“So, why can’t Gio do this hit alone?” I ask, wondering if I can find my get out clause. “I mean it’ll be quicker, and this Lenny can been given a real punishment.”
“He knows what a bastard Gio can be,” my father notes, winking at Giovanni. “Whereas you, he’s clueless. Of course, he knows of you, but he won’t care if you’re teasing with some flirtatious banter.”
“C’mon, Amelia, we can get drunk, I can chat up some lovely ladies, you can find a replacement, we can murder, and then get back to the party,” he speaks excitedly, but his further shows how sardonic he really means to be. “You know it’ll be fun.”
I can feel every sharp shard of his mockery. It penetrates like a knife and my irritation becomes unnerving. I’m going to need a lot of alcohol to make it through this evening.
“We can call it brotherly-sisterly bonding,” he adds the final jab, and I snap.
“I said it once,” I start, turning my full attention to Giovanni, “and I’ll say it again: you are not my brother anymore. You’re nothing more than one of his goons to me. So, this is nothing but a hit to me, Giovanni, and after you can sit and drink the night away, but I will be coming straight home.”
“Well, that’s fine as long as I still get to say we killed something,” he remarks, and I roll my eyes and actually feel sick when Giovanni rubs his hands together with glee and says, “Let’s go on a Friday night killing spree.”
***
We stand at the bar, Giovanni nursing a glass of whisky while I look around the club and try to spy the newest Abbiati enemy. Since changing and leaving the house, I’ve strived to keep my mind away from anything Zane related and every time Giovanni’s brought his name up, I’ve done well to squish the subject before we’ve really got to the crux of the matter.
“He’s alone,” I comment, tipping my head to the side as I watch Lenny Rizzo bid farewell to two brute-like men.
Lenny is in his early thirties but doesn’t carry half the weight my brother does. He doesn’t even look like he could throw a punch without breaking himself in half afterwards. He has the mouth of a dirty Italian, but lacks the smarts that come with most of us.
“I’ll be at the other end of the bar waiting on your direction.”
“Distract the bartender when the opportunity arises,” I tell him. There is no direction, just timing. “I’ll give you a pretty little signal if you want one.”
“What would that be?” he asks, curiously watching me. When I flip him my middle finger, he chuckles. “You and I are more alike than you want to admit, Amelia. We could get on like a house on fire if you weren’t so hostile.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter and spin my seat around. I notice the ice in my scotch is already melting away, and I begrudgingly take a sip of my watered down liquor.
I feel myself bristle as someone comes up behind me, and I wait, for what I hope, is the first step to tonight’s plan.
“Hey,” Lenny says as he takes the vacant seat to my right. Already he’s fallen straight into the net. “I saw you looking a little lonely over here.”
“So, you thought you’d take the moment to come and keep my company?” I ask, acting as if I don’t care for him in the slightest. I look at him, my lips pursed, my eyes seductively settling on him. “You made a right choice there.”
“Well, in that case, what can I get you to drink, Doll face?” he asks, leaning in, and I swear he actually fucking inhales as if my scent will have him punch drunk faster than the alcohol in this place.
“Scotch on the rocks will do,” I tell him, running my hand up his thigh.
“A woman who loves her liquor, you are few and far between.” He gives me a short laugh, acting impressed with me.
“I was brought up right,” I seductively utter, as my hand inches closer to his crotch. I know my intent is working when he shifts a little on his stool.
“Two scotches on the rocks, please,” Lenny shouts out to the bartender, his voice taut and gruff. He then stands, pushing his chair back and allowing my hand to fall away from him. “While we wait on those, I’m just going to freshen up. I won’t be two minutes. Add it to my tab.”
“Will do,” I say, and he backs away.
I wave the bartender over as Lenny disappears, and she comes over quickly to take the drink’s order. I tell her to add it to Lenny’s tab, and she leaves me briskly to grab two drinks. When they arrive, I pull Lenny’s drink over toward me, wait for Giovanni to occupy the bartender’s attention and reach for the vial pressed between my breast and bra. I pull it out, pop the lid and look around over my shoulder before looking back down at the brown liquor. I begin to pour, but as the first drip of venom balances wobbly on the lip of the bottle, I realize I can't do this. I try my hardest to tell myself to just drop it in and leave, but my body doesn’t respond to my mind’s commands. For once, my conscience has apparently overridden my entire system, and it’s winning.
I killed who I was meant to – Big Al, Marius, and Jimmy deserved to die. I did justice, now I'm serving a beast with God complex, and I'm unable to it. I’m unable to kill for my father, and the torture is almost too much to bear. My conscience billows awake in a fiery fury and attacks me all at once.
I sit back and suddenly close the vial within my clasped hand. I’m shaking and I’m trying to steady my breathing, but I’m caught in a passionate frenzy between right and wrong.
“Do it,” Giovanni says as he suddenly takes to my side. He shields the rest from the club with his body.
“Back off,” I snarl my retort and roll my shoulders, trying to shake some of the tension growing like concrete through me. What happened to my ability to pour this shit and never think again? Now, I’m sitting here like a coward worried about what this stuff will do to Lenny. I never had that second thought – ever.
Giovanni decides to invade my personal space, and I feel him begin to breathe heavy down my neck. “Just pour the fucking stuff in and get ready to shrug him off.” He whispers the words into my ear and places a hand firmly on the middle of back, making it seems like he’s giving me a nice chat, but really he’s annoying the crap out of me. “Do it,” he whispers, chanting like some wicked devil on my shoulder. “Amelia,” he says my name delicately. “Just do it.”
“Back off,” I repeat my earlier statement.
However, Giovanni won’t let me go. Instead, his hand comes over my shoulder, gripping it, showing his dominating will to break me. He tightens his fingers around me, and I feel him paralyze me a little. I’m unable to move from his grasp as he leers over me and I close my eyes, breathing through the pain radiating from the pressure points he’s applying.
“Just fucking do it,” he states, grinding his teeth together as he does so. He seems to think this tactic will smother me with fear and make me act out of terror. Stupid fool doesn’t seem to realize he doesn’t scare me. “There’s a hot redhead over there I want, and the more time I spend with you, the less chance I get at fucking her,” he speaks while tightening his grasp, and I cringe. “So do it.”
“Hey!” Lenny’s voice breezes toward us, his tone hot with anger as he watches Giovanni apparently all over me – the fact we’re blood relatives is irrelevant. “Get away from my girl!” Lenny exclaims, tapping Giovanni on the shoulder.
“Perfect,” Giovanni whispers and begins to laugh as he turns around.
At first, I was confused, but now I see it as Giovanni’s perfect opportunity to get Lenny outside so he can meet his maker. He turns around, pumps out his chest, and sets his body like a brick wall as he acknowledges the scrawnier man.
“Your girl?” Giovanni asks, brazen nonetheless. “Last I saw she wasn’t wearing a sign.”
Lenny tries to measure up to Giovanni, but my latest kill doesn’t have half the muscle Giovanni has built. This, on the other hand, doesn’t take away from the fact he can assert some attitude. “Well, maybe if she had fucking came onto you first you’d have dibs. She’s mine for the evening. She’ll be sure to remember me co
me morning.”
“I don’t think it’s very nice to treat a beautiful lady like some sort of object,” Giovanni begins enraged at the way the man is speaking about me. To be fair, it’s nice to have him fight for my corner – for show or otherwise. Lenny has treated me like I’m a hot piece of ass he’ll get to drill tonight.
“Well, she is,” Lenny fights, and I wonder if he knows he’s actually digging his own grave. “She’s my object who came onto me first.”
“Fucking, Coglione!” Giovanni bellows at Lenny, taking calculated steps forward with an intimidating stance. “How dare you disrespect my sister like that? Who are you to objectify her? Because the last time I checked, you were a cowardly thief.”
“S-sister?” Lenny stutters, looking over Giovanni’s shoulder at me. When I wave back and smile, he gulps. “I didn’t know.”
“My father said you’d know my face,” Giovanni begins, laughing at the bittersweet irony Lenny has presented us with. “Apparently, you really are one of the dense ones. So, I’m going to spell this out for you,” he starts, stepping forward so it forces Lenny backwards. “Get outside now. Don’t question me. Don’t fucking second guess me. And don’t, and I mean don’t, try to get out of this. Get the fuck outside before this scene gets any worse.”
As Lenny scurries for the door, Giovanni hot on his trail, I force the vial back into my bra, grab my jacket and purse, and run after them. I leave the bar, looking in the direction Giovanni stalked after Lenny, and as I see my incensed brother take our latest victim around the side of the building, I take it as my moment to slip away into the night. I rush away, not looking back, not slowing for anything. I need to get to Zane’s and get him to pack and leave. I need to have him as far away from Manhattan as possible, and I don’t care if I have clothes or not, but I’m leaving with him.
I know not to take the car, as it’ll be the easiest route to finding me. With the cars loaded with GPS tracking, there is no way I can get away without being tracked. I decide public transportation is the only thing left for me to use, and I have to hurry myself.
After my hesitation to kill Lenny and my sudden escape from Giovanni, it’s almost as if my need to flee with Zane is all I can think about. The feeling has flooded me without my knowledge, and the need is suffocating. I have been cast up in this storm, kept in the eye of the storm, protected from the chaos of its hurricane walls, and basked in the bright sunlight that lives beyond the grey clouds. Now, as it all begins to wilt and slip around, I see nothing but brighter days and the calm after a huge storm. I’ve been running for so long, but now I finally feel I can stop. When I get to Zane, the end game will happen. My biggest sacrifice will be him for my family – the decision has been finally made.
For the first time in my life, I live like a normal person. I walk toward the nearest subway, enter with my head held high, and look forward to turning up on Zane’s doorstep as a surprise. He told me I was worth running away with, now I’m telling him he’s worth losing my family for. For all the years I’ve lived under my father’s clutches, there is no way they amount to the last few weeks.
Zane vowed round two would be better than round one, and after minor hiccups, I can say I never want the chance for a round three. I want this state to remain. I want the warmth in my body to fuel me through life. The beating of my heart, the flutter to it has to stay with me because I feel more alive loving Zane than I ever had killing a man. Breathing is easier, happiness is found easier, and I find myself waking with a smile on my face. How do I jeopardize that? The simplest answer is I can’t.
As I sit and allow Manhattan to pass by, the excitement builds in me, but there is a cloud of worry that I’ll be too late. I have to hope this will be quicker than driving across the city to Zane’s place and as the stops whiz past, and I realize we’re getting closer, I only seem to revel in optimism most. It only seems to mount as the next stop is mine.
And as the train slows, I’m on my feet, ready to rush from the subway and up to Zane’s apartment. As the doors slide open, I run from the train and hurry myself up the stone steps toward the street above. When the cool air hits me, I find myself instinctively working my way to his place. All the while I’m ready to kiss the man who I pledge my life to and leave the torment my life has become.
I know his apartment isn’t far from here, and my feet begin to cry at the pressure I’m putting through at running in stilettos. I just hope they don’t give in yet, not when I see the front of his building come into view. I only pick up my pace, and I’m pleased when I see nothing suspicious going on. It makes me believe we’ll get a clean break before my father sends in reinforcement.
I run up his steps, rushing to his floor, key already in hand. I don’t care for the pain in my feet as I do so, I just want to make a swift exit to a better life. I can withdraw some money before anyone knows I’m gone, I can buy new clothes to keep me going, but all I want to do is leave and never have to look back.
And as soon as I’m through the door, I’m asking the most important question of my evening, “How quickly can you pack?” I ask as I push the door closed and turn back to face the apartment.
I’m met with silence, and I look to the kitchen for any signs of life. There isn’t any. I go to look and find Zane nowhere. I hurry my steps and rush into the living room, but again he’s not there. I can’t even hear the shower running as I walk the apartment. My only hope is he’s in bed resting, so I decide to discard of my jacket and bag and head for the bedroom.
“Zane?” I question lightly as I come into the room.
I don’t need a verbal answer as my eyes find him. He’s sitting with his head in his hands, his fingers wrapped tightly around his hair. My nerves quake to life, screaming in their wake that something sinister is amiss.
I brace myself and ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this,” he mutters, his head still held downwards, his voice traveling toward the floor. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore.”
It’s on the third try that I fully hear what he’s saying. I go to question him, but he stands up, slowly looking at me, his hands down at his side. The man who stares at me has no adoration for me. Now, he looks at me like a convict. He looks at me with no rose-colored spectacles, but instead, he looks at me for what I really am – corrupt. I don’t feel loved, I don’t need needed, and all my optimism blackens.
“I know, Amelia,” he begins to say, his tone gruff and hard to hear. I strain my hearing, but wish I hadn’t as he says the one thing that can shatter the entire facade I have lived in for weeks. “I know everything you’ve done.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Know what?” I dumbly ask in response to his statement.
I react by walking toward him as if nothing is wrong when inside all of my alarm bells are ringing a shrill cry. He knows. I swallow hard as my heart is launched into my throat, and I beg that it won’t imminently crash to the floor and shatter into irreparable pieces. When I’m met with Zane’s glare, I know I’ve just cognitively announced my own ending here.
“Everything,” he says and takes a moment before turning his back to me to pace across the room. "I went in to discuss when I could go back to work. But while I was there I wanted to get your father's file and make it disappear, but somehow that never happened." He runs a hand over his face tiresomely. "Want to know why?"
I hesitate but respond shakily, "Why?"
“Because their biggest case is the attack of Femme Fatale,” he states, his tone cutthroat, his eyes shooting daggers. “Apparently just over four weeks ago she took out two men at once and then took out one of Mahattan’s most wanted gang lords. Who just so happens to have direct links to a certain Abbiati leader.”
“It’s not what you think,” I tell him, finding it harder to comprehend a thing. “I had to.”
“Because Daddy said so?” he snaps viciously, and I react by flinching at the harsh tone. “Did he tell you he had to or he’d sell you again or what?”
<
br /> I shake my head, roll my watering eyes, and beg my voice to carry. “I chose to kill all three of them.”
“Why?” he asks, his voice becoming gruffer by the second. “Why did you choose to kill three men?”
“Because they tried to take you away from me!” I break and tell him, my voice piercing with how distraught I’m feeling as I remember how Big Al taunted me over Zane’s death. “They planned to kill you to save my family from breaking up because you’re an issue. But you’re not, not to me! If they could plan it, anyone could, so I decided to kill them how I knew how to make sure you were untouchable.”
“Did it work?” he asks, by his voice I can tell he’s not buying any of this. “Well, did it, Amelia? Did it work?!”
“Almost,” I whisper, trying to find some conviction to work with. I dare myself to look back at him, to rile up some bravado. “My father still wants you dead, but I eliminated the other threats until I could get the all clear for us.”
“It’s too late for that!” Zane bellows, and I see how enraged he is by my deceit. “You said you were a monster, and I fought in your corner because I thought I was your only hit. The only hit that was making you fucking abstain from that life. I’m a fucking detective; I would have had protection from thugs like those!”
“But you didn’t, did you?” I ask him, snapping at him now. “They didn’t protect you when you were ambushed on purpose. No one kept you and Billy safe when you were shot four fucking times, Zane! You nearly died, and I nearly died with you, and it was too much.” I now dissolve into tears as I remember that collapsing weight that fell upon me when Enzo announced Zane had been shot. “I couldn’t do anything to save you, but I could do everything to make sure it never happened again. And I did just that.” I now find my voice; I find my fight. “Yes, I killed them in cold blood, but I did that to buy us more time. I did it to protect you. I did it because when my life spiraled out of control, it was all I knew what to do.”
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