I’ll Burn Anyone (The Challenge Night Series Book 2)

by K. L Mann

  “Holy fucking shit, babe,” I groan, letting myself shoot inside of her as she gasps for breath. She slumps into me, relaxing as Gio let’s her stop.

  “Shower and get dressed, I’ll go check on Marco,” he says, striding out of the room without waiting for a reply.

  Gio

  Fuck that was intense.

  “Hey dickhead, wake up.”

  Marco’s body stirs and he groans, squinting his already shut eyes. Sleeping on the media room couch isn’t the most luxurious way to get over being drunk, but it’s better than nothing, I guess. He seriously needs to get his shit together before I do something about it. And I will do something about it. Especially with how close him and Arianna are.

  “Get up, your mom texted. She wants to sneak off to breakfast with you.”

  That woman is a saint for working around her husband to see him, though I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way. I suppose I don’t blame him. When you grow up with the luxury of a mother, you sometimes take it for granted. Even if they aren’t perfect, they’re still mothers, irreplaceable love.

  “Fucking Christ,” Marco complains, slowly sitting up and glancing at me. He rubs his eyes, processing being awake, I’m sure. “Arianna’s good?”

  “Yeah, more than good, she’s with Luca.”

  “Didn’t need to know that,” he grimaces, rubbing his face. “Heard you’re both dating her now.” A statement, not a question.

  “You heard correctly.”

  He nods. Only nods.

  A simple gesture, full of content or even disinterest. I expected lashing out, threats of violence, screaming even. Maybe a grumble or an eyeroll at least, but no. Marco gives me a nod that only makes me suspicious. Granted, paranoia comes with this lifestyle, but still.

  I’m not good to him. He doesn’t fit in with Lorenzo, Luca and I because he doesn’t want to. He shouldn’t want Arianna to be with either one of us. He should be yelling about how we don’t deserve her because we fucking don’t. I don’t know if there’s a man alive that deserves her and if there was, I’d kill him. He can’t have her. Marco of all people should be fighting this, yet he seems to have already accepted it.

  “What? No complaints? No protests or outrage of any kind?”

  He chuckles. “I don’t know where your wires got crossed, but I don’t have a problem with you. You have a problem with me. And if you actually knew a thing about me, you’d know that I’m nothing like Lorenzo. I want Arianna to be happy, she could do worse than you and Luca.”

  I don’t miss the strange compliment that Arianna could do worse than me. However, I’m more confused by the notion that he thinks I started the tension we have. I definitely did not.

  My eyes narrow instinctively, going on the defensive. “You have a problem with the business that built our families. The business that I help run and will always help run. I am the business. Therefore, you have a problem with me.”

  His head shakes in denial, his jaw tightens and his eyes look almost hurt. “Fucking Christ Gio, I don’t have a problem with the business. I have a problem being a part of it. I couldn’t give less of a fuck about your participation in it.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “You have a problem killing,” I counter. “What’s the matter? Can’t get your hands bloody? Makes you queasy or something?”

  He’s killed before obviously. We all were trained to do it before we were twelve. Still, Marco was reluctant to do it again after his first kill, I remember it so vividly. I couldn’t tell what the hell was wrong with him.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Man up.”

  “You all are so fucking blind,” he curses, standing up from the couch.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t have a fucking problem ending lives, I have a problem with how much I like it!”

  Woah.

  I was not expecting that.

  Fuck.

  “We all–”

  “No!” His head shakes and his hand points to me, shaking along with it. “Don’t give me that crap. You all are numb to it, sometimes it’s a little fun when the guy deserves it or the kill is creative. You don’t enjoy it. You don’t crave it. You don’t have to resist the urge to do challenge night every single fucking day just so you have a ticket to kill and kill and kill. You don’t think about killing like it’s the only thing that can make you happy. It’s not the same. So, please. Give me a fucking break, man.”

  I knew the kid was having an internal battle of some kind but fuck, I didn’t think it was like this. Thinking back to his first kill feels different now. He was probably terrified about how it felt. Confused and scared and I thought he was just being jumpy. He was resisting doing it again. I should have known. We should have known fuck.

  “Okay.”

  I’ve stunned him. His body stills and he pauses.

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay. Take your time adjusting to your battle. We all got shit we gotta fight inside. But just remember, you aren’t fighting it alone. I get that the old man won’t understand, but talk to Lorenzo. Call him. Trust me, he’ll relate more than you think.”

  Lorenzo doesn’t exactly get off on killing, but he enjoys it even more than I do. Probably not more than Marco does, but enough to understand the inner battle.

  “I gotta go meet my mom.”

  “You can talk to me too,” I add quickly as he grabs his phone and keys. “Or Luca if you want someone who’s less of an ass.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, striding toward the exit. “Oh, and be good to my sister or Frebruus will be coming for you, consequences be damned.”

  I have to reward the comment with a smile.

  Frebruus, Italian God of the Dead and purification, the name he’ll bear when he initiates into the family business. It’s been selected for him and I have a feeling that he’ll take it up sooner than later. He’ll be at the next Challenge Night; I can feel it.

  I’ll admit, this conversation has made him less unbearable. I’ve always thought that he stuck his nose up at the idea of being a killer, when I’m reality, he wants nothing more. He’s fighting his own morality alone and I can’t help but pity him. His mother has to sneak off to eat with him for fucks sake.

  Satan would never hurt her, ever. That man loves his wife more than anything, but he’s stern and she wouldn’t want to upset him. Isolating Marco was always a bad idea, but never my place to offer an opinion. I’ve always thought he could use more love, never less.

  Growing up without a mom will do that to you though. Fathers make you strong, and brave, but most of them can’t replace what mothers give you. Love, affection, passion…

  Sure, mamma Vitale has always made me feel at home. She was the only adult who hugged me like a mother hugs her son, but she quickly had Lorenzo to fill that role and I refused to take it from him. Of course, he would have shared his mom with me, he would have shared anything with me.

  We’ve been brothers since my father put him in my arms as an infant. I was only two and I stared down at him like he was the best present anyone could have given me. As much as I wanted a mom, I wanted my brother more. I was damn near obsessed with him, watching his back while we grew up. Despite the fact that he was being brought up to lead the pack, I was his protector for years.

  I didn’t have that connection with Marco. I was already thirteen when he was born; already a killer. Lorenzo couldn’t quite connect with him either, not after the fire. We were forged together even more in the aftermath of it, but it affected him more deeply than me. Marco suffered because of it.

  On top of losing a connection to Lorenzo and I, Arianna was a difficult child. It took a lot of attention away from him growing up. Granted, Arianna felt Lorenzo did the same to her, and it’s not completely false. While she was growing up, the organization of the Vitale Mafia was rocky. We’d been securing new political allies and expanding. Now we’re more solid than ever, but of course, nothing is built without sacrifice
. Satan sacrificed his time with them for their futures and I can’t really blame him.

  The Vitale family is complex to say the least.

  Caterina is fast at work in the kitchen, cutting up fruit and making homemade waffles like the machine that she is. Seriously, I think we all might die without her.

  “Morning.”

  Grabbing a cup of coffee, she smiles and hands it to me. “Have you slept well?”

  She cares so much, you’d think she was our mother despite her age. “For a few hours, yes.”

  “And miss Arianna? Where is she?”

  “They killed me and buried my body in the backyard,” Arianna answers, skipping into the kitchen in a typical pale pink skirt paired with a fuzzy black sweater. “I think they’re stammering over how to tell my parents that I’ve gone missing, but they’ll figure it out.”

  Luca chuckles, walking in behind her. He’s dressed for the day in work attire, black on black. “Babe, we’d never bury your body in the backyard. We’d bury it in someone else’s backyard to omit ourselves as suspects, duh.”

  We wouldn’t bury a body at all, we’d incinerate it.

  Caterina smacks him lightly on the arm as he walks by. “No one will be burying Miss Arianna or I will bake you into a stew and feed you to the crows.”

  Arianna cackles, throwing her head back, jumping into a seat at the counter. “Don’t worry, I’m just teasing. Where’d Marco go?”

  “Breakfast with your mom,” I answer, passing her a cup of coffee.

  She nods, then starts to feast like she’s starving. My mind isn’t on food though, it’s on Marco, because now I have to fix this. Texting Lorenzo feels a bit like betraying some kind of trust, but he didn’t ask me not to say anything. I almost think he needs me to, so I will. Like always, he replies immediately.

  Gio: We need to talk about Marco.

  Lorenzo: Did something happen to him?

  Gio: Physically, no. He said some shit that rocked me today. We haven’t paid close enough attention to him, man.

  Lorenzo: The line is secure, could you be less cryptic?

  Gio: He likes it too much. He doesn’t want to come into the fold because he gets off on cutting lights out.

  Lorenzo: Really?

  Gio: Says he’s tempted to join every second of every day but can’t because it will give him the excuse to do what he’s feeling so damn guilty about. I always assumed it made him queasy since he got all weird after his first. I think we failed him.

  Lorenzo: I’m the worst brother in the universe. Dammit. Katherine and I are coming home in a few days, should we leave earlier?

  Gio: Fuck no, you’re already cutting your honeymoon short. And aside from coming clean about this, he’s been doing better. Him and Arianna are getting along like they used to. They’ve had two get-togethers since her being here. She’s helping.

  Lorenzo: He always did love her the most.

  Gio: She made time for him. We didn’t. But we will, soon. We’ll plan it, but stay and spoil your wife. Fuck knows she deserves it for putting up with you.

  Lorenzo: Dick.

  Gio: You love me.

  Lorenzo: Unfortunately.

  Gio: See you next week, brother.

  Lorenzo: Keep me updated.

  Gio: I’ll send a carrier pigeon with any news of import, your highness.

  Lorenzo: Hilarious.

  Feeling somewhat satisfied with the conversation, I hand the phone to Luca. “Hey, read this email for me.”

  He reads the messages, keeping his face neutral as he discovers the news.

  “Alright princess, we’re going to go work for a few hours,” he lies, well sort of. After reading the messages between myself and Lorenzo, he must have come up with some sort of plan to help. “We’ll be back around seven, okay?”

  “Booo,” she complains then reluctantly smiles. “It’s okay, I’m going to finish my assignments for the rest of the semester today so I don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

  I’m half tempted to tell her not to bother, because if I have it my way she won’t be going back to Milan. There’s no way I’m letting her stay away now. If she wants a degree, I’ll buy her one. If she wants to earn it, she’ll do it from home. She doesn’t like being there anyways.

  We both kiss her goodbye and go get ready.

  Chapter 13: A Private Challenge

  “The most confused you will ever get

  is when you try to convince your heart and spirit

  of something your mind knows is a lie.”

  –Shannon L. Alder

  Luca

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Gio asks for the second time as we pull into the Vitale estate.

  Marco’s car is in the driveway, meaning he’s back from breakfast with his mother and ours for the next few hours.

  “All my ideas are good ideas,” I deadpan, jumping out of the everyday Maserati SUV. I would have driven a flasher sports car today but I need the space for our guest.

  We stride into the house without knocking, and papa Vitale happens to see us in passing. He smiles, happy to have our company. “Gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

  “We’re training that son of yours today,” I boast, smiling wide. “It’s time he dusted off his arrows, don’t you think?”

  The shocked nature of his smile warms my heart. I know he shouldn’t treat Marco the way he does, but I understand why he does it. He isn’t aware that his son is struggling. No, he thinks his own flesh and blood is disgusted by him. It hurts him. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him take an interest in training. What brought this on?”

  “Let’s just say I’m making it interesting for all of us.”

  He smiles again, thanking me silently. “He’s in his room.”

  Gio and I make our way upstairs through the familiar halls. Though I never lived in the estate, I knew it like the back of my hand quickly. Since he turned 15, Marco has been using a secret room as his bedroom. As if it gives him some sort of privacy. As if Lorenzo, Gio and I don’t know what lies behind the dark oak bookcase.

  We didn’t call or text ahead of time, giving him no illusion of this being optional. It’s mandatory as far as I’m concerned, but with my wager, he’ll say yes. He needs to understand there’s more to being a Vitale than death. He needs to know he’s in control of his mind even if he feels like he isn’t.

  Marco’s favorite book is the key to opening the bookshelf door. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Though he can’t quite relate to Rodion Raskolnikov’s impoverished nature, I’m understanding now more than ever why he likes the damn book so much. The mental anguish and moral dilemmas of a killer, the internal struggle with guilt. Though, admittedly, Marco feels guilty for a different reason. He’s always been a lethal little fucker. He has intense instincts, brutal accuracy and a twisted mind that make him a Vitale. But Marco is carrying the burden of believing he’s some sort of sociopath because the thrill of killing makes him happy. We’re here to show him that he’s in control. He doesn’t need to hide from himself. Sociopath, not a sociopath, it doesn’t matter. He’s Marco motherfucking Vitale and he’s going to start acting like it.

  Pulling the book down unlatches the locked door, swinging the shelf open slowly. Marco’s room is a teenager’s room through and through; cluttered and chaotic. He’s got band posters hanging on the walls, a cart of alcohol in the corner, LED lights flicked to purple and his flatscreen that’s far too big to be in a bedroom lit up with Mortal Kombat on his Xbox. Though he's not paying attention to the game at all, he’s scrolling through his phone, not acknowledging us as we step inside.

  “Perfect, you’re already dressed and not drunk,” I praise, grabbing the controller and turning off the game.

  “I was playing that,” he lies, huffing in annoyance. “Arianna is an adult. You don’t need to lecture me about getting her drunk.”

  “Not what we’re here for,” Gio says, folding his arms over his chest.

  “We’re
taking you somewhere. Where’s your bow?”

  Looking up from his phone with his eyebrows pinched together he scoffs. “Why would I need my bow?”

  “Because I’m challenging you.”

  “What?” he splutters. “I’m not doing a challenge night right now.”

  “No challenge night,” I agree quickly. “I’m challenging you, personally. I’m betting I can shoot more targets faster and more accurately with iron sights on a rifle than you can with your bow, Hawkeye.”

  He chuckles at the idea. “Look, I know you’re a hot-shot with a sniper rifle, but that’s the most stupid bet you’ve ever made. I’ll destroy you if you don’t have a scope.”

  “If it’s so stupid you’ll have no problem coming down to the range warehouse and showing me how stupid it is. Dax is setting up right now, so where’s your bow, Oliver Queen?”

  “You want me to put on a show with you?” he asks, a cocky smirk dancing on his lips.

  Oh yeah, I got him now.

  “Yeah, Robin Hood,” Gio answers, returning the cocky attitude. “You putting on a show gets the old man off your back and your blood pumping from something other than booze. Up for the challenge?”

  Marco gets up, ignoring the question and moves around the room to his closet. He disappears into it for a minute and returns holding his answer. His bow, arrows and a he’s changed into boots.

  “Let’s get papa to come, shall we?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me in challenge. “So he can watch his youngest son take on his blondest one.”

  As much as that was meant to be a cocky comment, it felt fucking good. He could have said ‘illegitimate’ one, or otherwise implied I wasn’t his father’s real son because I’m not, but he didn’t. He’s not a cruel person, and that’s why I need to prove his control to him myself.

  “Good idea.”

  Papa Vitale agrees to come of course. Seeing Marco carry the bow was enough to make his mouth part in shock. Mr. Colombo happened to be there as we extended the invitation. The two of them are following behind us in their own car as we pull into the lot. Marco gets out first, his weapons in hand and his phone nowhere in sight. His head is in the game, sucking up the addictive competition in the air.