Maverick: Pericolo #1.5

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  I take the other bottle from the bag and sit on the bed, only to use it to slip onto the floor. Enzo quickly follows sitting directly opposite me.

  “Were you planning to drink all of this before or after blowing a hole in your head?” he asks, not caring about how crass he’s being. “Or was it for that Dutch courage you were going to need when you realized you weren’t entirely sure if it was the right move or not?”

  “The latter,” I mutter.

  “It’s not in you to take that way out, you know?”

  “I guess we’ll never know,” I comment, musing over the fact he’s here. “If you hadn’t have come through that door, I’m not sure I could’ve backed out. I was so close to pulling that trigger, and then you were here. It felt right.”

  “You were completely out of it,” he observes in, a solemn tone. “I couldn’t let you do it.”

  “The entire way here, I kept seeing Amelia and all those moments leading up to when I threw her out, but then it all came at me full throttle. She was in Italy, probably hating my guts, your father was in command, and I had no say in the matters of her heart. I am the man who broke her heart ... that’s my stigma. It’s all I’m good for.”

  “It’s not,” Enzo argues, popping the bottle by his side. “I know how hard it is to be loved by people on the outside. Alessa, while aware, always hated how she came after my family. She tried to understand, but you’re both human. You love so much to receive little back, but it’s not like that at all. We regret it, believe me.”

  “You can’t speak for Amelia,” I mutter, trying to get him to stop.

  “I can because I know that girl better than she knows herself. She loves fiercely, but she is naïve. If know one thing for sure, it’s that she’ll do anything for a million chances to be with you ... believe me.”

  I chase that comment down with a gulp of my whiskey. We sit in relative silence, as the night begins to claw its way through the daylight. We’ve sat here not doing much but talking, and I don’t even care because doing this has taken all desperate thoughts away, channeled them and made me realize that whatever threat Sal has placed on me, I will always have that hold on Amelia. That’s untouchable to him.

  Even sat here, thoughts of my suicide still lingering vehemently, I know that my hold on Amelia’s heart was always far stronger than Sal’s, even if at times I forgot it.

  “She can never know,” I say, staring straight at Enzo as I break the silence. “She can never know how I crashed this hard. She’d hate me if she knew I had become this man.”

  “Strike a deal,” Enzo starts, pointing the bottle at me. It’s as he looks up at me, with his eyes full of hope for what’s about to transcend. “She never knows about me contemplating it either. It’ll be our secret we take to the grave.”

  “Surely someone knows about it? How can they not?”

  He shakes his head gravely. “I tossed the gun away before Amelia made it into the room, and she never second-guessed my weird behavior. I never had a reason to speak about it until today, but I still feel shameful for even picking up the gun. So, just like you, I never want her to know what sort of man I became.”

  “It’s a deal then,” I say. “I say we toast to this ... to the grave.”

  I hold my bottle out to Enzo, and he wastes no time to lean forward and crash his bottle into mine.

  “To the grave,” he reiterates.

  We both put our bottles to our lips, tipping our heads back to allow the liquor to infiltrate our mouths, taking away the distaste of our own weakness. We’re both bound to the other for matters of the past, and even though I have no idea how to move forward from this, I know that I’ll be forever grateful for Enzo bringing me to my senses just by following me.

  “Do you still dream about Alessa?”

  Enzo breaks into a bright smile at the sound of her name. I don’t need to his verbal verification, but I can tell he wants to revel in their past.

  “All the damn time,” he admits. “She was everything I ever needed ... strong, resilient, and loving. Her heart was so big that sometimes I used to watch her sleep wondering how on this earth I managed to find her. She loved Amelia and Manuel back to happiness too by being a maternal figure they needed after our mother’s passing. She loved them as much as she loved me. She was like the perfect missing piece to our family.”

  “And you threw that away?”

  “I threw that away,” he repeats, affirming. “I could blame Sal all the way, but I can’t. I got to this point in my life, where I felt I was going to let her down. Well, I already felt that, but in me loving her, I also placed her in danger and I used to lie awake worrying about not being able to protect her. It seems so mundane now, but back then, I thought her being free of me and my family would save her from a world of pain, but that was a lie.”

  “Never thought of fighting for her?”

  “She moved across the country to California to rebuild. She apparently couldn’t bear to be in the same state as me, so she took it all and moved across the country. I can’t find it in my heart to go and destroy whatever it is she’s managed to make of herself without me.” He brings the bottle up to his lips but doesn’t drink from it until he’s spoken his final words. “I only want her to be happy. If it’s without me, then so be it.”

  “Don’t you think about having one more chance to see her again to make amends to get her back?”

  “Yeah, all the time. I know that if I saw her, I’d tell her one thing. I’d tell her I’m sorry for ever breaking her heart.” He fixes me with a look, and I feel exposed under it. “Which I’m guessing is what’s in that suicide letter with Amelia’s name on it.”

  I look over at the dresser where the letter sets, and I feel my heart begin to thud. Those three words would’ve been the final things I got to say to her, and they would never have amounted to what it was I really wanted to say to her. They were just the beginning – three small words with so much potency, but not enough force to them.

  “It doesn’t say a lot ...” I mutter, trailing off.

  “But speaks volumes, I bet,” Enzo assumes, looking a little self-righteous. “You have one choice left now,” Enzo says, staggering to get to his feet after sitting on the hard floor. “You know that, right?”

  “I do?” I ask, cocking a brow. “What’s that then?”

  “You fight harder.” His statement is said matter-of-factly and without room for an argument. “Killing Giovanni wouldn’t have just done us a favor; it would have made Sal look at how serious you were. Beating him just made Sal give you a chance.” He gives me a wink. “Fight for her, Zane. If you love her, even Sal won’t stop you anymore. Not even that gun would stop you.”

  “I don’t know ...” I doubt, shaking my head.

  “Don’t do anything rash,” he tells me, sitting on the bed once more. “Leave it a few weeks because Sal is waiting for you to strike again. I know it’s not the best life, but live in the shadows and don’t make any ripples, and then you hit him harder than ever.”

  “I don’t know,” I repeat my prior sentence, trailing off once more.

  “What do you have to lose?” he asks me, cocking a brow. “You’ve already reached rock bottom, so the only way is up.”

  ***

  The moment I felt the heat rip through my body, I knew I was in trouble.

  My hands instinctively came to my stomach, even as I heard more gun-fire, and I felt another bullet rip through my leg. I collapsed at that moment but took the time to push myself backwards, my hand pushed firmly against one of the gunshot wounds to my stomach. I retreated until I could sit myself up, but as soon as I’ve done that, the leering features of the bastard who shot Billy and me greet me.

  “Please,” I beg, feeling myself getting weaker than ever. ”Please, there’s no need to do this.”

  “No need to do this?” he asks, chortling at me. “Maverick, there’s every reason we did this. You fell in love with the wrong girl. The boss doesn’t appreciate his own fallin
g for a cop. You’re a dirty pig.”

  “Stop taunting and finish the fucking job,” the other gunman comments.

  “No, no,” the man says before me mocks. ”I think he should bleed out. Boss always likes them messy.”

  “Please,” I say, feeling my eyes welling up from the pain. “Help us.”

  “You’re a filthy cop,” he snarls. “Getting you and ole Billy over there was two birds and one stone. We don’t tolerate your type in our line of duty.” He laughs in my face, clearly enjoying his hand in this too much. “Remember that Amelia, won’t you? She’ll probably be called to identify your body in the midnight hour.”

  I grab onto him, wrapping my fingers around his collar with all my might. How dare he fucking bring her up?!

  “I am going to kill you,” I snarl. While my teeth grind together, my weakness doesn’t allow me to pack the power into my threat. “You’ll see me again.”

  The man laughs but doesn’t react verbally. Instead, he lashes out, a fist hitting me square in the stomach, immobilizing me instantaneously. I yelp in pain, my vision blurs and fills with black spots, as I’m overwhelmed with pain.

  “You won’t make it an hour, cunt,” he warns, pulling away from me entirely. “You’re both getting what to deserve thinking you can interfere in the Dio Lavoro.”

  With that said, I watch them leave. My head lolls to the side, and I see Billy sprawled out on the floor, bleeding out. I try to be quick, but my limbs don’t want to move so fast, as I make haste to get my cell from my pocket. I haphazardly dial for nine-one-one and move the cell phone to my ear. As the dispatcher answers, I tell her two officers are down and give her our location before I feel every piece of my energy deplete. My phone falls and crashes to the floor as I give up even trying.

  It’s sitting here, that I start I stare off, unable to move, and I find my mind traveling to one thought – Amelia. Her bright green eyes are suddenly staring at me, so full of life, so vibrant with passion. Her cheeky grin, her seductive, infectious laughter wraps around me, and I smile faintly.

  I don’t need my life to flash before my eyes when see her.

  She’s the perfect memory to die with.

  “Amelia.”

  Her name unravels from my throat; the most blissful last word I could ever dream of.

  She’s the sweetness of memories a man could be blessed with in his dying hour.

  But she’s also one a greedy man would fight to live for.

  I have no other choice but the latter.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AMELIA

  I soon took every emotion I had rushing around my body in that overpowering fleeting manner and morphed it into something else. I channeled it together – all of the hurt, the hate, the regret, the love, the lust – and made it into something else.

  The Femme Fatale Reloaded.

  Only a few people would like what I was becoming, while a lot more back home wouldn’t. While the decision had been almost as instant as the kiss with Lorenzo, the transformation was far slower and gradual. I continued to hold onto my resistance and virtue of hate, but then slowly, I started doing things. Things like taking out that asshole who dared to mention my family and Zane in the same breath. I started to involve myself in jobs more, have something to say at meetings, but that wouldn’t prepare Alberto for my grandest show of how much I want to be a part of my family and all they stand for.

  They all tell me what I should or shouldn't be. They cuss at me, mock me, and even misunderstand me, but that's their fault, not mine. I was made in my mother's eyes, hold her beauty, and for the most part, have her wisdom and grace, but I am not without my faults. I am also my father's child. That means I'm irrational, compulsive, and sometimes have absolutely no idea how to love without breaking boundaries. For that reason, I'm fearless and destructive.

  I've accepted myself for the romantic I am, for the protector I become and for the destructive element I seem to be within my family.

  It's time every other fucker does the same.

  And with it comes the ability to show every bastardo in this house just what an heir of Salvatore Abbiati is capable of – whether she likes it or not.

  "Let me kill a man," I say to Alberto, forcing myself up onto the counter-top in the kitchen. I grab an apple from the fruit bowl, take a bite, and act as if nothing is amiss. "What?"

  Alberto's shock gives way to a great smile. "You want to kill a man?"

  "Yes," I say, nodding at him. "Give me your least favorite man and let me work my magic ... the Femme Fatale way."

  "How can I trust you?"

  "You can't," I state wryly. "But that's not an issue because I'm good when it comes to killing someone. It's become a forte of mine, really."

  While he seems too thoughtful about the matter, slowly but surely, Alberto’s lips begin to curl up, and I know he feels like he’s won this one. I’ll let him have it. Hell, I’ll even help the matter at hand.

  “I think it’s time I forget about the heartbreak and think solely of family,” I muse, forcing my sincerity. “After all, this will be mine one day.”

  “That’s true,” he agrees, looking back at his paper. “But still, the issue stands that you’re a traitor in the eyes of the Dio Lavoro, child. How the hell do I trust a girl like you to do the job of a man?”

  “Don’t doubt me, Alberto,” I growl, watching him. “You have a party tonight … give me a list of men you’ve waited to deal with, and I’ll make a spectacle of one of them for you all tonight.”

  My mind reverts back to a party my father had, what feels a lifetime ago, where I single-handedly killed a man while we waited for the first course to be served. Sure, it wasn’t pretty, and I was as shocked as everyone else was, but I managed to slip something into his drink without anyone but my father and me knowing.

  That was when I wanted to appease my father. That dirty need doesn’t exist quite so powerfully anymore. It crashed and burned when I learned how he had deceived me in order to make me a killer and not his daughter. Right now, I’m merely surviving the throes of life.

  “So, Alberto,” I start, leaning in toward him as if it’ll show my excitement. “What do you say?”

  “Fine.”

  “I just want one thing,” I say, a bit too quickly.

  He cocks a brow, his eyes boring into mine. “What’s that?”

  “I want them to have a real reason to die,” I admonish, arguing for that fact. If I’m going against myself to fit in, I want to know I’m not just a serial killer. “I’m not going to become a pawn for you like I did with my father. I will not be played the fucking fool by either of you two. If I’m going to kill any men, I want to have a reason.”

  “Oh, I have many men who have a reason,” he tells me, eagerness raveling around him.

  “Good,” I say, jumping down from the counter. “I’ll show you how well I can work.”

  You've got to fake it till you make it. Or so I've started telling myself.

  If I'm going to be stuck in this hellish heaven, then I'm going to make sure that Alberto starts to regret every single god-awful moment of it. He may think I’m on his side at long last, but I’m not even close.

  Why?

  Because sometimes a girl needs to just not give a fuck.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ZANE

  You know that quote, time heals all wounds?

  For once, I can say it’s true.

  I’ve lived a life of low-key existence, allowed the weeks to lapse by to really focus on myself. At first, I craved being a part of the Dio Lavoro, needed Salvatore’s attention, wanted to be there ready for Amelia’s arrival.

  Not now.

  I still want to be there, prepared for Amelia to come home, but I’ve told myself that my priorities need to change. In order to get the girl, I have to win her father over. However, now that I’m stronger, more capable of making rational thoughts and less likely to be a loose cannon, I know I can achieve this.

  However, my plan isn�
��t a clean one.

  I heeded Enzo’s advice, listened to his wisdom, and even had his help getting myself standing on my own two feet. He knew I was planning something huge, something that Sal couldn’t refuse to pay attention to, but he didn’t know when or how I was going to strike.

  Today’s the day I set things into motion.

  It’s been nearly four months since that fateful night I broke Amelia’s heart and all it’s done is strengthen the fact that I will fight for her. Lingering in the shadows of my former life hasn’t caused me to loathe what has become of me because I know that somehow there is a reason why things have happened.

  Loving Amelia was a blood sport; I’ve always known that. It’s what I feared the most, but now, it doesn’t even matter to me. I would love her through all the pain, all of the misdeeds. I would love her unequivocally because this was our chance. It was the only chance I had left.

  “You’re looking pensive,” Enzo comments, breaking me from my thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” I reply, too quickly.

  “You’re getting ready, aren’t you?” he says, sitting up. “Zane, when?”

  “Never you mind when,” I tell him, shrugging at how unimportant him knowing is. “I just think it’s time Amelia came home, don’t you?”

  I watch the corners of Enzo’s mouth begin to curl up, clearly satisfied by the idea. I know he’s missed his sister, and I know that all of his fighting to gain access to her has been futile. Her absence has affected all of us so gravely that I am sick of seeing the brothers look like they’re missing a part of themselves by not having her around.

  “How are you going to convince Sal that it’s time?”

  I laughed; it’s more a breathy exhale of how mirthful my thoughts are than a direct chortle, but I grin a little, feeling the wickedness manifesting in me.

  “You had better not be planning another suicide mission ...”