Trigger (Pericolo #3)

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  “It’s happening,” she tells me, verifying that my life’s work is finally going to reach its end. “Baby, you’re finally getting your chance at that life you wanted, but if you keep wringing the steering wheel like that, I’m scared I’ll never get you out of the car.”

  “I’ll get out of the car,” I say, quick to quell her woes. “I can’t back down now.”

  “No, you can’t,” she says, being my pillar of optimism. “What else is it, though?”

  Am I that transparent?

  Most of the time, I feel like this dutiful, defiant, beautiful woman can read my mind. There is never anything missed, and when I’m feeling even the slightest bit nervy, she’s quick off the mark to change the uneasy feelings I have.

  “There’s something else,” she comments, observant as always. “You’ve been on edge since that phone call you received earlier this morning.”

  Ah, the game changer.

  I sigh, not liking how that ball of dread just exploded.

  “Ryleigh,” I start, finally releasing the steering wheel so I can turn to face her. “I...” I pause, unable to think of the correct wording. “Fuck, mia regina, I don’t know how to say this.”

  “Say what?”

  I watch as her brown eyes study my face. They look me in the eyes, flickering down to my mouth before retreating to my eyes. The longer the silence settles, the further the scowl on her forehead deepens.

  “After this,” I start, bracing myself. “After what’s about to happen, I’ve been told we should run.”

  “Run?” she asks, dumbly.

  I quickly realized the change of the plan would have her fearing the worst. Our plan was meticulous, right down the time we would meet with Jackson and Jodi.

  “For our safety, we have to leave the state,” I tell her, offering her honesty. “I received an anonymous tip-off that Marcello has set up for me to be killed... definitely.” I feel my nerves crash and burn as anger replaces them. “It’s not a speculation but an event. He planned to make sure that I would be floating in East River by midnight.”

  “That’s why we’re going to him earlier?” she asks, falling into step with me. “That’s why you’re rushing it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time was this event?” she asks, daring herself to look at me without shedding every splinter of fear preparing to rip through her. “What time was his plan meant to happen?”

  “At dusk,” I state. “It’s my own tradition to kill at dusk... he wanted to use it against me.” My eyes drop as my heart palpitates roughly. “They had a plan for you, too,” I say, my voice darkening. “You weren’t going to die by my side.” I feel myself losing all of my weaker emotions and coming back angrier than ever. “They wanted you to suffer because of me. I couldn’t allow him that power over you again. I can’t let him have his chance to do that.” As I unravel, I set my gaze on Ryleigh, finding that she’s ready to catch me. “It’s why we strike now.”

  While she gulps down around the lump I’m sure has formed in her throat, she looks at me with a hardened gaze.

  “Then we run. We kill Marcello and we don’t look back.”

  “Jackson and Jodi?” she asks, her eyes filling with involuntary tears.

  I shake my head, solemnly feeling like I have given up on my own again. First Amelia, and now my brother and sister. What sort of man am I becoming? It’s not until Ryleigh reaches and grabs me that I realize I’m not yet a failure. I have one more life far precious than my own to save.

  “We have to leave, Ryleigh,” I comment, musing the most heartbreaking fact. “We kill Marcello and we leave. It’s our only option. They will have to deal without us until the heat dies down or we can get news to them.”

  Silence falls so heavily upon us that the air in the car becomes suffocating. Ryleigh slips back into her original position, facing out of the windshield, her eyes looking at the dirt road we’ve been sitting on for the past twenty minutes.

  I don’t speak, knowing my begging won’t move things along. She needs to process this and I’ll sit here and wait for her to decide her part. If she decides to leave this car, then I’ll let her walk, but with or without her by side, Marcello must die.

  “Okay,” she finally speaks, looking back at me. “But because of this, I want him to suffer every last breath he takes.”

  “I was never going to cut him any liberties,” I remark, offering a sideways grin. “He never appealed to my nice side, and death won’t change that.”

  “Can we get away with this?” Ryleigh asks, her smile starting to diminish. “I mean, can we kill him and get away when he has so many men around him?”

  “We will when I call an important meeting between the three of us and cut his throat open and leave him to bleed out in his office.”

  Just as it disappeared, the spark reignites.

  “Don’t panic so much, mia regina. We kill then leave. Anything after that we make up as we go.” I reach over, placing my fingers delicately at her chin. “You okay to go wherever our car takes us?”

  “I’ll be perfectly okay if you’re by my side,” she admits, agreeing to a fugitive life.

  “No other way this pans out, mia regina.” I release her completely, turning the engine back on. “You and me for life.”

  ***

  Walking into the house, I find it eerily still and silent. Usually, there is hustle and bustle everywhere from staff to the men of the Valens, but today, there is nothing. It doesn’t deter me because I’m unable to turn my back on the end goal.

  While I know something is askew, I use it to my advantage. I don’t allow it to suppress my readiness for this final showdown.

  “It’s quiet,” Ryleigh whispers, clearly noticing the shocking atmosphere, too.

  “I know,” I reply, my voice just as low as hers. “But take my lead and we’ll be fine. I promise you that, cara.”

  It’s an empty promise, but I feel her close the gap because she trusts me.

  We walk across the foyer of the Valens mansion, headed straight through to the back room – the meeting room. As we enter, the sun streams through the large glass windows, filling the room with an ironic but heavenly glow.

  “Dante,” my grandfather greets us, sitting in his chair with a glass of whiskey in his right hand. “And Miss Ryleigh Mitchell.”

  I hear Ryleigh gasp while my heart stops dead in my chest. We walked straight into the honey trap, and Marcello looks all too happy about the fact.

  “Not sure why you both look so shocked,” he starts, standing up to greet us better. “You know nothing ever escapes me. Not even a person’s true identity.” He speaks his words in jest, but each word has a fresh dose of venom. “You should’ve changed your first name and gotten contacts to change your eye color because I’d remember a name and pathetic, weak brown eyes of a four-year-old as she felt her life ebbing away.”

  I start to edge forward; my breathing becomes shallow, heated breaths that threaten to burn me.

  “Don’t think about it,” Marcello says, throwing his hand up at me. “We can deal with a showdown later, but for now, I think we need to have a real family meeting. I mean, that’s what we all are, correct? Family. Death brings us closer together and there is nothing more intimate than that favorite decade of my life.”

  I watch the fucking bastard’s eyes light up as he gets nostalgic with us.

  “You’re a very hard lady to find, Miss Mitchell,” Marcello says, focusing on Ryleigh, his gray eyes narrowing on her. “But then you happen to just stumble into my grandson and consume his life. I had to check out what was beguiling him. Imagine my surprise when I’m met with a ghost from my very crimson past –albeit much prettier and clearly much stronger now – but still a ghost nonetheless. One does wonder if that was a coincidence.”

  “What are you getting at?” Ryleigh strikes up.

  “What am I getting at?” Marcello asks, his free hand flying up to his chest. “I’m merely wondering if your plan was to seduce my gran
dson in order to get a free pass at me.”

  “I never knew about you until Dante and I were committed to one another,” she fights, that same tenacious nature that greeted me that first day coming back to her. “You were never a factor in us falling in love.”

  “But I am a key factor in keeping you together,” Marcello comments, mockingly. “If I know my grandson as well as I think I do, then I know he’s prepared my death agonizingly. What will you do once I’m gone?” he asks, looking sorrowful at the thought. “Who will you have to kill together then?” He lets out a burst of laughter, further mocking us. “Sorry, I find it pitiful that a Valens man chooses a woman to fight crime with.”

  “Her being a woman changes nothing,” I bite. “Her being a woman actually upped the ante. What man wants to die at the hands of a woman?” I ask, grinning remembering Ryleigh’s kills. “What Valens man wants to die because of a woman half his size?” I take a step forward, purposefully putting myself between my grandfather and the woman I love. “Not a single one.”

  Marcello, issuing a tight leer, retreats to his seat.

  “So, why are you here?” Marcello asks, becoming cool and collected. “What reason could have you both here?”

  “You know full well why we’re here,” I reply, sharply. “Don’t start playing fucking dumb.”

  “Mmm,” Marcello muses, looking pleased all of a sudden. “The Valens Murders.” He raises his glass at me. “You know, they were my proudest list of murders. Entire families wiped out in the eleventh hour, and the police couldn’t catch a single killer. I had, at least, at least, ten men working that crime wave and each of them has escaped prison. Those men who wanted blood, men who didn’t care for a motive but cared only for an opportunity... men who would kill for me in a heartbeat if I asked them, who still would, all escaped punishment.”

  “I don’t care for the gory details,” I snarl, cutting him short.

  “But you should!” Marcello exclaims, sitting up excitedly. “When I heard they harmed you, I killed the man who touched you. I sat by your bedside for hours waiting for you to wake up and show me that I still had the perfect heir. You fought the odds, Dante. You battled through and came back to me. You came back to me and allowed yourself to take residency by my side.”

  “Because I had no one else,” I argue, feeling tears forming a film across my eyes. “I was left with you because that’s what you wanted!” While Marcello watches me, I break, wanting an answer to my one real question. “Why them?” I ask, my voice becoming taut as my teeth grind along one another. “Why my parents? Why my family?”

  Marcello smiles – he fucking beams at the question.

  “Easy,” he begins, easing himself into the conversation. “While your father showed a lot of promise and they thought your brother did too, I wanted you. And when the heat got too much, I decided I needed a scapegoat. Now, why would the great Marcello Valentino destroy his own bloodline?” he asks, rhetorically. “Simple! He wouldn’t! He would never touch his own family because Italians look after one another. They love one another.”

  “You proved who you really loved,” I say, bitterly. “I have known for years what you did to us.”

  “And it’s taken you years to build up the courage to confront me about it?” he asks, sardonic wit lacing his quip. “Not very Dante of you, now is it? Is that what Ryleigh does to you?”

  “She makes me a man that my mother and father would’ve wanted me to be,” I grind out, flaring my nostrils. “It’s because of her I’m standing here, prepared to make you suffer.”

  Marcello smirks but looks past me, uncaring of my fight.

  “Ryleigh, you’ve grown to look just like your mother,” Marcello comments, gesturing at my girl. “I imagined your sister would’ve grown to have her father’s eyes and his fight, but you definitely became your mother.”

  “You weren’t even there,” Ryleigh comments, not believing Marcello. I can tell she’s unable to believe his words because in the same sense, so am I. “I remember every single face that I saw that night, and I don’t remember yours.”

  “That’s because I came in after your mother and father had died. I came in and made that judgment to leave you and your sister to bleed out. I was the man who basically gave you a second chance in life.”

  “So you expect me to thank you?”

  “Well, that would be courteous,” Marcello remarks, laughing mirthlessly. “I must have miscalculated it that night. There was so much blood and your little body heaved with struggling breaths that I was sure you wouldn’t last to see midnight strike.” He looks almost remorseful; I know it’s not for the little girl he left behind but for the fact he didn’t make sure she was dead. “Imagine my surprise when the news came alive with a survivor of the murders that were brutalizing the Brooklyn suburbs. Little Ryleigh Mitchell was the sole survivor of the murderous crime wave. You were doted on, Miss Ryleigh, but it was because of you that I decided to do the most despicable thing.”

  “You do not get to blame her for your actions in killing your own,” I say, casting his accusation aside.

  “Why not?” Marcello asks, looking back at me with a vicious glare. “She remembered it was men who ambushed her house. She remembered that they spoke Italian, that they said my name. She remembered hearing how she was like the others. She managed to describe Shawn to the police.”

  “I don’t remember any of that!” Ryleigh argues, tears falling down her face. “All I remember is men. I remember what you did to my parents, what you did to my sister, and how the man who hurt me took great delight! I don’t remember ever telling them any details like that.”

  “You were four,” Marcello says, almost trying to console her. “A lot happened in your life after your hospital admittance. But after you, I made sure no one lived after we left. You were the lesson I never should’ve learned. I kept an eye on you. I made sure I was kept up to date with your hospital files and suffered such a great deal.”

  “How would you know?” Ryleigh asks.

  “I paid for every hospital expense you had. I made sure that you were looked after by the best and that you would bounce back so I could finish the job. I thought it may not happen for some time... you were in a coma for so long as your body recovered, but the strength you showed, Miss Ryleigh, was quite the show of courage.”

  “You paid my bills?”

  “I was hoping it would mean I could keep track of you until I could finish the job, but you vanished one night, protected by cops. Even the contacts I held in the hospital had no idea where you went.” Marcello’s eyes become downcast. “After that, you were lost to the world.”

  “And you lost your opportunity,” I comment, sickened that my grandfather orchestrated far more than just the killings. “Once she disappeared, you had no lead, but you had a woman who could threaten it all.”

  “Which was where you came into the game,” Marcello remarks, looking back at me. “If the Valens were involved, the suspicion would vanish and I would be left to mourn my family and pray my grandson would make it through the night to come back to me. Of course, we threw in a few more murders for good measures, but each time one hit, I was by your bedside, praying to every god I knew to bring you back to me.”

  “How dutiful,” I quip, rolling my eyes.

  “I was the grandfather who loved his family,” Marcello jibes, sticking by that same sickening fucking excuse. “Of course, I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life... to have my grandson know the truth and finally have the girl who threatened it all. I just never entered love into that equation. You two aren’t destined for this... you’re meant to be sworn enemies. Dante, you should hate her for being the reason your family is dead... and Ryleigh, you should loathe every breath Dante takes knowing he is bred from me.”

  “But he isn’t you,” my girl argues. “I have seen him do a lot, but he will never be you, Marcello.”

  “And I don’t blame a four-year-old for bringing my life down around me. I blame my own
family!” I bark, snapping entirely. I start to close my fists by my side, allowing the knuckles to burn with the tightness before I flex them out. “I’m going to have so much fucking fun ending your pathetic life! Don’t think for a single second I’ll go easy on you.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you, Dante,” Marcello warns, shaking his head disappointedly. I now know we’re entering Marcello’s grander plan. If there is one thing I learned about my grandfather over the years, it’s that no matter what, he was always one step ahead. “You see, if you take your sweet time making sure I die, then this entire building will go up with you still in it. So, you have a choice,” he says, offering them up animatedly. “You make it quick and easy for me, or you sit here and have a final drink with me and we all go down in a ball of glory. The options are yours to take.”

  I furrow my brow. “What are you talking about?”

  He points and my gaze follows. I see a small brown package situated in the corner of the room. Red and black wires run in and out of it, across the edges of the room, twisting into another package in the corner opposite. I turn quick, seeing that the whole room is rigged, but what stops my heart is the fact that the wires aren’t just in this room. They travel down, tacked to the wall leading to the doors and unfurling through the house.

  I look at Ryleigh; her face is ashen, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes look at me with utter terror.

  “The house is set to go off...” Marcello states, trailing off to watch the realization settle in. “The house is packed with explosives and only you two and myself are left.” He laughs at our stunned silence. “You didn’t think I was going to let you walk in here and take me down without me already showing you that I am greater and better than you?”

  “You won’t get away with this,” I say, snarling my words carelessly. “You don’t get to ruin our lives then expect us to die with you!”

  “Well, you can leave,” Marcello vows, putting his arm out to the door, gesturing to our exit. “Nothing’s stopping you from leaving here.” The look on his face tells me that he wouldn’t make it that easy and I mentally start to design a plan. He lifts his arm, shaking it so the sleeves begin to slide down his arm to reveal his gold Armani watch. “There’s still just under nine minutes on the clock,” Marcello says, his eyes lighting up like a madman as he looks over at us. “Tick tock, Dante. The decision is yours.”