Twisted Bitch (Sick and Twisted Book 2)

by Jaci J

  ~~~~~

  “Miss? Miss?” Someone is saying, shaking my arm and startling me awake. My eyes pop open and instantly my heart starts racing.

  “Yes? Is it Dante? Is he okay? Where is he?” She looks at me sadly, her eyes heavy with guilt.

  “No. No. No.” Shaking her head, she says something softly that I don’t understand, but I get it. Death is universal. That sadness, that pity, and most of all, that hopelessness is always the same.

  “Where is he?” I demand. His body, alive or dead, I want to see it. I have to.

  “Miss, you go now.” Go? The only way I’m leaving without Dante is in a body bag. They’re going to have to remove me. Shoving past the lady, I run up to the unhelpful front desk.

  “Dante Marcello,” I annunciate, slowly and carefully. “Where is he?” The man in scrubs behind the desk looks at me curiously. “Someone fucking ANSWER me!” I scream at him. I’m in Paris for fuck’s sake, someone has to speak English here. “English? Doesn’t anyone speak it here?”

  Slumping against the front desk, I fight the mental breakdown that’s about to take over. Everything is fighting to break me down and it’s winning. “Please, someone help.” I cry, fat tears falling into puddles onto the Formica countertop. Why won’t anyone help me?

  “London.” It’s not a question. He knows me.

  Slowly I turn to see my father standing in the hallway, his face impassive. You would never know he’s staring at his daughter covered in blood, crying in a hospital waiting room. He doesn’t give a fuck.

  Walking up to me, he stops and unfolds his hand and something shiny catches my attention. Looking down, my breath catches in my throat. Looking from his hand, then up into his eyes, I see a smile. “Cold dead hands, as you said, my darling daughter.”

  Dropping Dante’s watch in my bandaged hand, he turns and walks off. Blinking rapidly, I try to process what just happened. My heart is beating a mile a minute and my mind is foggy. Cold … Dead.

  It catches up to me and I rush him, ready to tear his fucking throat out. “You fucking psycho! All for a company!” I scream at him. “A fucking company that was never yours.” An arm catches me around the waist, stopping me from reaching him.

  I continue to scream some more, hurt and pissed the fuck off. “You killed him, and now I’m going to fucking kill you!” Fighting against the strangers arms that are holding me back, I struggle. “I promise I will kill you! I fucking hate you!”

  He looks at me with cold, uncaring eyes. “It was just business, nothing personal.” Oh, but it is. Dante was my heart and soul. I may have wanted to hurt him and kill him at one point, but no one gets that privilege but me. “But you killed him.” Shrugging, he pushes through the doors and slips into the night.

  He killed him, yet I didn’t do enough to save him. I should have done something more. If I could just go back, I would trade my life for his somehow. I feel empty and dead inside at the thought. There is nothing left of me. Dante died, taking every part that makes me with him. Dante is gone and I hate him for it.

  Eighteen

  Miss Hopeless

  London

  I heard about it, just like the rest of the world did, splashed across the headlines and scrolling along the bottom of my TV screen. I heard the news that ripped my torn, tattered, and abused heart clean from my chest, leaving a bloody, gaping hole in its wake. I heard it all, over and over again.

  Deep down I had known, but it was confirmed by the media. I had heard it all in Paris. Dante was gone, never to return.

  The saga, the drama, my epic love was dead. It wasn’t how I pictured it would be. There was no big end, but it hurt just as bad. I had thought I’d be stuck with him for life, bound together by his will. I never thought I’d truly have to go on without him until I saw the headlines and read the words.

  “Local Mafia Kingpin gunned down.”

  “New York’s largest Syndicate loses it’s top man.”

  “The Life and Death of Mafia Don; The Story of the Century.”

  “Dante Marcello, known Mob member, brought down at thirty-four.”

  “The City Safe Once Again.”

  The headlines were unflattering, terrible, and heartbreaking, but all true. They dug and they tore into his life. The newspapers wrote stories and stretched truths, but the facts were the facts. Dante did kill people, he did extort money, he hid assets, he stole businesses, he lied, cheated, and broke the law, and he did it all without remorse. He was in the Mafia, the leader of a crime family―The Boss. He was everything they said and so much more.

  The TV reports and news anchors were no better. They all painted a villainous picture of the man that held my heart in his blood covered hands. They painted him out to be a ruthless, cold-blooded man with no morals or heart.

  Dante’s name was drug through the mud, and it killed me every time. He may not have had his own heart, but he had mine. He took care of my heart as if it were his. He had a heart. It just wasn’t his.

  For weeks after it happened, the headlines haunted me. Every time I turned around it was there, mocking and taunting me. No matter where I went, I couldn’t escape it. They wouldn’t let me stop reliving it day in and day out. It was like losing Dante over and over again, every single day.

  Days blurred into weeks. There was no funeral. It was like Dante Marcello wasn’t worth such things. No one could stop talking about him, dissecting his life for the world to see, so he was something, just not someone the public considered a person.

  Collected from Paris by my grandfather, he brought me back to the states where I mourned alone, numb and lost. I waited for weeks for something, anything about Dante’s murder. They knew about my father and were investigating, but nothing had come up. I waited for Carmine to show, a call from Josh, a text from Lucy, maybe even a visit from Betty, but it was like they were all gone, right along with him.

  Dante said he’d never leave me. He promised. He threatened me with his presence. If there was ever anything in life I was sure about, it was Dante always being there, whether I wanted him to be or not. But in the end, he lied because he left me. This was his one last epic lie. I should have known it’d all end in a lie.

  ~~~~~

  Six months later and I’m still not past losing him. This insane love I still feel for him is crippling, and I’m letting it slowly ruin my life. I live every day like a deflated version of the old London, lost and just left blowing in the wind.

  Nineteen

  Miss Agreeable

  London

  “Here, skank face, this came for you,” Matt chirps, flopping a big manila envelope onto my lap. I pretend to care. Looking it over and seeing nothing noteworthy, I ignore it even more. I force a smile on my lips and happiness into my voice. I pretend everything is okay when I’m still bleeding to death inside

  “Thanks.”

  Looking at the yellowish envelope, I wonder what it is, but I can’t work up enough wonder to open it. Plunking it down on the counter, I grab my cup of cocoa instead and head for the bath. I have no interest or need for anything in that envelope. Whatever unimportant thing it is, it can wait.

  “I’m taking a bath.” I inform Matt, heaving my stiff body from my special indent on the couch.

  “Dinner in or out?” Matt calls after me, sounding hopeful. He’s dying to get out and I encourage him to go without me, but like the brother he is to me, he stays with me despite my lack of life or spark for it.

  “In,” I mutter, letting the door close behind me. In, like always. There is nothing outside of those doors for me.

  I soak, I scrub, and I dry. My body finds a home in baggy sweats and a tank top. The weather is finally starting to improve and a parka is no longer needed to keep warm. I wish I could enjoy the sun, but I can’t. I can’t enjoy anything anymore.

  Grandfather took over again for the time being. He made us both sign over a power of attorney when he signed over our portions of the company. He has allowed me to work from home and I’ve learned a l
ot more than I could have imagined by doing the books, dealing with customers through e-mails, and even skype so I don’t have to leave or dress up. Throw on a little make-up and I’m good. He’s in the office every day, doing what he has to do to keep things running. He’s at the end of his rope with me like this, so I know it’s time to step-up. This job just doesn’t mean what it used to for me anymore, but I’m sticking with it. I hope I can find the passion for it again, and soon.

  Snatching up my throw blanket, I toss myself back onto the couch. Cuddling into my body sized dent, I flick through the channels, settling on the food network when the remote is rudely jerked from my hands. Looking up, Matt is scowling down at me.

  “Enough,” he declares, chucking the remote clear across the room.

  “Look what you did. Now you’re gonna have to go buy me a new one,” I tell him, turning into the back of the couch, burring my face in the cushion.

  “The hell I am. I’m over this. I’m done, London.”

  “Me too.”

  “I get it. Dante is dead and it fucking hurts you. You think it was your fault because you didn’t warn him about your father. Babe, I get it, I do. Losing someone fucking sucks, but you have to move on. You have to live.”

  No, I don’t. I died the day he did. I hated Dante most days, even wanted to strangle the life out of him on occasion, but I fucked up by not telling him about my father visiting me and making his threats. It was a stupid fucking mistake that cost Dante his life.

  “Dante would want you to.” That’s a lie and Matt knows it. Dante would not want me to “move on.” Dante would kill me if I moved on without him. That man loved me, but he also loved having me to himself and that includes my life, physically and emotionally.

  “No he wouldn’t, Matt.”

  “Maybe not, but when have you ever done anything that Dante wanted?” True.

  ~~~~~

  Over the past few weeks, Matt has managed to drag me out of the house. At first it was by my hair, kicking and screaming, but the last few times I’ve willingly walked out myself. He has an itinerary of activities planned for me. On Mondays, he’s convinced me that yoga will help to clear my head. Wednesdays he’s promised that lunch at the small café a few blocks away is good for him, which in turn is good for me, since I have to live with the bitch. And Saturday evenings, I’ve agreed to appetizers and drinks on the roof, lounging in loungers, and a few laps around the pool before he goes out.

  Matt is positively sure that all these activities are good for me. “They’re needed and worth it,” he’d said. I would have to agree with him, but I would never tell him that because I’m still quite fond of my ratty sweats and moping around.

  It feels good to enjoy something again. It’s nice to laugh and smile from time to time. Some days are easier than others, but I’m trying to move on, but I have no plans to forget.

  Twenty

  Miss Lunge and Thrust

  London

  “My ass is on fire,” Matt groans, rubbing at his butt cheek. I’d laugh if I weren’t already laughing at his ridiculously tight, neon green stretch pants that are adorning his lower half. “Are you laughing at me?” He shoots me a disgruntled frown. Oh, I’m laughing all right.

  “What is happening,” I start to say, waving at his legs. Cracking up, I choke on my words, “All down here.” I double over in a fit of hysterical giggles. Extending a leg, he throws his hands to his hips and lunges forward, practically falling into a split. It’s an aerobics video nightmare.

  “You don’t like my eighties inspired workout attire?” He laughs, thrusting his hips while lunging violently. Tears fall down my face and my cheeks hurt from smiling. I laugh so hard I fight for breath. I laugh so hard my sides hurt.

  “You … you’re … it’s just so bad!” I laugh uncontrollably. Why can’t he wear yoga pants like the rest of the normal yogis? “You have to stop. You’re going to fracture a fucking hip.” He’s too much. “I can’t take you anywhere,” I tell him, slapping him with my rolled up yoga mat. “I’m done for the night, you fucking weirdo.” He’s impossible. Not every outing is a possibility for a new, outrageous outfit.

  Lacing his arm with mine, he smiles triumphantly. “It worked,” he announces proudly, walking me towards the front door of the gym.

  “What worked?” Oh Jesus, what is he up to now? If he’s planning on setting me up on a date, I’m going to kick him in his downward-facing dog.

  “You smiled and you laughed. Finally!”

  I did. I smiled and I laughed until I cried. Taking a deep breath, I take inventory of the ache. It’s there but it’s subtle. Tolerable and doable. It’s been seven months, and I can finally take a breath without my heart aching. I can smile and not feel guilty. I might be fixable after all.

  ~~~~~

  Spring is upon the city with summer right on its heels. The nights are longer and warmer. It’s no coat weather and I’m starting to enjoy it. Wearing nothing but our yoga clothes, Matt and I walk down the sidewalk towards a little place for lunch. The city is abuzz with activity; the weather bringing people out in droves.

  “Do you think I could get a date in these?” Matt jokes, walking us to the corner.

  “If you pay for that date,” I tease back.

  Crossing the road, a cabbie honks loudly in front of us, startling me. Looking up in confusion, something catches my eye. I see something that has my heart crawling up my throat and my knees giving out beneath me. For a split second, I see Dante, standing across the street watching me.

  Wearing a black button down and a black pair of trousers, his hands are shoved in his pockets and he’s staring at me in surprise. Tears rush my eyes and my stomach falls away. I stare, transfixed, soaking the sight of him in.

  A body connects with mine, knocking me to the side and into Matt. I stumble, losing sight of Dante. “Whoa, tipsy already and we haven’t even had drinks,” I hear Matt joke. Looking up, I frantically search the crowds, but he’s nowhere to be seen

  “Babe, what’s wrong with you?” Tugging on my arm, Matt stops and looks down at me.

  “I …” I don’t know. I what, I thought I saw a dead man? “I just got a little light headed. Too much lunging, I think.” I try for a joke but it sounds forced. Snorting, Matt tugs me along.

  “Come on. Let’s get some food in you.”

  Looking over my shoulder, I search in vain for Dante. I’m losing my mind. He just looked so real, so much like Dante. I need help. I’m hallucinating him now.

  “I think I need to take a little nap before dinner with Grandfather tonight.”

  ~~~~~

  Staring wide-eyed and mouth gaped open at my grandfather, I struggle for words. This news he’s sharing isn’t bad. In fact, it’s quite good … satisfying. Sitting around my kitchen table, we catch up and apparently I have a lot of catching up to do.

  “They found his body a few days ago,” he tells me evenly, careful not to upset me. I fight the sick, sadistic smile that forms on my lips with his news. They’ve found my father’s hole-riddled body in a house somewhere outside of the city and I feel elated. He died painfully slow, tortured before being used as target practice.

  “He’s dead?” I ask for clarification.

  “Yes, he is.” He confirms. Matt squeezes my shoulder reassuringly and my grandfather smiles sympathetically, although I guess he’s suppressing his own smile of glee. The forever thorn in his side has been removed, once and for all. What’s not celebratory about that?

  Taking a deep breath, I lean back in my seat and smile. Finally, some good goddamn news.

  “Awesome.”

  “Awesome?” Matt repeats.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic!” Justice for Dante and for myself, I figure. That man has been nothing but heartache for me since birth. He ruined my mother, tore apart my grandparents’ lives, and killed Dante. Good fucking riddance.

  Pushing away from the table, I damn near skip to the wine rack. I need a drink. Pulling out my best bottle, I hold it up in th
e air, ready to celebrate the end of one horrible fucking life.

  “Wine anyone?” Both look at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have, but who cares? Lord knows I don’t.

  Two bottles of wine and endless amounts of chocolate two hours later, Matt and I are lying on the roof of our apartment. We sent my grandfather home after dinner with leftovers and hugs.

  “So, you’re really not upset?” He asks, turning on his side to look at me.

  “I’m really not.” I don’t love the idea of death, and I certainly don’t get off on the idea of torture, but I’m happy that chapter in my life has closed. My father has been nothing but trouble since I can remember. Demanding money, using me to hurt my grandparents, throwing my mother in everyone’s faces, trying to squeeze in where he was never wanted, and trying to take control of a company he had no claim to. That man was nothing but a pain in my ass and I’m happy to be rid of him.

  Rolling to my back, I stare up at the cloudless night sky. If you squint just right and tilt your head, you can see a star or two, or maybe they’re just planes. Either way, it’s a nice night.

  “He killed Dante. How could I not be happy he’s gone?” He took away the person I loved. I’ll forever despise him for that. He ruined what I was trying desperately to fix in the end and all over a stupid fucking company. I couldn’t care less that he’s gone.

  “He gave you life,” Matt mentions, turning over on his back too.

  “True, but part of me thinks he would have taken it away if he could have.” I was nothing more than a pawn to him. I doubt he ever truly saw me as a person, let alone his child. I was either a stepping stone, or maybe a road block to the man.

  “Well, in that case, I’m happy he’s dead too.” Snorting, I nod in agreement. Maybe now Dante can rest easy knowing I’m safer now that my father no longer roams the earth. Maybe now I can rest too.

  Twenty one