Bellissimo Lotta (Beautiful Struggle): Companion Novel to Bellissimo Fortuna (The Family Trilogy Book 2)

by Lunsford, Leigh Ann

  I grab my phone when it rings. “Dakota Hyatt.” I bark into the phone.

  “It’s Callie.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “I know I’m the last person you want to hear from . . .” I cut her off.

  “Actually, I do have a few words for you. What the hell did you do? He fucking loves you, and without a second thought, you vanished. Why are you calling me now?”

  “Are you going to let me talk?” I give her my silence so she continues. “I don’t have anything substantial for you, I can’t call Bianca or Bronson, but this was done for them. My father has a vendetta and an agenda. Two dangerous things where he’s concerned. “

  “Maybe. I don’t know if I believe you. But know this. You fucked with Bronson, hard. He’s worthless, Callie. He’s close to ruining the career he was beginning to build, and it’s all because of you.” I needed her to know the mess she created.

  “Fine, Dakota. It’s established I’m the worst person in the world. You won’t get any arguments from me. Listen to me; don’t let him lose focus. Stay on top of him, remind him of what Frank Locati has taken from him, fuel his anger, but don’t let him wallow in it.”

  “You sound like you care?”

  “Damn it, Dakota. I care. You know I do. Just keep him safe. I can’t tell you anything, because I don’t know the details, and I don’t have a way to reach you. Calling today was a risk. This is a ploy of my father’s. He needed a distraction, and he got one with me. Fucking fight for him. With him. Don’t let him give up now.”

  “What’s really going on here, Callie? Why did you walk away so easily?”

  “Easy? You think this is fucking easy? It’s agony, Dakota. Every day making the choice to get out of bed, kills me. I don’t want to. I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

  “How did you work this out with your dad?”

  “Frank,” I correct him. “I had a maneuver he wasn’t expecting, and that’s all I can tell you.”

  “So, you’re saying you did this for Bronson?”

  “For all of them, yes. Mostly him. Frank has reach, and he had pictures of him, and I know at any of those times he could have killed Bronson. Just do what you have to.”

  “Are you safe?”

  “For now. As long as I don’t lose my bargaining tool, I’m golden.”

  “What?”

  “If anything happens to me, you’ll be the one to know. I need you to make sure to keep it safe. I have to go.” Click. She’s done, obviously.

  Fuck it all to hell. This is one hell of a situation she’s put me in, but I can’t help but feel the pain her voice carried. I was a dick. She deserved that, I think. I’m not so sure. What the hell is her bargaining tool, and she needs to be safe playing this game with her old man. I head over to Bronson’s apartment to see the chaos I find today. We’re trying to find anything we can to take down Frank, but it’s proving to be challenging. And we are running into trouble every turn. We think we have something solid, and it turns into a dead end.

  I use my key and let myself into his apartment, and trip over my feet from the stench. He needs to get a maid, stat. I follow the trail of clothes and liquor bottles to his bedroom. Callie’s words replaying in my mind. Keep him safe. Don’t let him give up.

  I flick on the light, see his eyes squint; his hands go to his head. Serves him right.

  “Get up, Bronson. Sober the fuck up and help me with this case.” I keep my voice loud hoping to inflict some pain.

  “Fuck you, Dakota.”

  “No, fuck Locati. You gonna let him win? Everything he took from you, including your girl, this is how you’re going to go down?” I go directly for the sucker punch to the heart, hoping to jolt him from his stupor. I don’t have time for this shit.

  “He didn’t take my girl, she left. Whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work. What’s the point . . . justice? What a fucking joke that is.”

  “Really? You know that for a fact? What if there’s some chance bringing him down can bring her back?” I want to see just a flicker of emotion in my best friend. This dead man walking shit isn’t working for me.

  “I don’t give a fuck,” he lies to me. He gives a whole lot of fucks but admitting to them would open him up, and he would rather remain numb.

  “Tell that to someone who may believe you. Right now, I’m going to your office.” I’m thanking all of the powers that be that we kept the files at his house. After the phone call from Callie, I’m realizing Locati had a reason for using her, and until I know what it is, we can’t afford for anyone to get close. We’ve been busting our asses for twelve long weeks, and until I heard her voice today, I doubted Bianca’s logic. I know there is more to the story. She didn’t open up, so I have no idea what I’m up against. I hear the crash against the wall mixed Bronson’s cry of agony.

  “FUCK!” He’s hurting, and I’m debating sharing the phone call I got, but I’m afraid he’d go on a wild tangent and no telling how that would end. He’s too raw and a liability to himself and to Callie’s safety.

  “You feel better? Tossing your shit? The shit you picked out together? You think if you break every damn picture, piece of furniture, memory in here you’ll rid yourself of her? You won’t. She’s inside you, she has been since day fucking one, and until you man up and work on what really happened you’re going to stew in your own bullshit . . . and I’m tired of it.” I hope those words spur something inside of him.

  He walks in after his shower, and I see the glint in his eyes. He’s pissed, but he knows I’m right. “Have you seen Bianca lately?” His question is to get under my skin, and he hit his target.

  I turn to him, muscles taut with fury, itching to deck him. I’m tired of taking the shit he is doling out in piles. “She’s supposed to come home next weekend. I think she’s bringing a new guy.” The chair I throw at him misses him by a few inches, and I slam his office door. Space is the only thing that will stop the blood bath we are inciting on one another. Each for different reasons. Both from hurt, betrayal, and confusion.

  “Take it from me, time isn’t promised. Cherish what you have!”

  “Thanks, Aristotle. Just keep fucking looking at the files, I’m getting us some food.” I pray he is coming back from the dead place he’s been. I need my best friend, my partner. I also need to throttle his sister.

  She didn’t come home last weekend and said she wouldn’t make it this weekend either. This makes me suspicious, so I took a day off and headed my ass to the campus of FSU. I swing by the office on the way to the airport and grab some paperwork to keep me busy during the flight. I’ve got keys to stay at the apartment since it’s empty and Bronson’s blessing to remove his sister’s head from her ass.

  I don’t make much headway with the paperwork and notice a case file I’m not familiar with just as we are landing. I shove everything back in my briefcase and have one destination in mind. Her fucking dorm room. Have I mentioned that I hate her staying there? This weekend I plan to keep her in the apartment . . . with me.

  I knock and wait for an answer. She throws open the door, without checking the peephole. Her eyes widen when she sees me standing in front of her. “Dakota, what are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Okay, I have class in half an hour.”

  I hand her the roses I got at the airport, and she’s shocked. Her eyes study me, and it dawns on her why I’m here. Her mouth drops open, and I take my chance. “Bianca, you’ve driven me crazy since you were sixteen years old. You’re everything I didn’t know I wanted, and so much more. I’ve loved you as long as I can remember. I know shit went down with us, partly my fault and the way I handled it, but I didn’t know what else to do. Baby, those same circumstances aren’t in the way now.” I hate to remind her of her dad’s death, but she needs to know where I’m coming from.

  She takes a step back, shaking her head. “I can’t do this again, Dakota. I can’t go through that pain.”

  “I’m not he
re to hurt you. I’m here to heal you. I want you. I want you in my arms when you have a bad day. I want it to be your voice in my ear when I fall asleep. I want it to be your face I see when I wake up. I just want it to be you. Always.”

  I see her close her eyes and inhale. She’s relenting, I can see it in the way her face relaxes and goes soft. “So much has happened. I can’t lose you. I have your friendship, and I don’t know if we could salvage it again if this didn’t work.”

  “This will work, baby. I swear to you. It will work.” I see her hesitation. “I’m going to the apartment. I’ll wait for you to come after your class, and I’ll prove it to you, show you this can work.”

  She nods, and I take a step, bringing us closer. She doesn’t retreat from me. I pull her close and hold her. I feel her tremble and rub her back. I step back and force her eyes to mine. “Lasciare che l'amore vincere,” I plead. I leave her staring after me, praying she heeds my words. Let love win. This time, please let it win.

  I’m going crazy sitting here waiting for her class to end. It’s been ten minutes since I arrived at the apartment, and I still have at least an hour or so. I open my briefcase, trying to occupy my mind. I grab the case file that was shoved in my stuff. I flip it open and cease breathing.

  CASE NUMBER: 18976432

  DECEDENT: Dana Hyatt

  BACKGROUND AND FACTS:

  Decedent was found on 13 March 2012 at approximately 02:12 AM after Derrick Hyatt, decedent’s father, called the Indian Harbor police department (IHPD). It appeared to be a single gunshot wound to the head, known as ‘execution style.’

  Decedent was known cocaine user, and had substance in her system according to autopsy report (see Addendum 3). No evidence linking her to the sale or distribution of narcotics.

  After learning of known associate and distributor of decedent, the case was sent to Federal Division of DEA. Known distributor was identified as Mr. Frank Locati of the Agosto Crime Family managed out of Indian Harbor, Florida. Mr. Locati is believed to be the second in command. Information was obtained that the decedent was criminal informant working with Agent Floris and her information may have been breeched to the Agosto Family.

  Her death was ruled a homicide ordered by Agosto family. Possible suspect is Mr. Frank Locati but no further information was obtained.

  Family notified. Derrick Hyatt and Margaret Hyatt, decedent’s parents. Dakota Hyatt, minor, son of decedent was in care of Derrick and Margaret Hyatt, maternal grandparents, where he would remain.

  INVESTIGATION CLOSED.

  Son of decedent.

  The woman I looked up to, the one who was my closest ally, allowed me to call her sister. Showed me attributes I wanted to copy, and ones I wanted to steer clear of. She was the woman who gave birth to me.

  She was my mom.

  It’s a kick to the gut. One I don’t know how to process. She acted like she cared, but now I realize she didn’t care. Not enough to be my mom.

  Care of grandparents.

  It explains so much. The distance, the allowing most of my care and activities to be handled by Dana. They loved me, or seemed like they did, but they were just absent. They are liars, as well. The anger is creeping up, igniting a fire in my stomach, and mixed with the grief of mourning a sister I adored and mother I never knew, is too much to handle.

  Criminal informant.

  Agosto family.

  All these phrases running through my mind. I read the file over. Again. Twice more. Nothing makes sense.

  Then it does.

  My sister was my mother. She lied. My parents were my grandparents. They lied. My entire fucking life . . . a lie.

  Agosto crime family. They destroyed my life. All of them. Each of these transgressions individually I may be able to hand. Combined it’s just too much.

  A girl who claimed my heart and played games with my mind. She has the same name as the monsters responsible for the murder of my sister. Everything until this moment has been a lie. Did she know? Did Bronson know? Their father, the man I respected enough to put his daughter first, not make her choose, is the man who ordered Dana’s murder. Directly or not, his hands aren’t clean.

  I didn’t heed the warnings my family gave me to steer clear of that family. Seems like my mom didn’t either.

  I reach for the first bottle I can find. Foregoing a glass, I tip the bottle to my lips. Scotch. I remember the gurney carrying her lifeless body that morning, covered with a blue tarp. My sister. My mother. My champion. None of this made sense.

  Bianca. I have to get to her. I want this confrontation. Anything to beat down the turmoil I’m feeling. I need her to hurt, to feel the pain her family caused me. This is what I had overlooked all these years, what I pushed her to work through with her father. I had the desire to punish her, injure her in the way I was being slayed open, yet I knew her hands, her voice, her love had the power to repair me, and that enraged me.

  I stumble from the cab. Her door isn’t locked, and it pushes open with ease. I immediately notice the roses I gave her this morning. The same time I was foolish enough to vow my undying love. She placed a photo of us taken last year next to the vase and I want to throw them both against the wall. Her smile lights up her whole face. It sure brought sunshine to my world.

  “Dakota,” my voice being called out stuns me. I was lost in my own memories. I glance to the other side of her dorm room and see her roommate, Anna. Her body covered by a towel, her ass hanging out. I stare at the picture again, and shove my hands in my pockets to stop myself from making a colossal mistake. I feel the report, and I don’t stop myself again. Just like this one piece of paper destroyed my world, I’m going to further the cause, but this time I’m taking others down with me. I won’t be the only victim in their world. I will obliterate everything in my wake . . . most of all abolishing my future with Bianca. Memories, futures, promised words . . . all gone.

  I don’t pause long enough to think it through. Nothing mattered in that moment but ruin. I needed the world to turn off and my head and heart to work against each other. The love, the memories, the hurt . . . I need to shut them off.

  I made sure to smother the last ray of hope in our future when she walked in. As I was pounding into her roommate, she screamed. I set out to do what I craved at this moment.

  Destruction.

  In the moment it seemed like the correct answer, in the end it was the worst. Less than an hour ago I swore to her I would prove to her we could work. I lied.

  To her.

  To myself.

  Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

  ~Khalil Gibran

  Chapter 15

  Bianca

  I sit in class and can’t concentrate. I replay his words over and over.

  He wants this.

  He loves me.

  I want to trust this.

  I feel in my bones this is our time.

  I’d give anything to get advice from Callie. It hits me; I know what she’d tell me. Right now the right pieces, with the right people were connecting, and to grab it and don’t let go. I’ve felt the misery, the loss. He’s here offering to erase that. I grab my books, not caring about the spectacle I’m making leaving class as the professor is still speaking. I flee the lecture hall and beeline to my dorm. I’m packing a bag for the weekend and heading to claim my man. My love.

  As soon as I open the door, I hear Anna’s moans. Fuck, she’s at it again. I don’t give a fuck, she should’ve locked her door, and I need to get my stuff. I try to avert my eyes from her side of the room, but that grunt catches my attention. The familiarity of it shoots a dagger in my heart. I look. I can’t unsee this . . . ever.

  Dakota, the man who just promised me a future is fucking Anna. The ache starts in my chest, spreading through my heart, down to my stomach, and finally threatening to make me collapse from the weight of it. I scream, his head shoots in my direction. His eyes glassy, his face void of emotion. The look is foreign to me. He c
ontinues thrusting into her, and I escape. I can’t process a thought except to recoil. The vile image seared into my brain; playing like a movie in front of me. I can’t escape it.

  I was ready to put our lives back on track, ride the rollercoaster to the end with all its highs and lows. Instead, we’ve derailed before the ride started.

  I go to the apartment, knowing he is staying there. I don’t know why, but I have no place else to go. I haven’t cried, and I refuse to at this moment. I step over the empty scotch bottle, and that explains where his glassy eyes came from. I see his papers scattered all over the table and trudge past everything, seeking solace in my bedroom. I curl up on my bed, bring my knees to my chest, and squeeze, hoping the pressure will relieve the ache. I close my eyes and wish my dad were here. Or Callie. Either of them would know what to say. I stare at the wall, the collage of pictures that include moments of the past four years. Dakota smiling at me. Callie laughing at me. Bronson. Bronson holding Callie and the one common denominator . . . the love we all had for each other. Callie is gone, Bronson is lost, Dakota . . . he’s someone I never knew. At least the version of him I was introduced to today. These mementos are all lies, each one held close to my heart. But lies nonetheless.

  Seconds turn to minutes. Time drags, preparing me for the scene that will ensue when he returns. I hear the door shut and my name being called as he walks down the hall to my room.

  I see the lines surrounding his mouth as he stares from the doorway. His eyes won’t meet mine, his frown a deep scowl, and his shoulders slumped like he just lost his best friend. No. He doesn’t get to feel the piercing ache through the heart. That is reserved for me. He set this in motion. “Bianca,” his voice is raspy, and he swallows as he speaks my name with a forlorn look in his eyes.

  “Enjoy yourself?” My voice holds no emotion.

  “Don’t,” he implores me.