Scars and Silk 1 (The Calvetti Crime Family)

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Scars and Silk 1 (The Calvetti Crime Family) Page 5

by Rose Harper


  “Yes,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

  “Don’t even think about hurting her. I will gut you like a fish if I even see one hair on her head missing.”

  Letting out a bout of sarcastic laughter, I reply, “You told me to keep her safe, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing, asshole. You do things your way, and I do them mine. And just so you know, if this takes too long, I will take matters into my own hands. There won’t be a threat if she’s six feet under. You as well as the rest of them, know I hate the very ground this bitch walks on. You knew I’d rather see her dead than protect her. If something happens to her, then it’s all on you. I warned you motherfuckers.”

  And I had, on the night of my initiation. We were asked a series of questions, noting our value to the organization. We didn’t need to be vetted, because we all come from upstanding crime familias. I made it plain as day to them what I would do if I were put in this situation. Just the thought takes me back to that night, remembering all the things that happened that led me to where I am today.

  “Gavino Marcellus Calvetti, do you take the oath of the Brotherhood?”

  “Sì,” I stoically reply.

  “Do you swear to uphold our name, belief, and creed?”

  “Sì.”

  “Do you promise to put the assignment before yourself, even if it means walking through hell’s flame?”

  “Sì, ma ho una richiesta,” I answer. “Yes, but I have one request.”

  “What one request might that be?” the Papa asks, glaring over his thin-rimmed glasses.

  “Io uccido facilmente, ma la protezione non è qualcosa che conosco. Mi assegni per proteggere, ucciderò. La mia mente non vede altro modo,” I murmur, glancing up at him. “I kill easily, but protection is not something I know. You assign me to protect, I will kill. My mind sees no other way.”

  “You can kill, yes. That is the main reason we were thrilled to have you. However, protecting someone comes with the job, Gavino.”

  “Mettimi in missione, ad eccezione della protezione. Uccidere, torturare, uccidere ... Farò tutto. Solo non protezione. Tutto tranne quello.” My eyes lock with my grandfather’s, hating the fact I know his true identity and loathing I have to keep it a secret. “Put me on any mission you require, except protection. Killing, torture, murder ... I'll do it all. Just not protection. Anything but that.”

  “You will do what we tell you to do or fear honoring your familia! Do you understand me? Your request will be looked into, but I cannot play God. One of these days, you will be in this situation, and when that day comes, you need to remember what it is you want and how far you are willing to go to reach it.”

  “Capisco, nonno. Ma ti dirò questo: se c'è mai bisogno di proteggere una femmina di nome Skylah Bow, la ucciderò. Era la mia dannazione, ma io sarò la sua condanna a morte. Scegliere saggiamente,” I return, forcefully. “I understand, grandfather. But I will tell you this: if there ever is a need to protect a female named Skylah Bow, I will kill her. She was my damnation, but I will be her death sentence. Choose wisely.”

  And that is exactly what I aim to do. I’ve always been a man of my word. In all things. But especially in this.

  She has no idea the darkness she awakened that night. The demons she made me face when I had to look at myself in the mirror; the words carved into my chest and cuts littering a majority of my body.

  How can you be a saint, when your body is scarred with the letters: D-E-V-I-L?

  How can you show someone compassion, when all you were shown was cruelty?

  How can you love, when the emotion brought you nothing but hate?

  The answer is—you can’t.

  You simply turn into the monster they wanted you to be, relishing the fear you evoke. You earn the right to be called an emotionless, sadistic animal just like they said you were.

  They wanted me like this; I’m just fulfilling their wish. And I’ll take every goddamn one of them down with me, starting with her.

  10

  SKYLAH

  Flutter. The feeling of my subconscious pushing to the back of my mind as my consciousness wakes after an amazing sleep.

  Shock. What races through my veins like ice when I remember everything that happened.

  When did I fall asleep? How could I? I’m in the belly of the beast with no way out—now is definitely not the time to sleep.

  My eyes open. Everything around me is a haze of blurriness, as I right myself on … the softest bed known to man. The feeling of the sheets as they caress my naked body is like what chocolate does to a woman going through her monthly visit from Aunt Flow.

  It feels absolutely amazing; the best night of sleep I’ve had in years. But the situation is less than desired.

  Wait a minute … Shooting up in the bed, an ache forms at the crown of my skull, instantly making me hiss out a breath of pain as my fingers fly into my hair. A small cut meets my fingertips, and I pull them away, seeing just a smidgen of blood coating them.

  Eyes widening, I tunnel my fingers back into my hair in search of one thing. God, please. When my fingers trail over the plastic connected to my ear, I sigh in relief. Flipping it on, I clench my teeth as the outdated equipment sounds hum to life.

  I try to remember what happened that got me to this place, but for the life of me, I can’t. The last thing I remember is Gavino pushing me back into the trunk with so much force it shot the air from my lungs on impact. My breath whooshed out of me just as … just as …

  I can’t remember. That’s the last memory I can muster to the surface.

  Did he hit me?

  Smother me into catalepsy?

  As much as I try to remember, the answer still eludes me. But I’m here, in this …

  My eyes widen at the sight before me, while I take it in with nothing but utter disbelief radiating through my mind. The fear I’ve felt ever since I saw that man murdered right in front of me is back full force. It’s almost too much for me to take, causing my heart to beat an unnatural rhythm as I fight to keep my breathing under control.

  All around me is concrete—rough gritty cinderblocks. They make up a small room no bigger than the bathroom at my studio apartment uptown. The walls look old, worn, and murky. The floors are nothing more than filthy dirt. The steady dripping comes from a pipe at the very top of the ceiling, with a metal bowl just underneath, as if it’s been planted there for that very reason.

  Cool, stagnant air greets my naked flesh, causing my nipples to harden and goose bumps to break out along the surface of my skin. Hurriedly, I yank the grit-coated duvet up to cover myself; the white, crisp satin fabric doing little to take away that I’m basically buried in a hole with no way out.

  How did I get here? What did I do to deserve this?

  The sound of heavy chains grazing across wood greets me, making my gaze jerk to the side of the room. My eyes roam over the expanse of the wall, searching. Only, I don’t see anything. There’s no wood to speak of. It’s all heavy concrete, tangible in its proof of holding me captive.

  “H-Hello?” I whisper, hearing nothing more than the daunting noise of chains grating against the lumber. “G-G-Gavino!” I accidentally yell, my voice ringing off the walls.

  It’s so quiet … so ominous. I’ve never seen a place like this before in my life. Of course, I read about them in those dark romantic suspense novels about the anti-hero kidnapping the heroine, but I never thought my life would turn into an actual fictional book.

  I’ve never done anything that would cause my life to become so unglued. Always the straight A student, star citizen—nothing I’ve ever done in my life would’ve given me the inkling that I would end up in this type of situation.

  A situation where I’m fighting for what little life I do have.

  It’s not fair.

  It makes me want to spit out the cruelest words known to man, allowing everyone an inside peek at the tumultuous emotions resting just beneath the surface.

&nbs
p; I wish I could say I earned every bit of this. I wish I could say that whatever grudge Gavino holds against me is warranted. But I can’t. The truth is, I don’t know why he acts this way toward me. Why his eyes were filled with so much venom when his father came to collect him and his brothers from our school.

  The only thing I’ve had to go on since that dreadful day is the fact he left without a trace, without any sign of emotion resting on his face. He just walked past me as if I didn’t matter to him, when days before, we were each other’s everything.

  At least, he was mine.

  Thinking of him leads my mind astray. The way his eyes used to lock on mine, holding me captive in every way imaginable. How his touch lit a fire inside of me, the flames threatening to engulf me.

  It also leads my mind down the road of the aftermath. To the boy I dated—to the one I thought had died—yet, was plain as day in front of me in the library.

  His eyes were vacant, emotionless as he pulled the trigger. He wore his hair the same as he did in high school, the sides trimmed with the top of his head just a little longer and slicked back. The same chiseled jawline that now holds just a dusting of hair.

  To the man who tried to put me back together after Gavino shattered every part of me worth anything.

  I remember seeing his face. The pain that resided in his eyes as he drew his last breath. I remember holding his hand, even as the police came out of nowhere, startling me. I remember and agonize over losing the one person—besides Gavino—who brought a light into my life.

  He saved me, and the only thing I could do was watch him die in my arms.

  Static pierces through my thoughts, causing me to cringe as I hold my ear. My hearing is still sensitive for going without my hearing aid for a period of time. The tears that were building in my eyes fall down my cheeks in earnest, and the only thing I can do is silently wipe them away. Getting rid of them so there isn’t a trace of them left on my scalding cheeks.

  “Do you know why you’re in here?” Gavino’s crackly voice noisily blasts through the room.

  Quaking in fear, I shake my head from side to side as if he can see me. Hiccupping on a sob, I almost lose it right then and there, barely holding onto that last shred of strength I have left.

  Even though he hates me, for God knows what reason, he was supposed to protect me. Father Avery assured me the men he called would send someone to watch over me while they find the man who did this.

  I didn’t expect them to give me to the one person I never expected to ever see again.

  “Do you really want to play this game, Sky?” he asks, his voice rough with anger. “Because I can assure you, you won’t like what I do to you if that is the case.”

  Licking my chapped lips, I glance upward. “No.” It comes out as nothing more than a whisper. “I don’t know why I’m in here. You were supposed to protect me.”

  Sadistic laughter echoes through the speakers I still can’t seem to locate. It’s as if they’re everywhere without being anywhere all at the same time.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. They want me to protect you, but I want to make you pay.”

  Pay for what? What did I do?

  “I don’t understand. Y-You’re supposed to be the good guy,” I say, stammering over myself as I huddle into the corner of my bed.

  Being with Gavino used to give me a sense of safety, warmth, love. Now, the only thing connected to his name is fear, coldness, and hatred.

  He’s nothing like the boy I fell in love with in high school. He’s changed. Became something almost unrecognizable. And now, I’m having a hard time wondering if I was running away from the threat or racing straight toward it.

  “We’re going to have fun, you and me. Better be ready, because you’re going to pay for every fucking thing you’ve ever done to me and my familia. And this time, no Hail Mary is going to save you. Your only redemption will be through death.”

  THANK YOU

  Thank you for reading Scars and Silk 1. I hope you loved it as much as I loved writing it, and I can’t wait until you’re fully able to dive into my next book Scars and Silk 2.

  More by Rose Harper:

  www.authorroseharper.wixsite.com/books/

  Now, flip the page to read where it all began with the first

  THREE chapters in Blood and Secrets.

  ©2018 Rose Harper, Blood and Secrets 1

  1

  CARINA

  My eyes track his every movement.

  No matter what I do, I can feel the heat of his proximity like he’s standing right next to me, breathing down my neck. I can feel the burn of his fingers as if they’re sliding across my body, instead of his bottom lip. His presence lights a fire within me, filling me with intrigue to know more. To find out everything I can about him.

  Techno illuminations swirl through the air, their stunning insignias gleaming off the den floor, red drapes, and various decorations strewn over every available surface my parents could place them. Music pumps through the surround sound with enough bass it vibrates my chest as it plays awful, outdated carols filled with whimsical tales of Christmas.

  It’s meant to be enchanting, dreamlike. But, whoever thought playing this was going to be the life of the party is clearly tone-deaf and planning for a snooze fest instead. There’s absolutely no rhythm or beat to it, and everyone is loitering around, talking amongst themselves, as if they’re in a museum rather than a party. It’s positively dreadful.

  Casting my eyes back in their direction, my heart flutters as I seek him out once more. Just the sight of him is like a burst of heroin in my veins. I want to relish the sting of the needle as it pierces my flesh, feeling the toxic liquid unhurriedly pump into my veins as I crest up the hill to euphoria over and over again. Even with distractions all around me, I can’t seem to keep my eyes off him. He’s an enigma, begging to be solved.

  This man must be important; otherwise, my father wouldn’t give him the time of day. My father is soaking up the few words he uses to acknowledge him like he can’t get enough. I find it weird my father exudes the patience of a saint when normally, he pitches a man-sized tantrum filled with revenge and death if he doesn’t get his way.

  In retrospect, my father would remind you of a big man child, which is the only way I can describe it. He’s hard, menacing, and deadly on the outside. Yet soft, whiny, and a complete and total toddler on the inside. He always gets his way, and if he doesn’t, then I’m the one left cleaning up the mess. I’m the one spending minutes, hours, days, months awake; exhausted, starving, and alone until it’s all straightened out.

  Clearly, this man doesn’t give two shits about what my father can do—or better yet, what he can cause with the snap of his fingers. Because for the last fifteen minutes, he’s been standing in the same spot, sipping quietly from his tumbler as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s like he’s doing the people around him a favor by being here, and they should bow down to his feet. I can’t stand someone like that. People who believe they’re better than everyone else when really, they can stand to fall down a few pegs from the pedestal they built for themselves.

  Movement from my left causes me to cower in the darkness more, hoping I haven’t been spotted. My father will shit if I’m made. I’m not supposed to be down here, enjoying the sights and sounds of Christmas. Instead, I’m supposed to be in the basement, never to be seen by anyone unless he deems it necessary. They say it’s for my protection; for protection of what I am. I don’t understand it, probably never will. But still, even through it all, keeping me their dirty little secret still smarts more than anything he’s ever done to me.

  “Darling, have you met Mateo Calvetti?” I hear my father ask, gesturing toward the man who holds my attention.

  Mateo Calvetti? His name sounds as mysterious and foreign as he looks. It suits him perfectly and piques my interest all the more. His regal Italian features scream money and power as he stands aloof in a three-piece fitted suit. His chiseled frame fills it
flawlessly, from his broad, masculine shoulders, all the way to his trim, tapered waist. His jet-black hair is short on the sides and comes to rest in a faux hawk at the top, while a bit of manly stubble graces his model perfect jawline. He’s the epitome of perfection. And for the first time ever, my body takes notice as it aches in places it’s never ached before.

  Peeking through the shadows, I see my mother smiling brightly at him. Seeing her so happy to meet someone causes a bout of anger to surface inside of me. She’s never been this excited to see me as she is this stranger, and it pisses me off to no end that she’s showing him the attention she’s never bothered to show me. Who is this man? A man I’ve never met before but can evoke such emotion from the ice queen herself?

  Taking his outstretched hand, she gives it a firm shake. “I don’t believe we have. I had the pleasure of meeting your father, but not you. Hello.”

  “Ciao,” he replies, his deep, rich voice causing a shiver to race from my head to the very bottoms of my feet. His voice is so mesmerizing.

  “What brings you out on Christmas Eve, Mateo?”

  Mateo’s response causes my heart to flutter and my breath to catch. The low, cavernous baritone of his voice can only be described as fierce, determined, calculated—yet, soft, smooth, and delicious.

  The ache at the apex of my thighs flames higher, as my nipples pebble with obvious desire. I’ve never seen anyone quite like this man, and my deprived body is taking notice with extreme clarity.

  This reaction—I’ve never felt it toward anything in my life. Not my heart picking up its pace or my body aching for a single touch. It’s different. But a kind of different I can quickly become accustomed to. It’s heady, delicious, and I would like nothing more than to explore everything it has to offer.

  “Do you have any news?” he asks my mother, slowly sipping from his drink.

 

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