Femme Fatale

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  “People are stupid,” Giovanni states between tense jaws bringing me out of my mental trance. I watch as he reaches into his side pocket. He pulls out his trusted switch blade – the handle a symbolic blood red, the crimson beautifully hugging a blade that has killed many – and flicks the knife out, the light glinting from its razor edge. He cuts into the apple that’s been sitting in front of him since I came in with precision, cutting a delicate edge into the succulent fruit. “You’ll do well to remember that people get stupid when they work for greed or allow their heart to win over their head.”

  “Good thing I was taught otherwise,” I comment and swirl the wine around in its glass. I love the aftertaste the wine leaves lingering in my mouth. “What bottle did you open tonight?”

  “A 1985 Alzero,” Giovanni retorts and cuts another chunk of his apple. “It’s one of the finest I could find in the wine cellar that I fancied. We were supposed to have dinner almost an hour ago, but something occurred, and as you can see, you’re the only one to show up.”

  “And I get left in your company, too,” I quip, trying to keep my tone light and sarcastic. “Lucky me.”

  Giovanni looks over at me, and I can see his detest mar his face as if I’ve inflicted a little torture, but it doesn’t last. “Yeah, I’m not much happier about it.”

  I roll my eyes, and I welcome the voices I hear approaching the room. I see the door open to highlight Enzo, the eldest of us all, entering. He’s teasing our baby brother and trying to get him to break into, at least, a little smile, but Manuel is resistant. I don’t call out to gain attention; Enzo just looks to me as he breaks away and heads over to me.

  “Hey sis,” Enzo greets me, planting a kiss onto the top of my head. “The team were impressed with the lack of cleaning they had to do for you.” He stands behind me, hands on protectively on my shoulders as he speaks again, this time squeezing my shoulders tightly with praise. “Apparently, you’re getting better every time.”

  “I’m sure Papà will be pleased,” I mock and finish my drink off then twist my head to look up at him. “Speaking of, where he is?”

  “I was told to come and get you all and take you through to the meeting room.” Enzo’s voice darkens and becomes somewhat stiffened. I can see he knows what we’re about to witness. As the eldest, Enzo Abbiati is both the protector of myself and our youngest brother, Manuel, and the one that our father schemes with. He doesn’t agree with it, but as the firstborn son, Enzo has a weight of responsibility that’s been on his shoulders since birth. He is the younger clone of our father with dark hair and olive eyes and a passionate nature. Although, he doesn’t exercise his passion like our father – considering he’s the heir to the Abbiati throne – Enzo is very much a peacekeeper. He used to dabble in the murder and fighting, but now he’s the conversationalist, the brains, the guardian we all need. “We can continue this after.”

  No one says a word as I stand, and Giovanni reluctantly follows suit. He pulls himself up, wiping the blade of his knife against his jeans before closing it away and placing it back into his pocket. He stalks off first, and we all just follow behind him. I can sense Manuel’s worry, and I know how he hates what business our father conducts, but he sticks at it because we’re family. He has no one else.

  From the moment I walk into the room, I smell gasoline. Not just a little bit of spilt fuel, but heaps of saturated fumes. It fills my senses so fiercely I have to force myself to breathe through my mouth. As soon as Enzo moves away, I’m made well-aware of the culprit. Standing before us, a snivelling mess, is my father’s newest recruit, Ricardo. He came to my father, a distant link to the Abbiati blood line, and vowed to work for my father until his dying breath just so he could claim a part in our family. We welcomed him in with opened arms, and I feel a sense of betrayal that he has ended up in this fucked-up predicament.

  I look to my father as he sits rather at ease in the armchair directly in front of Ricardo. He takes his gaze away Ricardo to look at us. Instantaneously, his eyes land directly upon me, and he bursts into a bright smile. I feel a swirl of happiness burst within at just knowing I am still the apple of my father’s eye. I’m almost twenty-four, and I find this to be somewhat encouraging that my place in my family is very much cemented.

  “What’s going on?” Enzo asks as he crosses the room, leaving Giovanni to inspect the state of Ricardo.

  “There’s a delay on dinner because we’ve had a snake among the grass for the last few months,” our father announces, displeasure fuels his tone and the bitterness licks at my hearing. “Ricardo might have passed all my tests, but apparently, he forgot to divulge one tiny piece of vital information.” As he stands, my father brings out a lighter. I gulp as he steps closer to Ricardo. “He forgot to mention that he cannot keep his mouth shut about what goes on within the walls of my home. The home I offered to him.” Teasing the terrified man, my father ignites the flame upon the lighter and draws it closer to him before tearing it away and grinning like a foolish maniac. “You knew, Ricardo, that sins are repaid.”

  “Please,” Ricardo begins to beg, his hands coming together in prayer. “Please, Dio, please, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I won’t ever betray you like that.” His voice quivers and shakes, his sniffling worsens, and he looks ready to drop to his knees wholly defeated and asking God for repentance. “I won’t do it again!”

  “The problem is you already have!” my father cries out, his voice a sonic boom that echoes around the room. “You are a lowdown snake, and I won’t have anyone, and I mean anyone, jeopardizing the empire I have helped keep together for my family to inherit once I’m gone. I certainly won’t have someone who claims he wants a family, but does the ultimate betrayal of ramming the first knife he can find into our backs.”

  “Please, Sal,” Ricardo tries again, his voice becoming far more desperate than ever before.

  “I do not give second chances,” my father remarks; his voice is low but so thunderous Ricardo knows better than to think he’ll make it out alive.

  My father ignites a new flame and tosses the lighter toward Ricardo. Out of impulse, he tries to catch it only to find himself in a dire predicament as the flames unite with the flammable gasoline smothering him. The flame, just one flick, turns into a ball, and within minutes, Ricardo is entirely alight – screaming, howling, and begging for the pain to stop. I stare, this time not out of praise that my life has been spared a new hell, but because someone I classed as family is working his way to one of the most horrific deaths ever. I have to force myself to look away as he drops to the floor, still screaming out, the noise cementing itself into every brain cell that can’t deny it access. The horror plays away even with my eyes closed, and I try, in vain, to wish this all away. I am a lot of things, horrible things I will even call myself, but this breaks my heart.

  I open my eyes and face the cruel reality presented to us this evening. It’s as I watch the man before me burn that I realize God’s work is done once again. My father has not one forgiving bone in his body. There’s no remorse to a God with a devilish soul. There’s only an unyielding craving for wrongdoers to be punished for their crimes. He always sees that the horror of all deeds are repaid before he is satisfied.

  “Dio Lavoro,” my father states our family name. He comes to me, cupping my chin in gentle ease, forcing me to look up at him. I’m never met with the face of a killer, just my father. “Don’t ever forget who you are, Princess.”

  “I won’t,” I say and find myself fighting with my gag reflex as the stench of burning flesh defiles my senses. Dio Lavoro – that’s what we are. We’re the doers of God’s work. Salvatore Abbiati is the only God that exists in this lifetime. I know better than to ever think anything else.

  My father, Salvatore Abbiati, is nobody’s friend. Not even mine, or my brothers. I learnt never to forget that. Clearly, some people haven’t and for that misdemeanour they must pay. Just because I share his blood does not give me an automatic pass to freedom. I am very much
a prisoner in this life, but he has me as a secret weapon. I am the empowered and cherished, a praised secret weapon. I might have a moral compass that kicks to life from time to time, but my father doesn’t. He sees morality of such sorts as a weakness. It’s the biggest defeat an Abbiati can fall victim to, so none of us ever really give into grief, worry – or panic.

  To our father, we are all but perfect images of him. Behind closed doors, we all have a totally other side. Apart from Giovanni – he would sell us all out if it meant our father would give him just an ounce of the attention he offers to me and my other brothers. I know who to trust in my own family, and he isn’t one of them.

  Suddenly, my father releases my chin, but his rich green eyes are still firmly gazing at me. I gulp, smiling at him, and I’m rewarded with the same response. He gives me a wink, and I could almost be fooled that the horror show behind him isn’t even there now.

  “I heard it’s case closed with Carlson,” he quips, his tone falling for the dirty business of seriousness. I nod my head but don’t say a word. “Finally, it took you a little longer than I was hoping.”

  “Sorry, he just wasn’t the easiest catch,” I respond and try my hardest to keep myself from sounding like I’m making excuses. “He just wouldn’t fall for me quickly. I tried to keep interested, but he kept stating something about whose daughter I was.” Of course, this is all a lie. I was physically repulsed by Carlson Matthews. Always had been when I was younger and age didn’t treat him kindly – or me, for that matter, as I wound up frisked against an elevator wall, I tried to keep myself from that climactic point as long as I could.

  “Hopefully, the next one won’t be such a problem,” my father states and steps back and looks down at Ricardo as he lays still moving, but his actions now are a lot slower and less manic than before. Enzo has, at least, extinguished the fire, but apparently my father still isn’t satisfied with his suffering. “Is he not dead yet?”

  “Apparently not,” Giovanni goads, standing, staring at our burning friend, arms crossed over his chest. He sickens me how much he really relishes when our father murders in whatever gruesome way he so chooses.

  I don’t even see my father draw the gun, but when the bang resounds around the room, the ricochet of the noise echoing off all corners of the room, I feel myself practically jump out of my skin. My eyes water at the shock, and I gulp back against my heart as it was thrown up into my throat.

  “Manuel’s going to lose it in a moment,” Giovanni chortles at the baby of our family after the gunshot had sounded. He nudges him, making his plight physically worse.

  “Leave him alone,” Enzo interjects, pulling Manuel away from the smouldering corpse and pushing him toward the open doorways. “Get outside and sort yourself out.” His instructions are clear and precise, and Manuel disappears onto the back porch, running his hands through what little jet black hair he has.

  “You really need to work on toughening him up,” our father instructs Enzo fiercely. “He’s the weakest link in this family and soon he’ll wind up exactly like Bruno - exonerated from the family. Do you want that to happen again?”

  “No, but the kid is barely twenty, Papà, you can’t expect him to be like us,” Enzo tries to defend the youngest, but I can see it won’t bode well.

  “Like you?” My father laughs at my brother’s incredulous explanation. “You’re Abbiatis, for Christ’s sake, it’s in your blood! Amelia made her first kill on her twenty-first birthday. Hell, you were the same. Giovanni wasn’t even sixteen. If he doesn’t perform soon then what good will he be? He’s the weak link.” For a moment, my father is silent, but I see glee mask him quickly. “Maybe he needs an incentive.” Just like the idea hit him, my father changes his demeanor once more. “He can wait. For now, Enzo, get someone in here to clear this up and get rid of him,” our father instructs, flicking his wrist at Ricardo’s still, fire smothered body. “Amelia, I know you’ve just finished a hit, but we have a new one.”

  I knew it. I roll my eyes, inwardly sigh, and send a prayer to our heavenly father to bring me a break. When my father steps closer to me, I remember the only God around is the one who acts in the most demonic ways. I’ll never catch a break if this is the ruler we live under.

  “Don’t be such an ungrateful bitch,” Giovanni spits and once again, I’m met with a wall of hostility and the same death glare he gives me on a daily basis. He thinks because I’m the only female in this family that I have a rite of passage or some other bullshit that grants me fairer treatment from our father. I mean, of course, killing people to keep my place in this house is a real treat! “You are given opportunity after opportunity to prove yourself and you always look ready to decline. How hard is it to seduce a man and slip him some poison? It seems pretty damn easy to me. You can’t be that awful at flirting with a man that he doesn’t want you on the first date. After all, it’s in your blood.”

  Now, after years of this same attitude, I can feel myself snapping. There was only a brief time in my life when I didn’t have a hit list after my first kill. I was just Amelia Abbiati – young, carefree Amelia. And that was just after my twenty-second birthday. I was young and in love and my father granted me time to just indulge. But when it went sour, I came back a changed woman. I think it was part of his plan for me. A way to transform me into this heartless woman without his total involvement. As Giovanni’s bickering continues, I break entirely, unable to hold back after years of the same petulant tantrum from him.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Giovanni, if you want the job so much, you can have the honor of seducing men,” I explode, not holding back. It is the same pitiful rant every time my father broaches me about continuing the Dio Lavoro. “I’m sure they’d really go for the machismo and permanent foul look on your face. It’s clearly working with the women.” My sarcasm is taking a hold of me, and I cannot just let it go. “Oh, wait-”

  “Okay, okay!” My father steps between us, hands out to push us further apart. “I’ve had enough of squabbles and arguing, I don’t need it from you two now.” He lowers his hands, taking an inhale for tranquil purposes. “Giovanni, back the hell away from her,” my father commands with stern tone before he turns back to me. “Amelia, don’t give him ammunition.” I can see the worry in his arms. He was there before when Giovanni had me pinned against a wall by my throat, and it took a gun to Giovanni’s temple to get him away from me. Just one of the many bonding moments Giovanni and I have shared. “You need to learn when not to provoke him.”

  “Bastardo,” I mutter as I turn away, and I hear Giovanni growl. I walk off and bypass the dead body of Ricardo entirely. I decide to go stand by Enzo who is just watching us.

  “You had to do it, didn’t you?” Enzo quips, looking at me with fierce amusement. I offer him a shrug and an amused grin. “He will kill you one day.”

  “Mmm, I’m the killer of this family,” I whisper to him. “I think I can handle him.”

  I see my father offer the solace of a small grin, telling me he agrees, but decides to move the subject on. “Princess?” my father calls out to me, and I turn back, taking a few choice steps forward. “I know you’ve just finished a kill, Amelia, but the next one needs immediate briefing.”

  “Okay,” I tell him, and he grabs me gently by my biceps and pulls me close to kiss my forehead.

  “Come with me,” he instructs lightly, and we head down to my father’s office. I forget all about Giovanni and decide to unclip my hair, shaking it out. I find myself suddenly ready to take a long soak in a bath and relieve some tension. I just need to get my next man’s name and work out the best way to get into his life. Then I can just give up today and start anew tomorrow.

  We enter the room that is darkened with deep red paint, dark oak flooring, and unforgiving dark furniture that just adds to the foreboding. Even the one window behind my father’s desk does little to add any source of life and hope into this room – just how my father likes it. We’re barely in the room for more than two seconds before m
y father begins to tell me who I’m required to get rid of next.

  “Zane Maverick,” he says and I can see from the look in his eyes that he knew exactly how I would react.

  My heart stops. If that was ever physically possible to happen once, it’s honestly happened for a fourth time, and all because of this one man. First was when we first met; it was like destiny was singing to me, telling me that he was my soul mate. The second time was when we first kissed. It was so innocent and honest, but it was the beginning of the end because the third time my heart stopped dead in my chest was when he broke my heart and walked away. The fourth time is right now, and I don’t see the rhythm being kicked back into sequence anytime soon.

  “Zane Maverick?” I ask and curse myself for my voice traveling out so fucking feebly.

  I’m Italian royalty. I’m meant to be untouchable, unattainable, and undefeatable. My name is meant to drive fear, like I am driven by fear. I am its broken puppet, but we work together. It orchestrates everything I do, even the way my heart beats. Except, hearing the name of the man I still continue to strive to forget, I know I fear a name far more than my own – Zane Maverick. It plays with my mind, toys with my emotions, confuses the rationality between my head and heart – all without me being in the same fucking room as him.

  I shake my head, telling myself to get a grip, but it’s made harder as my father gives me a photograph of him. Immediately, I recognize the strong jaw and handsome face with the dark hair and deep blue eyes that used to watch me as I woke up. He’s barely changed in eighteen months since he broke my heart and never looked back. “What has he done?”