Fade

by Haley Ladawn

  “Close your eyes.” He whispered softly and I obliged, seeing no reason to argue.

  “Wait.” I opened my eyes momentarily, my breathing growing more labored by the second. “I have one last dying wish.”

  “What is it, cara mia?” He seemed puzzled by my declaration, but he didn’t question it. “Farò di tutto per voi.”

  “Tell me something sweet.” I smiled faintly, taking his hand in mine. His Italian words sounded like a beautiful lullaby, willing me to fall asleep. My eyes grew heavier by the second, as did my breathing. “Something good.”

  “I think I’ve been in love with you since the very first moment I saw you.” His voice was low, but just loud enough for me to hear. “If I didn’t love you then, I know I love you now.”

  It took everything in me to lift my head up to look at him, but I forced myself to. I needed to see his face. I searched his eyes and mouth for signs of sarcasm or quick wit, but there was nothing of that there. There was only a dying man with a serious expression.

  “You know, it’s not very nice to lie to a dying person.” I leaned back, waiting for a punch line that never came.

  “I’m not lying, fiorella, not anymore.” His hand found my cheek, caressing soothing circles right along my jaw. “Close your eyes.”

  I did, but this time, it felt like I was falling.

  I felt sudden movement all around me, but I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes. I was floating freely, feeling some sort of peace overtaking every fiber of my being. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want to wake up.

  “Where are we going?” The words barely came out of my mouth, but I knew he could hear me.

  Elliot’s lips touched my forehead, kissing me tenderly, then he whispered, “Away.”

  Chapter 33: Fake Your Death

  Elliot’s Point of View

  Six Days Later

  My feet hit the soil with a giant thud sound, reminding me of the resonating noise of loud gunshots going off. In the twenty years I’d been alive, I’d grown accustomed to the deafening racket of a gun being fired, to the point where guns only reminded me of wind chimes. They were just there to make some noise, and to kill people. People like Sylvio James and my brother Emmet— bottom feeders— who would destroy their families for the sake of money and power.

  The thing is, men like me, men who’ve reigned for so long, will not give up their throne so easily. This was the kind of kingdom where you’d have to kill the king and all his men to reach the crown. My brother may have shot me, but he didn’t shoot the hundreds of men waiting at my disposal. He didn’t have the firepower, or the internal power, to have what it took to defeat an entire mafia family. An entire kingdom.

  The cemetery dirt covered my swarthy dress shoes in a thick inch of filth, as I stepped out of the black limousine. In the back of the hollowed-out vehicle, sat two wooden caskets with familiar names engraved on them. I’d paid a crew of workers to bury them for me, not wanting to get my hands any dirtier than they already were, as if that were even possible.

  My hands were hands that killed, marked with blood and lost ambition. They weren’t the hands of a worker, only the hands of a killer. The same two hands that countless people held, were the same two hands that wrapped around their throats, killing them.

  In numerous ways, I was exactly like my twin brother, and it wasn’t just our physical features that linked us together. It was the taste for blood and money. We wanted things that weren’t ours, and instead of working for them, we took them by any means necessary. It’s how we were taught to live, how we were taught to survive. It was a kill or be killed world-you were either the lion or the gazelle— and we always chose to be lions. It was unfortunate for the people who crossed our paths, the ones who couldn’t run away fast enough.

  “Why do you think he did it?” A very bruised and scarred Gabriel stepped out of the car behind me, walking with a limp in his step. My brother had fractured his kneecaps with a golf club several days before. They weren’t exactly healed yet, and there was always the possibility that he’d never walk the same again.

  Still, it was a small price to pay when you took into consideration the fact that his life could’ve easily been taken away from him instead. If I had decided to let Connor live, maybe the two of them could have had the happily ever after they always dreamed of. Although, I had a tough time seeing myself giving someone something I’d never have myself. A happy ending.

  “Jealousy,” I answered instinctually, not giving it too much thought. To me, it was an obvious explanation. “It makes you crazy, then it makes you weak.”

  “Guess that fucker only got to see the crazy part…,” he said despite himself, quickly catching his mistake. Disrespect to the family’s name, however it may be, was not tolerated by any means. Most people got their tongues cut out if they said something even slightly questionable. “Sorry, boss, really—”

  “He almost killed you.” I cut him off with the wave of my right hand, silencing him completely. “Call him whatever the fuck you want. Hell, I wouldn’t even try to stop you if you wanted to kill him.”

  “You wouldn’t?” He raised an eyebrow, seeming genuinely confused with my response.

  “No.” I shrugged without much commitment, looking him directly in the eyes. It was a sign of strength and truth, only a weak or lying man would avoid simple eye contact. “I’d help you kill him.”

  “Sign me the fuck up!” My older brother, Everet, stepped out of his own black Aston Martin, walking like he wasn’t still recovering from a nearly fatal wound. For being in his late twenties, he had the energy of a teenager. I admired it and loathed it at the same time. “Blood isn’t always thicker than water.”

  “Sì.” I nodded in agreement, looking at the white gold Rolex on my wrist. Sometimes, I wanted to smash the thing to pieces when time went by too slowly. It didn’t matter to me that it was worth more than most people’s annual salaries. As time went on, I found myself hating money more and more, more accurately hating what it drove people to do. I wasn’t sure if it was the root of all evil, but I imagined it had to be close. “We should start the funeral ceremony soon.”

  I grabbed the crisp red roses from the hood of the limousine, wishing I’d bought white lilies instead. It would’ve fit her personality better, but she was always my fiorella. My rose who had thorns so sharp, but a heart so big. A rose who wilted beneath my touch, because I was more poison than I was a cure.

  The blood on my hands killed everything I ever touched… it killed her.

  I didn’t want life in my hands anymore. I wanted it on my fingertips. Enough to feel it, but not enough to destroy it.

  ***

  I smelled like soil and single malt scotch by the time I made it back to the estate, having drowned my sorrows in a good wave of alcohol, before I poured some over the fresh graves.

  At that time, we weren’t just burying bodies, we were burying lies.

  I made my way up the grand staircase, slightly intoxicated, but not drunk. You couldn’t get hammered in this kind of life, not unless you wanted to die. If you didn’t kill yourself, someone else would. It was as simple as that.

  Besides, no one ever took a drunken man serious, anyway.

  Loosening the tie around my neck, I tossed it to the ground, then I rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt. I needed to get out of these clothes, take a scolding hot shower, get nice and clean, and wash away my feral sins. Too bad it wasn’t that easy.

  It wasn’t that I felt bad for myself-I felt bad for her. It wasn’t pity either. I respected her too damn much to pity her. It was something else. Something that I’d never felt for anyone else. Something I’d probably never feel again.

  The only sound that echoed through the mansion was the nervous tapping of my feet against the marble floors. I wanted nothing more than to turn around, but I had to face the damage I’d caused. There were some things in life that you couldn’t walk away from, and this was one of them. No matter how hard I tried, I
couldn’t walk away from her.

  Taking a deep breath, I knocked on my bedroom door, giving her a warning upon my arrival. Though it was my room and my space, she’d turned it into her hideaway. I was just happy to see that she was making herself at home when it was clear that she no longer had a real place to call home. When her mother died, all hopes of Lily having a normal life died with her.

  I knew it because I’d gone through the same exact thing. When my father was murdered, I was tied to a life of crime and revenge. The man I could’ve been was no more, being replaced by a lesser version of himself.

  It was what had drawn me to Lily in the first place. My father had sent me to watch her father when I was nothing but a boy. He owed our family some funds, and my father wanted me to make sure he didn’t try to skip town. So, I watched him from a distance every single day. Apparently, I didn’t watch him good enough, because he managed to pull out an assault rifle and shoot my father in the back three times.

  That’s why— with the help of my brother—I orchestrated a hit on Sylvio James. Little did I know, the man I’d hired was his son. I guess that just proves that some coincidences aren’t really coincidences at all, like when I’d sent Lily an internship for the college my family owned. I wanted to meet her, and I wanted to break her for what her father did. I blamed her for something that wasn’t her fault, and that was one of my most unfortunate mistakes.

  She was sitting on my bed with a photo album on her lap, looking through old pictures of me when I was a young boy. I had no idea where she found those embarrassing pictures, but that was the least of my worries.

  As if feeling my looming presence, she closed the album quickly, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. A lot had changed about her, but she still managed to be timid one moment and outspoken the next.

  “Is it done?” She wasted no time in asking the question that must’ve been running through her mind for the past couple hours. The sorrow look in her eyes made a painful tightness seize my throat. “Did you, do it?”

  I nodded quickly— enough to satisfy her curiosity, but enough to show her that I didn’t want to talk about it either.

  “Thank you,” she said simply, but somehow gratefully as if I deserved her gratitude. I didn’t. She gave me what looked like the faintest makings of a smile as she slid off my bed. Ever since getting shot by my brother’s keeper, or whatever that whore Margo was, Lily made a habit of sleeping in my room. I think she believed that I could protect her, little did she know that I was the one hurting her. “I couldn’t do it myself.”

  She could’ve but she didn’t want to—couldn’t say that I blamed her. When my father was killed, I made my brother bury him. I couldn’t face the reality that he was gone, and that’s exactly what Lily was doing. That’s why she asked me to bury her mother and didn’t bother going to the funeral. She tried to skip the grieving part, but I could see the sadness behind her emerald eyes, even if she buried it deeper than the grave that her mother was lying in.

  “What about me?” She raised her thin eyebrows, taking a step closer to me. An oversized t-shirt clung to her curvy frame, billowing in the wind behind her. I had a tough time focusing on her exposed body when I noticed the opened window behind her tall silhouette.

  I told her several times that she shouldn’t leave the damn windows opened, but she never listened. You never knew who could come into your house uninvited.

  “What about you, cara mia?” I questioned, feeling truly confused. Her expression was serious, but an out of place smirk that tugged at her lips. She was playing mind games with me and I wasn’t falling for it.

  “Did you do me?” Her tongue jetted out to wet her plump lips, moving teasingly along her opened mouth. It was a cruel invitation that I wanted to take full advantage of, but I contained myself quickly. After everything that happened, I knew where my boundaries were, and for once, I decided to stay inside them.

  “Did I, do you?” I wasn’t usually one to repeat someone repeatedly, but I had absolutely no idea what she was going on about, other than her obvious pass at sexual innuendos.

  “Why do you keep repeating everything I say?” She crossed her arms over her chest, inadvertently pushing her full breasts up. I felt my eyes drop lower as her tone got louder, making my body hard in the worst of places. “I’m asking if you… you know… did you…”

  She brought her hand to her throat, making a slicing motion near her jugular. I stared at her blankly, wondering what in the hell she was trying to communicate. It was like she was using sign language.

  “Words, fiorella, use your words.” I folded my hands in front of me, amused by the anger that flashed through her green eyes. It was insane how fast the sadness had disappeared, being replaced by frustration and annoyance.

  “I’m asking if you faked my death, stronzo!” she shouted, giving me her middle finger. My first thought was to break it. “You were supposed to bury me with my mother and make it look like some kind of horrible accident. You said it was the only way to be safe from my father… to make him think that that I was dead right along with my brother. Did you do it or not?”

  Her cheeks were rosy red, just the way I liked them. They were as red as the blood that pulsed through her fragile veins, red as the roses I put on her fake grave, red as the messy waves of her hair, red as the nail polish that coated her nails… everything about her was red…

  I pulled a thin sheet of paper and a tiny plastic card out of my black suit, handing them over to her. They were hers after all. A death certificate for Lily (no middle name) James and an ID for the girl that she was going to become.

  She stared down at the ID, her mouth hanging open in surprise. I wondered if they spelled the name wrong or something. Antonio, the man who created it, made the best damn fake ID’s on the planet, but the idiot couldn’t spell for shit. He’d once spelled the name Bob as Boob… idiota.

  “You named me Rose?” Her eyes lifted from the card, shooting me daggers. Somehow her hostility didn’t make me upset. It only left me turned on, thinking about how exactly she’d take her anger out on me. Hitting me, scratching me, fucking me. All of it seemed good to me.

  I shrugged, leaning against the wall absentmindedly. “Rose Vitale, gattina.”

  She tossed the ID onto the bed behind her, taking wide steps toward me. It was amusing, seeing someone as silly as her try to be even remotely scary. It didn’t work, but in her defense, I wasn’t easily frightened.

  Her chest was heaving, most likely due to her anger, but I couldn’t help but notice how her breasts rose and fell beneath me. Judging by the outline of her nipples, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  I moved past her, being careful not to grace her bad side. Our wounds were nearly parallel, so I knew exactly where to avoid touching her. I grabbed her by the hips, pulling her against me, letting her feel every part of me through my dark suit. Her body was tense, but she seemed to relax in my gentle hold.

  Turning around, so that her chest was against mine, she caressed smooth circles all the way from biceps to my neck. Her touch was feather light, but damn did it have an impact on me.

  “What are you writing?” I asked when her fingers strayed from their usual pattern, creating something new. When she didn’t answer, my fingers found hers, stopping them from moving. “Fiorella?”

  She dropped her fingers quickly, looking away. The cold sadness in her eyes replaced the anger once again, making my heart wrench.

  She took a breath and whispered, “I wrote I love you because I’m too afraid to say it out loud…”

  I searched her face for some hint of sarcasm, something to prove that she was just trying to get a rise out of me, but there was nothing there. All that I noticed was a sense of vulnerability. That same sensitivity I’d felt when I said those words to her a week ago. Although then, I wasn’t so sure if those words rang true.

  It wasn’t until she was lying on a hospital bed, unconscious, that those three words managed to make some sense to me. I’d grow
n up learning how to hate, but someone was finally teaching me how to love.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter now that Lily is dead.” She looked at the falsified death certificate, shaking her head back and forth. Her auburn hair hung loosely against her face. “I wanted you to love me as Lily, but I want you to fuck me as Rose.”

  “Excuse me?” I furrowed my brows, more than surprised by the course of this conversation. It had gone from loving to fucking faster that I could keep up with.

  Her hands fell to her sides, lifting the thin t-shirt that kept her modest. She was unveiling the most intimate parts of herself to me. First, it was the heartache that consumed her. Now, it was her naked body. Slowly but surely, the fabric exposed more of her milky skin, leaving me paralyzed in front of her. I wanted to grab her hands and stop her, but did I really? The answer was no.

  My gaze traveled along her naked body, drinking her in like I was dehydrated. I marveled at every curvature, becoming hypnotized by every highlight. She was beautiful, not in the way fashion models were, but in the way art was. She had a timeless feel to her, a quality that was scarce.

  My jaw tensed as I tried to hide the way that she was affecting me.

  “Did you not hear me?” Her eyes flickered to mine, urging me to look at her. “Earth to Elliot? Come through? Can you hear me? Hello?”

  “I can hear you perfectly fine, gattina,” I growled, moving my smoldering gaze away from her taut breasts. “But you don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”

  “I’m asking you to sleep with me, and to give me some kind of pleasure during all this hurt.” She closed the distance between us, running her finger along my jaw teasingly. “I need it… I need you.”

  If she’d been any other woman, I would’ve had her face down in the bed by now, but she wasn’t. She was Lily, a delicate flower that needed to be touched in the right way. She couldn’t be handled too roughly, or I’d risk breaking her. She needed care, love, and light.