Femme Fatale Loved (Pericolo #3)

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  “She’s turning soft,” Carlo points out, albeit sarcastically. “That baby’s messing with her.”

  “I just fancy leaving with one final threat,” I say as we turn into the driveway of the Abbiati mansion.

  “Well, this is the shithole of all shitholes,” Dante comments, leaning forward between the two front seats to get a closer look. “He still lives in there?”

  “Yup,” I say, quick and precise. “It’s amazing what can happen in a year.”

  “We’re discussing the Gio visit later,” Enzo scolds; I can sense he’s uncomfortable with my choice of actions.

  “Let’s get through with this first.”

  Enzo pulls up in front of the large front doors. Turning off the engine, he waits as we all clamber out and walk up the steps. We all still have our keys, but they’re usually locked tightly away in a safe at Bruno’s work so we have no constant link with this house. They’re kept there purely for safekeeping, and they’ve been used more in the past two weeks than they have in the last year.

  “Think I’ll go and shock him.”

  Dante goes ahead, rushing for the noises coming from the kitchen. I can hear the absolute animation in his voice as if he’s going to get some kicks out of this reappearance in Sal’s life.

  “Wow, Uncle Sal, what you’ve done with this house,” we hear Dante’s voice resound. “The decoration here isn’t quite as nice as I remember.”

  I want to laugh, but once I’m in the kitchen, there is no reason to find humor. My father stands, keeping himself propped up by the counter on the other side of the house, looking as if he’s seen a ghost. Technically, he has. No one ever passed on the memo of Dante’s false death due to who my father was and where he stood in command; knowing about Dante would have been a fatal error. My father looks all of his seventy years, clearly not helped much by the intake of excessive alcohol. He looks gaunt, and that sadness that I had seen before is now an overwhelming feat on him.

  “Something wrong, Uncle Sal?” Dante asks, stepping into the room.

  “Stop right there!” Sal curses, putting a hand up to stop Dante. “Y-you’re dead,” he stammers. “You were pulled from the remains with Marcello. You died!”

  “See, about that,” Dante starts, smiling awfully happy over this. “I killed him in order to get free, so you could class yourself lucky that your children aren’t quite so murderous. I don’t know whose body was dragged out.”

  My father scoffs, still not quite believing what’s right in front of his eyes – as per fucking usual. He stumbles some as he makes his way across the room, and I feel a throb of embarrassment rock over me. The downfall of a man sighted as a king is shameful.

  “It’s nice to see you spent your money we sent back well,” Carlo jokes, quipping sardonically.

  My father only moves to grab the bottle of whiskey and a dirty glass from the sink. “You sending the money back only helped with replenishing the liquor cabinet.”

  “Now, why are you here?” he asks, sloshing his drink around as he waves his glass in the air. “I’m sure it’s not to tell me that Dante fucking Valentino is a traitor.”

  “I’m not a traitor,” Dante defies. A mirthful laugh crawls from his throat, unwilling to allow my father to mock him. “Not like my grandfather was, anyway. I fought for what was good. Getting rid of men like Marcello Valentino was a plus, but you’re right, that’s not why we’re here.”

  “Gio’s back,” Enzo snaps, focusing on my father in order to see his reaction. “Did you know?”

  “No,” my father responds, a little too fast.

  “He came back for Amelia,” Enzo continues, his tone lashing as if he’s already condemned my father as a guilty man. “He was lucky Zane’s able to throw a good punch or God knows what would have happened.”

  I stay at the back, out of the way, guarded fiercely. However, it doesn’t take long for my father to find me, to seek me out. The man who looks at me, finding me in the crowd, is a stranger to me. Even compared to the man he was when we came back only a few weeks ago. This man is laying on rock bottom; he can’t sink further.

  “I didn’t know,” he says, the conviction rolls off his tongue so believingly. “I didn’t send him to you, bambina. He’s been with your uncle all this time, but I’ve not known anything else. Alberto kept quiet on the issue, but I’ve had no hand in Gio and what’s happened to him this past year. I understand how volatile this time of year is for you all.”

  “I don’t think you do, Sal,” Bruno leers, his demeanor mirroring Enzo. “We wouldn’t describe it as volatile. We’ve been brought closer together over the past few months, even more so over the past few days due to revelations. Gio coming back was a prime opportunity to seek the closure we’ve all needed.”

  “He’s in the hospital,” Carlo states coldly. “I made sure that he will pay for what he’s done after his release. I made sure he keeps quiet on all matters too that could incriminate us all. He’s been sorted.”

  Taking a gulp of his drink, my father slams the tumbler down upon the marble counter. “Well, I’m glad he’s been dealt with.”

  He doesn’t say any more, and any hope left alive in the smoldering embers is now completely disintegrated. In losing us, he lost his fight, and I feel we’ll never see Salvatore Abbiati at his greatest ever again.

  “You’re going to be that final?” I ask, distrust swelling into distaste. “Even now, with your opportunity to attempt to fix things, you just give up.”

  “What do you want from me, Amelia?” he asks, his question almost cutting. “I can’t do anything to win my family back. I realize that.”

  “Maybe not, but I just wanted you to fight for us,” I comment, my head shaking with disappointment. “Call me stupid, but it’d have been nice to see you make us a priority in your life. You fought for all the wrong people all our lives, and even now, even after we left, you gave up entirely.” I never thought my disappointment toward this man could manifest, but being in his presence proves me wrong. “Did you ever love us?”

  He looks physically wounded. “All I ever did was love you.”

  “You didn’t,” I say. I don’t even shout. My fight is lost. “If you did, you’d have stopped the Dio Lavoro years ago. Instead, you just prided yourself on the reputation you held with others. You picked us off one by one to do your bidding. You never loved us when you put us in dangerous situations that would only end better for you.”

  “Amelia,” he says, interrupting me.

  I put my hand up, unwilling to hear any more of his bullshit. “No, there is too much to forgive, but the fact that you won’t even try for us is the biggest killer of all.”

  “Would it make a difference if I did?”

  No, my inner voice beckons evilly. “I don’t know,” I say, my tone a whimper. “But we’ll never know when you’re still the same man you always were.” I start to step back, ready to leave. “I can’t stay here any longer; the smell alone is making me want to vomit. That man’s pity doesn’t help.”

  I leave, feeling everyone behind me, but still no sound of my father fighting for us.

  I walk away, once again disappointed by his conjecture

  “I told you it wasn’t worth your breath.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I come bearing scaloppine al marsala just how Madre used to make it.”

  I set the large glass dish down on the table directly in front of me, unwrapping it to allow the steam to billow out, filling the room with the scent of the old recipe. I lean in, drawing in a huge inhale as I animatedly indulge in the scent.

  “Smell that?” I ask, fanning my hand over the dish to make the smell waft across the room. “Do you, Giovanni? It smells just like how Madre made it when we were kids.”

  “I smell it all right,” Gio grunts, pushing himself up in the hospital bed. “What the fuck are you doing here, Amelia? You’re not wanted.”

  “Oh, I know that,” I say cheerfully, putting my hands either side of the table at the
end of his bed. “But you know me, Giovanni, always was one to strike up an appearance when I was least wanted or needed.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “I wanted to visit,” I say, ignorant that my motive isn’t that innocent. “I mean, you can’t be getting many visitors, so thought I’d make one friendly face.”

  “You’re anything but my friend,” he growls, his face contorting with rage.

  “You’re right,” I chirp in agreement, smiling. “I’m family ... just anyway.” I sense my sunny disposition is striking a nerve with Gio, and I grin harder. “I couldn’t make your absolute favorite. Every time I tried, I wanted to be sick. I bought the clams, especially for spaghetti alle vongole. I even had the recipe out ready for it, but every time I went near the clams on the side, I just kept running to the bathroom.” I pout, trying to be empathetic, but I can feel I’m being cynical. “Because you see, Giovanni, my unborn child just kept making me throw up.” I watch as his eyes become enlarged with shock, and while he remains quiet, I can’t help but laugh. “That’s right, even my child seems to take a disliking to anything that has your name on it.”

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “Well done,” I mock, clapping my hands together.

  “So are you here to tell me of your newfound happy state?” he queries, his bruised and swollen face pulls together in confusion. “Because I realized Zane’s all too willing to be a man now.”

  “Well, we’ve come on a long way since then.”

  “Let’s quit with this,” Gio interjects, pushing himself up on the bed. He grunts, supporting his ribs as he sits up, and although I want to stop him, I allow him to endure some pain. “I came to warn you,” Giovanni suddenly states. “So can we stop this and just talk?” he asks, and although I’m shocked and unable to speak, I feel the doubt ball in me. “Someone’s out for blood, Amelia. Your blood!”

  “No, they’re not,” I reply, laughing at his lunatic notion.

  “Why else would I come back?” His ability to still blow hot and cold with me is insufferable. “I don’t want to win you back; I just know what I heard and knew you had to know. Someone is plotting something big against you for someone you killed. I know what I did, but you’re still my family. I can’t let someone willingly hurt you.”

  “Shut up!” I bellow, throwing my hands up. “What makes you think I can ever believe a word that comes out of your mouth?”

  “Because I am still your brother.”

  “Were,” I state, interjecting into his tirade. “You were my brother. Now, you’re a stranger to me. You’re a murderer. We might be bound by blood, but you are nothing more than that. I will never believe a word you have to say. You can’t play god with my life like you did and still think you can. You can’t decide one day you want me dead, and then the next, you want to be my hero!”

  I now regret coming here. He lays there, no more than a few feet before me.

  “You’ll regret this, Amelia,” Giovanni snarls at me. “I’m trying to save you!”

  “I don’t need saving.” My statement is brusquely spoken, and immediately, my skin begins to crawl. The man who wanted me dead this day a year ago now wants to save my life. “Why do you always have to come in and shatter my life?”

  “I’m not trying to shatter your life, Amelia!” He grunts at the overexertion. “Amelia, I regret killing Manuel, and I regret what I did to you. I’ve spent the last year repenting.” His grief could spew from him in rivers, but I will never forgive him. “I went to church, and I confessed my sins. I struggled to find my way back to you, but I did.”

  “By force feeding me lies!” I bellow, losing my cool completely. “I can’t do this; this isn’t fair.”

  I decide to show him how unforgiving I can be. There has been a lot in my past that forces me to hate every fiber of his being, and I do loathe him. Standing here, listening to him break me down with threats and confessions that he has still got a soul, I find I only become enraged, and as I feel the blood rushing through me, I know I have to leave.

  I pick up my bag, throw it under my arm, and head for the door. He struggles to get my attention, but I give him no interest. I can’t. Instead, I stick to my guns and decide I can’t fall for anything he has to say. I cannot listen to the careless whispers of the devil’s greatest advocate.

  “By the way, I had a leftover bottle of that poison you used to concoct,” I say, shrugging nonchalantly as if it’s no big deal. “Thought it might add that final kick to the flavor.”

  His entire face falls, diminishing his fight. “You wouldn’t,” Gio dares to disbelieve me.

  “You can never tell with an Abbiati,” I say; my voice travels fierce and strong, and I worship the Amelia Abbiati who has bravely come back to life. “Good-bye, Giovanni. It used to be lovely knowing you.” I stand in the doorway and offer him a sad smile. This is the final moment of my relationship with my brother. After this, I am officially done with anything that revolves around him. “Don’t expect to see me again.”

  I leave the room with my head held high, listening to him weakly calling out for me. I don’t stop with my exit; I even smile brightly at Zane as he notices me emerging from the room so quickly. I didn’t expect to be in there long, but this was quicker than I had thought.

  “Amelia?”

  As the name catches in my hearing, I see Zane’s face become crestfallen before it darkens with thunderous intent. He’s up on his feet and advancing with wide strides to get back to me; gaining speed as a hand wraps around my wrist. Unlike any other man in my life, my uncle’s grip is unforgiving. I know it too well, and I turn to face him

  “Want to tell me why you’re touching me?” I ask, my breaths become shallow enough that I heave them in short, sharp bursts.

  “I want to know what you’re doing here.”

  “Paying a murderer a visit,” I reply, studying my uncle. “What about you?” I ask, looking at my father as he stands beside his brother. “Coming for a family meeting?”

  I know my uncle has a grip on me, but while Zane stands behind me, tall and ready, my father looks indifferent. Why I seem surprised will always be beyond me, but I use this moment to narrow my attention solely on him.

  “Nice to see you’ve found your way into a shower and decided to sober up.” My need to make a mockery of my father makes me feel better, especially as my uncle tightens his grip. I look down at his hand on mine and look back up at him, feeling ready to attack. “Now, get your hand off me.”

  “I could’ve made such a woman out of you,” Alberto leers, a threatening manner to him as he leans in. “You’d have been a warrior if you’d have just listened to me.”

  “I don’t classify a warrior as a murderer.” My light sarcasm whips around him, and I watch his annoyance trigger. “Now, get off me.”

  He releases me with force, throwing my hand away from him. I fix him with a glassy stare, but it doesn’t last long. I look at my father, taking a cautious step back to situate myself closer to Zane. I know he could be deemed as tame, as allowing me to remain unprotected, but we also know that I can handle myself – pregnant or not.

  “If you want to do something of purpose, you make sure what he told me isn’t true.” I watch as a curiosity hits my father’s eyes, igniting something lost within him. “You make sure there is never a threat against my brothers or me. You make sure he is a liar.”

  “Amelia, I don’t have that type of power,” my father explains, a fearsome thunder striking him. “Let’s think rationally here.”

  “Oh, I am,” I agree with him. “However, I also remember the man my father used to be. The man who used to strike fear in everyone who entered a room he was in. The one who would make sure his family was invincible.” I know I’m asking for miracles from a man I’ve shunned, but if he wants to make right in a lonely world, he’ll need to start now. “You used to do anything to protect us; that I won’t ever forget. You may have pushed us to our limits, but you made us untouchable.” I feel my e
yes narrow on him, watching him intently. “Rebuild your life, Sal, and stop being such a lowlife.” I turn to my uncle who’s radiating anger the more I speak. “Oh, and Uncle Al,” I begin, ready to rile him more. “Touch me like that again and I won’t be so polite.”

  “You’re nothing but a little girl to me,” he states, jeering with the delight of intimidating me. He even grabs me again, this time, tighter than before, but this time, my father’s entire body changes as he becomes enraged. “I could terrify you with one breath, you pathetic being.”

  “So could I ... I was taught by the best,” I say, squaring up to him, and while I sense Zane bristle somewhat behind me, I’m not afraid. “I may not like what I was made to do, but I am well aware of how to do it. I learned some lifelong skills while in Amalfi Coast, Alberto. Don’t go forgetting that you were my teacher.” I’m mocking him while I can, but he’s also angering me with his manhandling. “Now, get your hand off me.”

  “Alberto,” my father growls between gritted teeth, “let my daughter go.”

  “You heard the little lady,” Zane’s voice is a sonic boom into the tense moment, but I’ve never been so thankful to hear it.

  “Ah, the Zane Maverick, so he finally speaks,” my uncle mockingly takes note of Zane’s arrival at my side. He finally releases his grip, centering himself on Zane. “How does it feel to be the corrupter of a strong family?”

  Zane sniggers at the ludicrous nature of that question. “If one man can be the downfall of such a formidable family, I beg to question its strength.” He coughs, clearing his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “If it had any to start with.”

  “We’re only as strong as our members,” Alberto remarks, trying to keep a voice full of pride.

  “And it would appear they all jumped ship,” Zane replies, keeping his manner sweet and polite. “I know you don’t like me, Alberto. It’s never been a secret, but your family has some fatal flaws. Maybe you can rebuild knowing that you are strengthened by loss and your new awareness of all you did wrong.”

  “You only came in to destroy us all,” Alberto sneers. I know he feels threatened by Zane, and right now, it could be perceived that Zane is being judgemental, but he’s offering a clearer view of what’s going on.