“Why are we here?” He sits up straight, rubbing his hands over his face.
“Checking up on Mateo. He called but hung up earlier.” I take off my seatbelt and open the car door, the noise waking Luca in the back seat.
“Someone turn the light off,” he groans as he sits upright.
“I’ll be two minutes,” I say as I shut the car door.
I make my way to the back entry that leads into the kitchen and close the door behind me. “Mateo,” I call out.
The house is filled with silence at this early hour, the few staff, and my father most probably asleep. I head toward his office and open the door to see his desk has been left in shambles, papers strewn everywhere, the computer still on. I walk in and stare at the papers on the chair.
“Have you found Mateo?” Dante strolls in, his hair still a mess from our shenanigans earlier.
“No, no fucking idea where he is. I hope he’s not off on a mission on his own, you know how stubborn that prick is.” I scratch the back of my neck as I look at the papers on the desk.
“I’ll try to call him again.” Luca appears in the doorway, already dialing Mateo.
“What do you think all this is?” Dante points to all the paperwork laying around.
“Who knows? My father is always up to something.” I shrug. Images of him towering over me as I sat in the chair, with my lip bleeding, dance across my vision. The flame of anger and resentment still blazes in my gut, seeping out of me in bursts.
“No answer,” Luca yawns.
“I’m sure he’s fine, probably drunk and passed out somewhere,” Dante adds.
“Maybe we should all stay here, I can’t keep my fucking eyes open anymore?” Luca slumps against the door frame, ready to go to sleep again.
“Sounds like a plan.” I blink heavily, the promise of sleep in a few minutes, too hard to resist.
“I’ve got the master guest room.” Dante darts past me and slams Luca out of the way, running to the front of the house.
“What’s new?” I roll my eyes as I walk out of the room and shut the door behind me.
Luca and I fall in step, the echo of our shoes fills the hall.
“Fuck,” Dante shouts form the front foyer, his voice sounds pained.
“Probably fucking hurt himself running like an idiot,” Luca chuckles.
We turn the corner into the front room, to see Dante on the ground, leaning over someone. My mind races and my heart thuds in my ears as I rush to his side.
“Holy fuck, is he dead?” Luca lands on his knees and checks Mateo’s pulse.
My eyes scan the room for any movement, for any evidence of a struggle.
“He’s been shot dead.” Luca launches himself onto his feet.
Those four words sober me up instantly, the full weight of their meaning circulating in the cold air of the room.
Fuck!
“You check the rooms down here and I’ll go upstairs. Dante, call in the backup,” I growl as I clench my hands into fists.
The thought of some rival fuckers coming into my home, and unleashing terror without warning, makes my insides convulse with fury. I take the stairs three at a time and make it to my father’s bedroom door in seconds. I hesitate, not wanting to know what lies beyond.
A Xanax and alcohol cocktail would be fucking fantastic right about now. I take in a deep breath, steady my thoughts, and count to three in my head before barging in. I stop mid-stride and stand motionless, staring at him in his king-size bed, with its gold sheets fit for royalty. He looks peaceful, almost as though he is asleep if it wasn’t for the blood bath surrounding him.
I drop to the floor, all the air knocked out of me, my head fills with a ringing silence. I can’t breathe, and the entire room is shaking, vibrating in time with my erratic heart. They speak of moments like this, of when your entire life crumbles before you and you can’t do shit to save it. You can’t pick up the bricks that have crumbled and build them back up, they don’t teach you how to, because it’s fucking impossible.
It’s all too late. Too late to forgive. Too late to say sorry, and too fucking late to keep hating him for what he was, and what he inflicted upon me. My head spins as the ringing gets louder and I want to run, to escape this fucking nightmare, but I can’t feel my legs.
Without thinking, I manage to pull my phone out of my pocket, and I dial her number. I’ve clearly lost the fucking plot, as I sit on my ass waiting for her to answer. Of all the fucking dumb things to do right now, I call the last person who wants to hear from me.
“Hello,” her sweet voice fills my head and gives me a glimmer of hope of some corny, soppy shit.
I swallow as I stare at my father’s dead body, covered in his blood. “I’m free from him, Summer. I’m free from him,” I choke on my saliva and drop the phone.
I can’t feel the tingles in my fingers anymore, or the feeling of my heart throbbing in my ears. I’m numb, I run my tongue over my top lip, where he drew blood last night, and I can’t feel shit. Am I dying too? Am I dead already? When did I last breathe?
CHAPTER TEN
Enzo
I’m barely standing on my two feet as I stare down at the man that was once invincible, always ahead of the pack, yet never bulletproof. His face is peaceful in death, the only time someone in our line of work will ever have true peace. When it all ends.
I’m the only one in the viewing room, I can’t handle anyone coming near me at the moment, their fake ass condolences can go to hell. I stand with my hands in my pockets, twirling a bullet between my fingers. The bullet, the symbol of death in our family, placed in the hands of the victim in their coffin. I can’t bring myself to touch him just yet. The thought coils nausea throughout my gut.
I never thought I would be picking my father’s funeral suit, and the color of his coffin, at such an early age. I thought we had years of our bullshit relationship still up our sleeves. Enough time to maybe work out our differences, to come to an agreeable middle ground. But no, life doesn’t work in such ways. Life fucks you over and then it does it again, and again.
My heart fights the constant dance between being furious with him and mourning him, the old him. The father from my childhood, when everything was all peachy and rose-colored glasses when he wasn’t the mobster in front of me 24/7. I’m not sure when it all changed, when he decided to be the mob boss father, instead of the caring normal Italian father? There is no pinpoint moment that I recall, maybe it was when he decided I was old enough to step up and learn his trade, to mold me into the man he hoped I’d be?
Well, father dearest, here I am, in all my fucking broken glory. A son that can’t handle killing people, without breaking down afterward, and drowning myself in alcohol to escape my demons. You must be real fucking proud.
“How the fuck did you do it?” I whisper, holding on to the edge of his coffin, my knuckles turning white under the strain. The threat of unshed tears straining my willpower to hold it together.
I haven’t cried since finding him in his bed, murdered in cold blood. I have drunk myself into a stupor daily and topped this off with smoking stupid amounts of cigars and weed. Luca, and Dante, have not left my side since that early morning horror show. They’ve bunkered down in my apartment with me, supplying me with food and water and endless bottles of my favorite whiskey. They’re fucking legendary ways have got me through. I owe them everything.
I ease my grip on his coffin and bow my head between my arms, finally succumbing to the pain within me. I reach out my shaking hand toward his and place the bullet under his palm. “Sangue dentro. Morte fuori,” I whisper as the shock of his cold skin zaps me like electricity.
I straighten up and take in a staggering breath as the lump in my throat very nearly chokes me. “I’ll find who did this to you and fucking slaughter every last one of them,” I promise, as I step away from the coffin.
My eyes remain on his face, too afraid if I look away, all this will come crashing down on me. I know I need to let other’s
in here to pay their respects but fuck them. Fuck all of them. Even my mother isn’t brave enough to come in and check that I’m okay, she knows me too well to try and change me and my stubborn ass ways. I’ve probably delayed the service by now, holing myself up in here, not ready to face the impending doom of the end of life as I know it.
The walls of the room feel like they’re closing in on me, suffocating and clawing at my overly hot skin. Even though the air is on freezing, my Armani suit is making me sweat like I’m sitting in a fucking sauna. I loosen my tie, and undo the top button of my shirt, smiling at the thought of what my father would think of seeing me looking subpar at his funeral. Always happy to keep disappointing you, father dearest.
“Penny for your thoughts,” her voice rings in my ears, sending shivers over my heated skin.
My shoulders stiffen, my whole body going rigid with tension. Am I fucking hallucinating now? What kind of weed did Luca score this morning?
I turn slowly until my eyes connect with those icy blue pools I remember all to fucking well. They still haunt me in my dreams most nights. She’s here.
She’s.
Fucking.
Here.
Standing in front of the closed door is my biggest weakness. I didn’t even hear her enter or close the door after her.
Her eyes are full of heated emotion, sorrow, and guilt wrapped up in a neat little parcel, ready to be handed to me. Only I don’t fucking want it. I don’t want anything from her.
Who am I kidding? I just don’t want her to know how I truly feel.
“Why are you here?” My voice drops an octave, the resentment still fresh.
I watch her hesitate, open her mouth, and just as quickly close it. Her eyes regard me with caution, unsure of how I might react. She’s wary and rightly so.
I stand with my shaking hands in my pockets, holding myself together, looming over her small frame. She’s more beautiful than I remember, standing just out of reach in a fitted, black dress. It takes all I have in me not to step forward and wrap my arms around her and hold her close. Instead, I do what I do best, and be an asshole.
“Get out,” I lower my voice and say each word slowly.
She lifts her chin in defiance. “You don’t scare me, Enzo.”
My name on her lips does all sorts of fucked up things to my heart. There’s too much emotion circling in me right now, between grief, hate, guilt, and lust, it will be a miracle if I don’t lose my shit in the next few moments. “I’m not trying to scare you.” I glare at her.
She steps forward.
I hold my hand out toward her to stop her in her tracks. Her eyes roam my fingers, just below my knuckles where a freshly scabbed tattoo spells out blood. Dante, Luca, and I got matching tattoos across our fingers on both hands. Blood and Death spelled out as a symbol for the family. Translated from the Italian meaning.
Sangue dentro. Morte fuori.
Blood In. Death out.
“Don’t come near me. Not today.” I shake my head and look at the ground. Defeat finally taking a hold of me.
“Can I?” Her voice cracks, emotion spilling out and filling the small space between us.
I shake my head in response. “No one can, Summer,” I exhale and close my eyes for a moment. I lift my head and stare into her eyes, full of desire and sorrow. Sorrow for me. I don’t want anyone to look at me like this. Not now. Not ever. “Please just go.” I turn to face my dead father again.
Her footsteps pad across the wooden floorboards and pause as she opens the door. “I’m so sorry, Enzo,” her whispered words brush against my cold heart like a winter snowstorm, cooling my skin in the process.
As much as I try to fight it, there’s no malice dripping from my body, only pure raw need. I want to hate her.
I need to hate her.
***
“Sweetheart, you should come inside,” my mom wraps her arm around my waist.
I keep my eyes on the gardens below the balcony. I don’t remember much of the service, the numbness I feel slowly easing, as the weed I smoked wears off. I do vaguely remember the endless sea of black suits that lined the path, as we carried the coffin to be buried, in our family plot in the cemetery. I avoided looking at my sister’s grave, wondering if I was next to be laid to rest. The whole day has gone by in a whirl of shoulder grabs, back slaps, and constant reassurance that everyone will look after me now that I am to take over my father’s position.
“It will get easier, give it time,” she exhales. I doubt she feels an ounce of sadness for his passing.
“How long?” I look down at her, her eyes gleam in the moonlight.
“However long you need. Each person grieves differently, take all the time you need.” She leans into my side, her small frame engulfed by mine.
“I’m not going to Italy with you.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her against me, her familiar scent of shampoo coating me in warmth and feelings of home.
“I know,” she exhales.
“I’m sorry.” I blink heavily.
“What in the world for?” She steps out of my grip and looks up at me.
“For our fucked-up family life.” I swallow.
“I knew what I was getting into. I knew what this life is. I’m sorry for letting you grow up in it, and not taking you home to Italy when you were a baby. Your lifestyle is my fault, and I’m burdened with it every damn day.” She closes the gap and hugs me tightly, a small sob escaping her lips.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it, mom, I like this life.” I hold her close, the warmth from her grounding.
“Please be careful, don’t go for revenge. Promise me,” she pleads.
“I can’t promise that,” I whisper into her hair, kissing the top of her head.
“It’s not worth it. He’s not worth dying for.” She looks up at me and grips my suit jacket in her small fists. “He doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”
“It’s not for him.” I look down at her, hoping she understands.
“She wouldn’t want you to do this either.” Her eyes glass over, the tears pooling in her lower lids.
“I don’t care what anyone wants anymore.” I step away from her, needing the distance.
“Enzo, please? I can’t survive losing you too.” Her shoulders sag, the weight of knowing she can’t change my mind weighing her down.
“I’ll be fine, mom, it’s not like it used to be.” I glance at the people gathered inside. Our family and closest friends, all here to celebrate the life of a true monster. A monster they all respected and deep down feared.
“I know I can’t convince you but promise me you’ll be careful. You’re all I have left.” Her small hand cups my cheek and she turns my face to meet hers. “Promise me.”
I look down at my shoes, knowing I can’t make promises. I’ll seek revenge for the deaths of my family, even if it kills me in the process. It is how I’m wired. It is how he made me. I look back into her eyes and offer a small smile. “I promise,” I lie.
“Can I ask for one more thing?” Her tone is hopeful as she drops her hand to her side.
“Of course,” I exhale.
“Don’t hold grudges against the people who love you, it will keep you drowning in a lonely place.” She smiles at me, her eyes crinkling at the edges before she takes my hand in hers and drags me back inside.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Summer
I can see him out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t dare glance his way. My reaction to being in his vicinity is pathetic, like the time apart hasn’t changed a damned thing. Not to me, anyway. My hand tightens around the champagne glass, still filled with the sparkling peach-colored liquid, and I’m surprised the glass hasn’t shattered from my grip. I look at Amber and offer her a smile of understanding, hoping my presence is somewhat of a comfort to her.
“You okay?” She nudges my shoulder.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I purposely look at the ground, not trusting my eyes from scanning the roo
m just to look at him.
“He’s gone outside with Luca, and Dante, you’re safe to look now,” she sniggers.
“I wasn’t,” I try to argue but there’s no point. I take a small sip of the bubbly alcohol and allow its coolness to extinguish my burning insides.
“We all believe you,” she grabs my hand clutching my glass and guides it back up to my mouth.
“I can’t drink too much, I have to drive home. I have the early shift,” I frown.
It was a last-minute decision to come to the funeral, if for nothing else than to offer support to Amber. I knew Enzo wouldn’t want to even look at me, not after I left him standing on the curb, and ran away back home. But I need him to know that I still care, and I that I am here when he needs me.
“Can’t you call in sick?” Amber pouts. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too. What if you come over for a weekend and stay at my place one day soon?” I grin at her.
“Okay, just tell me when.” She clinks her glass to mine.
“Done.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her into my side for a hug.
“You’re leaving already, aren’t you?”
“I have to, it’s a three-hour drive and there might be traffic.”
“Don’t stay away for so long next time.” She wraps her arms around my neck, and I pull her in for a tight hug. “Drive safe.”
I kiss her cheek before I hand her my champagne glass and make my way through the well-dressed mobster crowd. I take one last glance around the room, hoping for a glimpse of him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. A little part of me is glad as this way it will be easier to leave again.
I head to my car, the only car in the street that isn’t worth as much as a house and place my hand on the handle to unlock it.
“What happened to the red convertible?” His husky voice coats my skin in desire.
I clench my eyes shut, knowing all too well where these exchanges end up. I clear my throat and turn slowly until I am facing him. Despite looking like he’s been dragged through the pits of hell, with his sunken eyes and the dark circles to match, he’s still the epitome of sex on legs. If anything, these months apart have made him rougher around the edges, more muscular and rugged. He has an aura of masculinity about him that wasn’t there before.
Vicious Enzo: A College Bully Romance (Verona Academy Book 2) Page 7
