Murder? Too fucking messy, but fitting. Still, Grandmother wouldn’t appreciate me adding another name to my already cruel reputation. Abduction, then murder? A much better option. No one would have enough good cause to think it was me. “Morning, darling.” Repress. I glance up from my breakfast, dragging my gaze down the length of Valentina’s sundress. My hands itch. “You look stunning.” No. Poison. It’d be amusing to see how many colors her skin could turn while choking on her own blood. Valentina leans down, brushing her lips against my cheek, and the weight of the pistol tucked into my waistband presses like a temptation. Her perfume of rich floral and vanilla is overdone, as if to mask the stink of her soul. “Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself.” A pointed cough from Rizzi and I freeze, finding my fingers already inching for the hostler, my vision tinged with red. Colorful. It’d be a rather colorful breakfast with her blood splat
Susanna isn’t in the bedroom when I return by midnight, and for a moment, I’m thrown back by several months, that living fear and panic burrowing so deep, I didn’t know where it ended and where I began. I’m hurtling across, peering from door to door, Rizzi and a few others ransacking the penthouse, when a muted boom vibrates beneath us. I can barely think, breathe as I take the flight of stares to the game’s room downstairs. I should have been home sooner, but the therapy session today had dragged on for longer. Susanna wouldn’t see the doctor, so I attended the sessions in her stead, learning and sifting through the details of triggers and responses. People handled these situations differently, and while I didn’t yet know the details, I knew Susanna was different, and treating her with an approach that wasn’t at all for her would only succeed in pushing her further away. “What?” I snap at the cluster of men standing outside the gun
Green eyes filled with tears. Fingers clenched around my bicep. One word. Please. I knew death, knew it by its darkness and the seductive chill it sends before its appearance. I summoned it on some occasions, feeding more bodies to hell than I can remember. It was our way. For famiglia, no sacrifice was too small. But it wasn't I who called for it this time. I understood, more than Valentina or Papa could comprehend that there was no fleeing from it. Blood had been shed and there would be payment, only in blood. I'd seen it that night when Mauro's body fell beside me. The madness in the don's eyes. The excitement. I knew it then and I understood it when he blew off two more of my fingers for taking her to that motel. There was something about the woman that turned him into something carved from bloodlust and darkness, giving into the viciousness of the Visconti blood. Wheels turn behind Papa's eyes. He's always cherished Vale
I shouldn’t be wandering outside at this time, but I couldn’t sleep. I tried, but the nightmares wouldn’t let me. I’d woken with my heart pounding in my ears and bile in my mouth, the darkness in the room resembling that of the cell. Zefiro isn’t here, and Rizzi offered to walk with me, but I waved him off. I can’t handle the way he looks at me, like he’s the one who should carry the blame for everything that’s happened. For everything I’ve lost. Still, I’m not entirely alone. The quiet presence of two guards trails behind me, just out of sight. I wouldn’t have known they were there if one of them hadn’t let out a cough. Not sure Jaxon would try to steal me quite yet, not when the one month period isn’t over, but Zefiro must think there’s some other threat, if I’m under surveillance every second of the day. I don’t complain, though. It’s not uncomfortable. There is a strange comfort in knowing that I’m safe here and have nothing to fe
I propel myself, sweeping low and wild, and a shot zings past my ear a moment before I collide with his torso, the force behind the movement strong enough to knock the gun from his grasp and send us tumbling into the grass. He snarls, ripping me off him and I gasp as my back hits the ground. He’s searching for the rifle, reaching--It is pure animal instinct that drives me forward, and I leap at his exposed back, wrapping my arms around his face, nails scraping at his eyes and my legs locking around his torso. He shoves back, thrashing angrily in a bid to get me off, but I cling to him, heart pounding, chest heaving as I struggle viciously to claw out the bastard’s eyes. Heavens. If I get out of this alive, I’ll take fighting lessons.He slams us back into a tree and the hit rattles my skull, loosening my grip on him slightly as stars explode behind my eyes. His fingers claw at my hands, my fingers, and I feel a burst of blind panic when I realize I’m losing him.So I jerk forward and
A deafening crack ricochets through the air. And then another. I bury my nose in his chest, shivering, sobbing softly. His heart beats fast and hard against the side of my cheek and the weight of the last few minutes crash into me.Minutes. I could have died in mere minutes. I’d never… My hands run down the length of his broad back, a broken sob shaking my lips as I breathe in his scent--the clean crispiness of freshly made notes, spicy masculinity and that cologne I’ve never smelled on anyone else. I’d never get to smell him again, or touch his skin, soft and smooth over rock-hard muscles, kiss him, feel his breath hot against my skin, hear his rare breathy laughter, his amused chuckle, and watch him stare at me like a man ruined and undone.Zefiro’s hand slides down my neck and he pulls us apart. “Are you hurt anywhere?”I shake my head, face wet with tears as I meet his gaze.His eyes are wide and crazed as he scans my face, noting the blood on my lips.“It’s not mine,” I say, voic
Violence never really was a last resort for me. It is a language I speak most fluently. There is art in destruction, a discord that often strikes me as beautiful. Like the splatter of blood against walls and floors. Like a broken body, mangled beyond recognition. It was amusing, usually. But tonight, I only feel rage. No one knows, but I think most clearly when I’m in the rage. I see colours more brightly and can almost taste the fear of prey. Viciousness and inhumanity blur lines on those days. It is why I rarely let my emotions get the best of me. But someone crossed the line tonight. I wasn’t lying when I told Susanna I had work tonight. No. I have scores to settle. Blood already runs down the length of the knife in my grasp. It belonged to the guards outside. They died too quickly, too quietly, nothing at all like Susanna’s scream for help earlier. Can’t stop hearing it. Can’t stop seeing the fear in her eyes as she races for me. Can’t stop hearing her ragged sob
I turn and stride out, unhurried. Screams and loud shouting echo in the house. Someone’s shouting for Valentina from the ground floor, screaming for her. She shouldn’t be here. She should be back home, with Noona. She would have been safer there, hiding from my wrath than here, in her father’s home. Her room’s on the floor below. The staff either run past, bleary-eyed, or they pause and do a double take before falling to the floor, hands above their heads. I pay them no heed. I didn’t come for them. Valentina’s bedroom sits on the second floor, right next to her cousin’s, which is why it is no surprise to find the woman huddled on the floor, covering her children with shaky hands. Her teal eyes meet mine and widen a fraction with betrayal and fear. We never hurt women or children. Usually. Valentina’s a special case from hell.The door is ajar when I reach it and all the warning I get is the spark of the muzzle before I shove against the door, narrowly avoiding a damn bullet to t
I don’t have my mother or father to walk me down the aisle, but I don’t do it alone. I clutch Rizzi’s arm like a lifeline, nails digging into the expensive black fabric of his suit as we step past the arched hallway and into the garden. My pulse is a runaway train, my stomach in knots that have knots, and my heels suddenly feel two inches taller.“Is it the nerves or the dress?”My nails dig into his black suit and I try to force down more floral coated air. The yard stretches out before us, decorated in wild flowers, vines and lush greenery, the shaded walk way covered in rose petals path draped unraveling under my feet. My train catches, sweeping across the floors and soft ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ fill the air as we close in on last row of white Chiavari seats.“Both?”“If it makes you feel any better, I was too.”An ugly snort slips past my lips before I can stop it, loud enough to make even the pianist flinch. Christ. "They must think I’m a mess."Rizzi taps the back of my hand, a smirk t
I’m shown to a bedroom beside Mrs. Della Rocca’s, and I barely have a moment’s peace before I’m assaulted by an army of designers.Dress fittings. Jewelry selections. Shoes. Flowers. Colors. Styles. Over and over again, until it finally dawns on me.I’m getting married. Again.The first had been nothing at all like this. There hadn’t been any arrangements made prior and I didn’t have a choice in a single thing. Now, I am consulted about every detail. The colors for the wedding and reception dresses, as well as the designs. The jewelry—Grandmother suggested I wear something of the family heirloom when I found everything I was shown to be more than exaggerated. Shoes. The type of flowers to be used for the decoration of the yard and halls, since we’d decided on a classic romantic garden theme.Not we. His grandmother did with such glee, I couldn’t say no.I often found myself wondering if Zefiro wanted a romantic wedding. If he even had a care in the world left for me at all. Then I’d b
Zefiro doesn’t take the envelope. Doesn’t even look at it. And for a second—maybe longer—I panic.“I’m twelve weeks.” My voice is hoarse, shaky. “I—I didn’t know. Not at first. Thought it was just the stress from exams, my shitty diet, my lack of sleep. But when I couldn’t keep food down, Fabian dragged me to the doctor, thinking I had the flu, and…”My words taper off into nothing as Zefiro takes a slow step back, then another, before sinking into his chair. He drags both hands over his face, through his hair, down again. Lets out a shuddering breath.“There’s a deal with the Chicago Outfit.” His voice is quiet, almost to himself. “This changes everything.”And then, he’s peering at me with a well -guarded, well-controlled expression. His eyes flick down once to my belly, and his nostrils flare. “Do you want it?”It is phrased like a casual question, but I see it for what it is. Another choice. The last choice I’ll ever likely make when it comes to whatever is left of us. And because
I went through day after day like a wraith. And before I could tell, a month had passed since the encounter. By the end of October, I have succeeded in not only failing every class woefully, but getting enough concern to get enrolled for counseling.November is the longest month. I can’t bring myself to do anything but breathe, bathe, eat, sleep and cry. By the month’s end, my clothes begin hanging off my frame awkwardly and my appetite is as dead as I feel inside.I stop calling him and leaving messages. I wouldn’t forgive me either had I been in his shoes.The loud banging on my front door rouses me from tired sleep, but I have no strength in my limbs to answer it. I draw the covers over my face and nestle back into the pillows.My room door slamming open startles me and I turn slowly at Erica’s remark. “It’s a pig’s sty in here.”The covers are thrown off my body and I voice my protest as larger arms yank me off the bed. “Put me down,” I whimper as Fabian takes me to the bathroom a
The memories return to me in bits over the next few weeks, fueling my need to see him. To explain. To apologize. To plead. But he never returned to London, and it took an embarrassing amount of time to realize why.As the owner, it was only normal that he attended the opening ceremony. The woman who had been perched on his shoulder that night is Diana Moreau, and she will be managing Oblio Nero. He has no reason to be here, when he has other engagements elsewhere.I wasn’t enough reason for him to stay. Not anymore. Because I’ve gone and ruined everything. Again.“I can’t have children!” The words rip from my throat like something jagged and raw, something torn straight from the center of my being. I hadn’t known for a long time. Not until a couple of years into my marriage with Jaxon. He’d returned home one night, drunk and angry. I was ill and didn’t feel like being subjected to his rage. I refused and the beating had been so bad, I’d broken a rib.He’d taken me to the hospital in b
Pain.That’s the first thing I register. A dull, insistent pounding behind my eyes, like a hammer striking against my skull. My mouth is dry, my tongue thick and heavy, the taste of last night’s recklessness still clinging to my lips.I groan, pulling the covers over my face to hide from the sunlight and I sink further into sleep. Only to be awoken by a rather violent dream…or memory.“Why the fuck not?!” Zefiro snarls, gripping my naked shoulder. “Why do you say no, still? Look me in the fucking eye while you lie to me and tell me you do not want more than this. Tell me you do not want to be my wife.”“I can’t!”“Again, why the hell not?!”“I can’t have children!”My eyes snap open and jolting up so fast causes a fresh wave of nausea curling through my stomach. What the hell?I blink past the haziness and the pain and look around at the mess in my bedroom. My bedroom. Why…how?The sheets are tangled around my legs as I fall out of bed, confused as hell, only to trip on shaky legs. I
The club looms ahead, sleek and dark, its golden insignia glowing under the London drizzle. Oblio Nero. A long line stretches down the sidewalk, but we don’t need to wait. Our VIP tickets see to that.“You’re insane,” Erica says, gripping Fabian’s arm tightly. “This place is insane!”The latter has barely spoken a word since I informed him of where we were going. His expression is drawn and distant, eyes darting about as if in search of something.I would normally pummel him for answers, but I can’t think past my wracking nerves and anxiety.What if this doesn’t go as planned? I don’t have a plan, even. What if things have changed? What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if the moment our eyes meet, there’s no heat or tingle? What if he’s moved on? What if…I’ve lost him?We walk through the doors, let in quickly by the bouncers outside.The bass vibrates through my ribs. The club is all shadows and golden light, the people a perfect blend of affluence and excess. Waitresses glide by i
A year later…and some.A tear runs down my cheek and my fingers rest atop my quivering lips. “It’s…beautiful.”Fabian peers over my shoulder. “I don’t get it. What is it?”“A visual representation of my mental state. Do you like it?” I ask, tracing the chaotic brush strokes with my fingertips. Erica, Fabian’s girlfriend chuckles, chipping away at my fries. “The project was on portraits, Susan. Mrs. Rideal’s gonna to make an example of you again.”I gesture towards the drawing. “But this is a portrait of me!”Fabian makes a face, snatching the fries from Erica. All he does lately is eat my food. “You’ve got paint in your hair.” He frowns when my phone pings multiple times. I snatch it off the stool before he can and go through my notifications.The world bleeds away, taking the sounds of Erica and Fabian smooching on my couch away with it. I feed my growing obsession with picture after picture. Cold brown eyes. Crisp navy blue tuxedo. A devastatingly ruthless smile. Confident. Arrogan
The club looms ahead, sleek and dark, its golden insignia glowing under the London drizzle. Oblio Nero. A long line stretches down the sidewalk, but we don’t need to wait. Our VIP tickets see to that.“You’re insane,” Erica says, gripping Fabian’s arm tightly. “This place is insane!”The latter has barely spoken a word since I informed him of where we were going. His expression is drawn and distant, eyes darting about as if in search of something.I would normally pummel him for answers, but I can’t think past my wracking nerves and anxiety.What if this doesn’t go as planned? I don’t have a plan, even. What if things have changed? What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if the moment our eyes meet, there’s no heat or tingle? What if he’s moved on? What if…I’ve lost him?We walk through the doors, let in quickly by the bouncers outside.The bass vibrates through my ribs. The club is all shadows and golden light, the people a perfect blend of affluence and excess. Waitresses glide by i