"Now, however, before we carry on and even eat, I’d like to deal with another matter,” he says and claps his hands together. “You've all met my beautiful daughter.” My father targets me, and everyone's eyes fall upon me. I allow my lips to curl up into a polite smile. "She knew one secret before coming to this table, no one but myself and my sons, Enzo and Giovanni, knew. If I'm correct, she's done well to keep said secret even while being able to welcome you all to our humble abode." He then turns his head to face Max, and his happiness dwindles into mock concern. “Max, how are you feeling?” my father asks politely, just as the man in question begins to pull at his collar as his blood begins to boil.
And just like I was told – and as if on cue – he erupts into a profuse sweat. Droplets of water draw across his forehead before they multiple like organisms on a Petri dish. I watch as he pulls at his collar, loosening his tie to get air. His face slowly reddens, his breaths catching one by one in his throat as his throat begins to close in on him. His wide eyes, the ones that scream with panic, begin to bleed. Crimson rivers fall from his tear ducts, and he grabs at my father, at the guest to his right, but neither adheres to his stifled plea for help. He begins to heave as his lungs stop listening to the command his brain sends for them to inhale fresh oxygen.
I lower my hands into my lap, enabling me to squeeze my own hand to get through this moment. Never before have I seen a reaction so violent and drawn out. Never before have I seen this amount of sheer terror.
As the man slumps face first against the table, the room falls silent; the world seemingly stops spinning while we register what it was we just witnessed - death in its rawest form.
"That, my friends, is what happens when you come into my house, near my family, and continue to be a rat. This, my companions, is what my daughter is capable of without anyone even so much as noticing. This is her part in serving the Dio Lavoro. Isn't it beautiful?"
All eyes are on me, and I feel my back instinctively straighten. I give a right smile as they all survey the murderer in the room.
"Her work is magnificent," he appreciates, pushing me upon my pedestal. "As you may have noticed, she has Manhattan police in quite a debacle, but it is now, with my utmost trust, I extend a hope that you will all protect and serve not only myself, but my daughter." He looks around the room, taking in each man as they sit before him. "It's either that or you don't make it through to dessert."
There’s a chorus of affirmatives, everyone looking between my father and us shedding support to us all. It’s laughable how people react when presented with a deadly ultimatum. As the ruckus continues, I shoot my father a look and gesture for the door. I need to talk to him urgently!
“Excuse my daughter and I,” my father announces. He does the button on his suit as he stands.
I say nothing as I take a gulp of my champagne and stand to leave with him. We take a short walk, heading to his office for optimal privacy. As soon as the doors are closed, I’m going directly for my father.
"That isn't my usual mix," I tell my father, yanking at his hand with fierce madness. "What was in that?"
"Princess, it's just a new poison. It's to hasten things. Really leave a reminder. I don’t want you to do anymore of your calling card business, either. It’s time for a marked change." My father's voice is calm, a stark contrast to mine. "It's the least Maverick deserves."
"It's not that easy, and you know that," I respond, my eyes watering at the thought of Zane ending up a bloodied mess in his bed with my lipstick staining his cheek. As my father morphs into Italian madness, I steel myself. “I can’t just pour that into his drink and be done with it! That isn’t how I want to be able to do this.”
At first, all I get is a smile, followed by my father guiding me to a seat. As we sit, my father's demeanor is calm again, composed with twisted intent. His reaction scares me more than the uproar he so casually adorns.
"Amelia, there are multiple ways of skinning a cat. You know that saying, right?" he asks, and I merely nod my head. "Then slice his throat while he sleeps for all I care. I just want news of his death ringing from all corners of Manhattan. Just because I enable you with one method doesn't mean you have to use it. Make me proud of you, Bambina.” He reaches out for me, pushing a strand of hair away from my face. “L'amore è cieco. That is your issue here.”
I shake my head at him at his statement, knowing I know – have felt – otherwise. “No, love isn’t blind, Papà. It’s very real, very consuming, and right now, very mine.” I’m holding my heart out to him, allowing it to ebb with each slow beat, praying he’ll allow me some leeway to protect it. “Grant me time to just experience this before I do what you want and kill my chances of feeling it again for a very long time.” My heart bottoms out as I admit that and ask for one dwindling chance to just love Zane. “Please.”
“Fine, but you are still on a time limit. If I allowed you, you’d have forever with him before you did my job.” He’s right; I’d stall until Zane’s last day on earth before I had to kill him myself. I know that was never an option, but I take the extended time I have graciously. “Now that that’s decided, let’s go back.”
I don’t respond, just get up, and find my own way back, my father trailing behind me. As I resume my seat, I, uncomfortably, feel Nicolas’ eyes all over me. I have felt his gaze all evening, but now even more so. He had stared at me when I entered the room, counting my every step I took until I took my seat back beside him and Enzo. I try to settle as my father ignites conversation across the table and try my hardest to relax and enjoy the evening – regardless of Max’s dead body still flopped over on the table, blood staining the white linen cloth.
“I have to admit, you are every bit as lovely as your mother.” Nicolas leans over, his hand coming to rest on my lap. “I always did fancy myself a piece of her. Why not you, too? No matter what force, I’ll get a piece.”
“Keep your dirty mitts off me,” I warn him in a low tone and throw his hand back into his lap. I make sure my hand is on him right, and as I throw his arm back, I make sure my fist makes contact with his dick. I’m in no mood to be touched or drooled over by someone who has done nothing worthy of deserving me.
He grunts at the connection, winded for a moment, but sit backs and forces himself to recover quickly. When he’s stabled, he grabs me under the table. “Do that again, and I’ll make damn sure Daddy and his lapdog sons are too late to stop what I have always had planned for you.” When he sees the fear ripple in my eyes, he smirks, clears his throat, and looks back across the table.
Giovanni's hand slams into Nicolas' neck, and I'm struck by the blood that pours like ribbons around my brother's hand. I sit, admittedly, trying to stop the creep of terror threatening to escape my throat. Nicolas gurgles as his life leaves him at my brother's will, but Giovanni doesn't grant him mercy. He keeps the switchblade rammed into the man's throat, threatening to slice his entire throat open. Nicolas' carotid artery pumps blood out in fierce crimson rivers as his heart continues to beat rapidly, but as my brother slides the knife away, he takes with it Nicolas' final breath, and he collapses on himself in a pool of his blood.
I’m still in shock at how quickly this transcended. One minute I’m fighting my own battle – seemingly alone – and the next, Giovanni’s doing something to protect my honor.
“What?” Giovanni suddenly asks as if he’s entirely innocent, reaching for a napkin to wipe the blood away from his hand and knife. Now all eyes are on him and he smirks at the attention. “The bastard touched my sister and threatened her. I won’t tolerate that behavior toward her.”
My father begins a round of applause. "That, gentlemen, is what will happen when you even so much as think of my daughter in that way. You ever disrespect her and your payment for it will be worse than our dearly departed there. Disrespect my daughter and you may as well be disrespecting me." My father's voice is full with venomous malice now. He’s enraged that a man even so much as thought of touching me, but to do it at thi
s event when it’s for my father’s honor? Unforgivable. It seems to me that is one thing people forget to remember when they're dealing with someone like my father. Abbiatis do not forget, forgive, or give second chances.
Well, all but one. I broke my family's moral code - or lack thereof - for the sake of my own beating heart. Selfishness has me wrapped so tightly, I begin to suffocate at the mere thought of Zane being gone forever. Don't feel, don't deviate, kill - the devilish voice from within beckons forth and I'm reminded of the only training my father granted me. Don't feel, don't deviate, kill. Its tone is a silent wonder in this abyss within me, its echo fills the dark void pierced into my soul, and I can do nothing but listen to it.
I feel its claws dig deep into me as they morph and change into a symphony of horror – don’t feel, don’t deviate, kill Zane Maverick. That is my saving grace, my true chance to absolve myself of all this fear. Tonight is proving that. Zane is one thing that won’t get me granted with a second chance. All the time he’s alive, I’m not. As soon as he is gone, my father will welcome me back with open arms and all this – all this upheaval and strife – will fizzle away to absolute nothingness. Just like I will.
I just have to decide which is better – a life without family or a life without the promise of a future.
The decision seems a tremendous responsibility. That is, until the face of my deceased mother ignites alive in my mind and I'm confronted with Zane's beautiful voice, telling me how I'm made for much grander things than the Abbiati life. I hear him speak of how it’s only ever going to me or how he regrets ever leaving me. I remember the way he made my body hum to life, how the fire ignited and coursed so vibrantly through me, how I wanted to remain in that state forever.
The battle I am in with myself turns disastrous as all of the voices collide and I feel a headache erupt. I’m pretty fucking sure if I don’t stop my inner monologues soon I will explode from the pressure. Every time the good succeeds, the evil overcomes and drags it down, repressing it, reminding me of my fate and no one else’s.
“I think this dinner has come to an untimely end,” my father proclaims, and I’m dragged back to the reality of the evening. “Amelia, boys.” My father narrows his vision on his children. “Please, follow me to my office immediately.”
My father doesn’t dismiss anyone or bid a farewell. He starts to leave, Giovanni cutting past to stand beside him. Enzo, Carlo, and Manuel all stand and follow suit. As we head to the office, Giovanni walks up in front with our father, and Enzo walks with me, protectively hovering close for having not noticed Nicolas’ pursuit and sexual prowess toward me. It’s unnecessary, really. I’m fine. I’m just in shock over Giovanni. It was so unlike him to protect me, but to murder for me? Well, that’s just a sign of loyalty for Giovanni.
“Tale padre, tale figlio,” my father praises Giovanni as they walk through the door, and his hand slaps onto Giovanni’s shoulder in pride. Like father, like son. The term sickens me and the way my father uses it on Giovanni only makes the nausea worsen. Even though Giovanni showed some love to his baby sister, he did it in the most murderous way. We were all born in the eye of my father, creations he would nurture, but only Giovanni is hell bent on becoming him.
“By the way,” my father abruptly stops and turns back. “Work your magic on Maverick soon, or you’ll find that addition in your next meal, Bambina.”
I don’t follow as they leave. The sting of the nickname sends red-hot prickles over my skin. Not only has he revoked giving me time to enjoy a love, but apparently, Giovanni’s kill has changed his way of thinking. I’ve just been delivered my own death sentence, and it looks nothing like I thought it would. No hail of fire, no gunshots ringing, no overload of strength to strangle the life from me. No, it’s just merely what is in those vials Giovanni hides until I need extra.
I look at Enzo and gulp.
I’m officially a dead woman walking.
CHAPTER EIGHT
My one glass of Dutch courage turned into four before I realized I was officially and royally screwed.
This is not how I expected my evening to turn out in the slightest. My father offered understanding and granted me time. Then my brother stepped up and presented our father with a human sacrifice he had slaughtered in the name of protection and now my life hangs in the balance.
It’s these moments of utter desolation that I realize just how alone I am in the world. There is only so much Enzo can help with, but sometimes I wish I had my mother around to offer guidance that would offer solace.
“Well, look who’s propping up the bar without me.” Zane’s voice penetrates the haze around my brain. The tone is so full of wonderment, but all I feel for him is a twist of anguish. It’s brutal as it rushes through me, and I feel myself crack all over again. Instead of looking at him, I hang my head. “Amelia?” he asks, all amusement and tease relinquishing its hold on him. “What’s happened?”
“It’s nothing,” I admit feebly, and my hands grip my glass as if without it my entire form will cave. I feel Zane pull a stool closer to mine, and I feel his body cut off the majority of the bar when he sits, as if it’s a shield. “It’s everything,” I divulge in a meek voice. I barely recognize my own voice, but it is, and I need to face the facts – Amelia Abbiati is sinking fast.
I can feel this ocean waiting to crash over my entire being. Its call of duty to drown me in its depths and drag me away across the ocean floor, consuming me in its vast beauty. Soon I will stop treading the currents and allow it to take me willingly.
Admitting defeat is not something I am prepared for, however, so inhaling deep, I quit hanging my head and sit up. It’s time to take charge. Time to get some sort of achievement before the night is over. “What do you see yourself as today?” I ask him, my words slurring beautifully. “Are you my knight in shining armor or my fucking kryptonite?”
His lips curl upwards. He begins to grin like a child on Christmas morning, and it’s nauseating to say the least. “I’m your kryptonite?”
“As much as I am yours, Sunshine.” I take my drink, down a gulp and look back to him. “The only problem I see here is that even my family knows how in love I am with you. They don’t need to know this.”
“Well, lie to them,” he tells me nonchalantly, giving me a blasé shrug. “That’s the easiest solution if you don’t want them to know.”
I shake my head and chortle a little at him. “People only lie when they’re afraid. Fact.”
“Did Daddy Dearest teach you that one, Princess?” he asks me, leaning over toward me.
“No,” my words are swiftly followed by a smirk, “You did.”
I watch as all amusement disperses from his face. My comment breaks his normal pretentious attitude; it takes his entire happy demeanor and squishes it into nothing more than harsh reality we live in.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I counter, challenging his newfound expression. “You lied when you said you loved me once and wanted forever with me, Zane. You did that because you were afraid of my family. You lied and gave me promises when you knew all along you were going to run sometime in the future.”
“Granted,” he agrees, “but why can’t you just lie to them about round two with me?”
I look at him with doleful eyes. “Zane, we aren’t the same people we were over a year ago. You might think you are, but I am not that girl.”
“I don’t think you are, Amelia, I know you are,” he fights me on the matter. “The other night, in my car, it was proof. We are unchangeable, Sweetheart. You know you felt it.”
“Just because sexually we’re the same, does not mean in every other department we are. I changed the moment my heart broke, and you need to understand that. I’m not that sweet girl. I was changing into something else back then, but now there is no going back.” I gulp back the lump forming in my throat and sit up straight. “You are better staying away from me.”
“You’ll have to try harder than that,” he admonishes, not listening to a wo
rd I’ve just said. “If I have my way, you will be the girl you’ve always wanted to be.” He leans closer, putting his hand on the back of my chair to form a closeness between us. “You’ve just got to give us a chance.”
“This is going to end badly,” I oppose and reach for my drink. I can feel the alcohol is loosening my tongue enough, and I know I should stop, but the burn of the liquor down my chest is inviting enough that I can’t stop myself. “So, I’ll ask again, are you my knight in shining armor or my kryptonite? Before we go further, I need to know.”
He smirks so casually at me. “I’m your knight in shining armor laced in kryptonite.” He looks so sure of himself, but all I can think is one dangerous thought – This cannot bode well. “Sweetheart, let loose,” he tells me, even throwing in my derogatory nickname for impact. He only uses that one to get a reaction from me. “I keep saying it. You just need to loosen up a little.”
I release the remainder of my drink and sit back only to look at him. “Then show me a good time,” I challenge him simply.
“Deal,” he grants me and puts a hand out. I take it and just follow – I’m already a lamb waiting for slaughter, I may as well enjoy the journey.
***
The drive to Zane’s place only exacerbated our underlying feelings.
The moment we were at his front door, I was pressed against it, Zane kissing me roughly, the anticipation growing with every passing second. We’re that same fever pitch I always remembered us to be. He unlocked the door with me still against it, and we both flew into his house. I don’t remember much between him kicking the door closed, throwing his t-shirt off, and demanding me to strip, but now I’m pushed against a wall in nothing but my bra and panties in his dining room. I bite my lip as Zane rids of his final items of clothing and stands before me stark naked and rock hard. My heart skips a beat as I look down at his penis and I feel myself moisten at the thought of where tonight will end.
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