don’t kill him, he’s still my father.” And in that moment I know what Bronson sees in her. The same that I see in Bianca. The pureness. The vulnerability that makes you want to cloak and protect them. The strength they embody silently, letting you know they’re there to have your back, your pain if you need them to. The sass, the sweet, the humor, the love . . . it’s evident in both of these girls. It marks you. Permanently, no washing it off. No chance of it fading.
I want that.
I need that.
I’ll do whatever it takes to get it back.
I fucked up. I hurt her. I’ll mend this and make her forget what I did to her. I love her. I want love to win.
This time, love needs to win.
The heart will break, but broken live on.
~Lord Byron
Chapter 11
Bianca
Healing. That word encompasses us all at this time.
Callie is healing from the damage her dad caused. Her pain is the most prominent, but it is felt throughout the entire family. It is visible by the marks on her skin, and her emotional wounds will be felt for a long time. His actions set the beginning of a war in motion. No preamble, no battles, just a full-blown war approaching on the horizon. I can feel it. I see the prognostication. Who strikes first? Whose cut will be the deepest? I just know it will be painful, and someone will bleed.
I’m healing over Dakota. It’s easier, some of our friendship has returned. I still keep my distance so I can keep my sanity. I yearn to run my fingers through his blonde hair, stare into his brown eyes; I want to see the flecks of gold hiding in them. Ignite for me when he is buried deep inside my body. The ache in my chest isn’t gone, but it’s dissipating. I watch Bronson load up our last suitcase, grumbling and bitching the entire time about all the shit we brought. I swing my arm around Callie. “You ready?”
She’s been living here the last few months . . . ever since the incident. Of course her dad pleaded his innocence, but everyone knows he’s guilty. He doesn’t try to hide it but without proof there is a code of conduct to follow. That’s laughable. The mob has a code of conduct, one they follow very seriously. They will kill you execution style, tear your limbs off one by one, destroy everything you own, but we have rules we have to follow within the family. A fucking oxymoron if I’ve ever heard of one. They only incite ethics when it’s one of their own.
“I’m so ready, Binks. I want out of this town, away from the reminders.” Her dad disappeared, further announcing his guilt, and we leave for FSU today. It’s going to be hard for me to see Dakota day in and day out, but at the same time, comfortable.
“Let’s go start the rest of our lives.” I smile at her.
“You sound like a shitty teen movie. A Lifetime special. ”
“I could say let’s go whore it up, booze all night, and scream YOLO, but that would be channeling my inner Miley Cyrus, and I can’t pull off short hair. Besides, my parents are in ear shot, and I don’t want to give Papa heart failure.”
“Then learn to whisper, baby girl.” My father deadpans. He knows I’m kidding, if I wasn’t he wouldn’t let me out of this house. He’s got us covered; I won’t keep a secret from him. We have guards at school and a security system he can monitor ‘round the clock. Just like living at home, but five hours away.
“I’m so lucky,” Callie whispers sweeping her gaze over the house. This girl that’s been to hell and back, is still appreciative of all she has. We should all strive to be like her.
“We’re the lucky ones. No sappy shit. Get your skinny ass in the car.” We are the lucky ones. She has taught us how to love unconditionally. Taught us to embrace every miracle you’re given. Never allow the bad to tarnish the good. No matter what life throws at you, keep going because you never know what’s waiting around the next corner. “You should write a self help book, Pollyanna.” Her eye roll was expected and so was my middle finger. We both settle in for the drive, and my mind wanders to what it will be like living with Dakota. Will he bring girls back to the condo? I can’t see that, it’s still too raw, but in reality we both have to live our lives.
I don’t get why he’s so cranky because I’m dating. It was his idea to break up, a decision I remind him of constantly because it seems to slip his mind each time I have a date. Every date he treats like a serial killer, not that I have had a lot. Three. In the four months I’ve been here. I don’t know if he’s had any because he isn’t home much, which I’m thankful for. The happiest time of my life? My ass. This college experience has been the loneliest. No Dakota. Callie and Bronson are constantly up each other’s asses, and even though they try to include me, that’s not something I want to bear witness to. I’m horny and don’t want to fuck just anybody. I want Dakota. I dream about Dakota and . . . I’m very much on edge.
I take Callie’s head off for drinking the last of the juice. “You need to get laid, Binks. You’re crabby.”
“I’d love to. Anyone in particular you have in mind?” Fuck.
“Dakota.” I groan. “Your fingers? Your vibrator? I don’t care, just fucking have an orgasm and release the endorphins into your system. Please.” She’s begging. I’m waiting for her to drop to her knees and promise me her first born as long as I’ll quit being a bitch.
“I can’t. I’m mabstinent.”
“A what stent?”
“Mab-sti-nent. I gave up masturbating.”
“What the fuck? Why?”
“Carpal tunnel is no joke, Callie.”
“For fuck’s sake. Stop.” The pictures on the walls shake from her stomping feet. I gave up getting myself off because every time I did, it was Dakota in my fantasies. If I was going to give dating a fair chance, I needed a clear mind, not a constant reminder of him. Stupid. I need a release.
Tonight is a frat party with Jeremy. He’s easy to look at and a goof-ball. That boy can’t be serious . . . as in ever. I laugh with him, and I’m beginning to think he views me as one of the guys, but at least I’m socializing.
Beer flows, girls dance atop tables, keg stands, and loud shitty music . . . typical frat party. It’s totally my scene, hence why I’m stumbling up the stairs to the condo with Jeremy supporting me. The door flies open, and Dakota’s icy stare bores through me. When he removes Jeremy’s hand from my waist and takes over, I fling myself back. Off balance,
I almost tumble on my ass, but both Dakota and Jeremy grab for me at the same time.
“I’ve got her. Seems you did enough.” Dakota’s voice in terse; his words short and clipped.
“I’m a big girl,” I giggle.
“I didn’t do anything, man.” Jeremy shouldn’t defend himself against Dakota. He’s barking up the wrong tree.
“Yep, see that. Didn’t make sure she didn’t drink herself stupid. You’re right . . . you did nothing.”
“Wait, I’m right here. I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.” That may have been a better argument if I could stand up without assistance. Oh well, they can cock fight while I go pass out. One foot in front of the other. I’ll be fine. I don’t get two steps, and Dakota swings me in his arms and shuts the door in Jeremy’s face. That wasn’t very nice. I’m going to tell him his manners are horrendous, but somehow my arms betray me and find his neck, and my head falls to his chest.
“Bianca,” he warns.
“Hmmm?”
“You’ve got to be careful. Going out with douches, getting drunk. It’s dangerous.”
“Well, I’m just exploring. If my trusty sidekick Boots wasn’t kept on a tight leash controlled by Bronson, I wouldn’t be alone. Or better yet, if my boyfriend hadn’t dumped me I wouldn’t have to do this at all. I wouldn’t be alone.” Seems alcohol doesn’t slow down my attitude. Or filter my thoughts.
“Damn it.” Laying me down, he gives me a long look and leaves the room.
I love vodka, because it allows me to pass out and not feel the shit threatening to overtake me. Pain. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment. Most of all, loneliness. There will be plenty of time to deal with that. Tomorrow.
My head feels like a damn bowling ball was smashed into it, and the fucking banging from the next room isn’t helping. I throw back the covers and painstakingly make my way to Dakota’s room. I’m contemplating crawling, but the wall is offering a wonderful support system for my sluggish body.
Bellissimo Lotta (Beautiful Struggle): Companion Novel to Bellissimo Fortuna (The Family Trilogy Book 2) Page 8
