Loathe Me

by LP Lovell

  “Thanks.”

  He nods, opening the back door of a Range Rover for me. Climbing inside, I still when I see a man I don’t recognize at the wheel. His dark hair and olive skin resemble home, and it makes me uneasy. My senses are on high alert right now, not only because my sister came to get me, but she flew me halfway across the world. She won’t say why, but it’s never been so bad that I couldn’t just go home and remain behind my father’s protective walls.

  Slowly, I reach for the door handle, tugging it. It doesn’t budge, and I pull it harder. The man’s eyes meet mine in the mirror.

  “Would you like to get out?” he asks. He speaks Italian, but his accent is wrong.

  The door on the other side of the car opens, and Gabi gets in, attached to her phone once again. “Gio.” She leans forward to kiss the man’s cheek.

  “Gabriella,” he says, offering her a slow nod.

  My sister always tries to be strong, ironclad, just as my father demands. But as I watch her interact with this man, this stranger, I can see the cracks showing.

  The car pulls away, and we wind through the horrendous New York traffic. Vehicles line up and shuffle forward, inch by inch, never really gaining ground. I crane my neck to follow the sleek lines of the buildings that reach endlessly into the sky as though they could touch heaven. They’re so close together, and I imagine if one were to fall, it would be like dominoes until the entire city was flattened. After nearly an hour of crawling down streets, we pull up outside a modern skyscraper. The whole building is a glass blade, erupting from the ground, the mirrored exterior reflecting the image of my sister and I getting out of the car.

  Gio gets out, handing off the keys. The Italian straightens the jacket of his tailored suit before fastening the buttons. I don’t miss the outline of a weapon holstered beneath his arm. The way his gaze darts around puts me on edge, and I wonder if I should expect danger here.

  We’re guided to an elevator, and he slides a card into a slot in the wall. There are no buttons, just that slot. The tiny screen changes and the numbers rise as we climb, endlessly. When we reach the fortieth floor, there’s a ping, and the doors glide open revealing a penthouse that makes my jaw drop. My family is wealthy, but this…this is another level. Gio walks through the lobby and into a huge kitchen with a breakfast bar in the center. The exterior walls are floor to ceiling glass, with the city stretching out beneath us. A castle in the sky.

  We’re led into a living room with a dividing wall that houses a floating fireplace. A giant white leather corner sofa dominates the area, yet it’s still dwarfed by the sheer scale of the penthouse.

  “Wait here,” Gio says, before disappearing.

  “Where are we?” I ask Gabi.

  She simply shakes her head, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. I take a seat and fold my hands in my lap like the good, obedient little sister she wants me to be. Clearly, I’m not worthy of basic information like why the hell we just flew halfway across the world at a moment’s notice. My temper simmers just below the surface, but I keep a lid on it. I don’t know where we are or who we’re here to see. Until I do, I need to remain calm and keep my mouth shut.

  Footsteps tap over the marble before Gio rounds the corner with another man behind him. The second the man walks into the room, it’s like he sucks all the air from the colossal space. My father has this kind of presence. When he’s mad, everyone around him can sense it, feel it, and absolutely pays attention. This man has that effect, but it’s a constant. An ominous vibe that reaches out and taints the air ahead of him.

  “Nero,” Gabi breathes, and my memory jolts at the name.

  Gabi studied in New York for a year. She stayed with one of Daddy’s friends, Viola Santos, and Nero was her son. Gabi was seventeen at the time, and she said she was going to marry him. I glance from my sister to this man and back again. The way she looks at him; it’s as though he hung the moon. Despite the danger that clings to him like a second skin, he’s handsome, beautiful even. Classically tall, dark and handsome with eyes the exact same color as honey. The suit he wears clutches every hard plane of his body perfectly.

  “Gabriella,” he greets her, kissing her cheek once. She ducks her head, but I don’t miss her blush.

  “This is my sister, Adelina. This is Nero Verdi.”

  He turns his attention to me, and I want to retreat under that intense stare. “Adelina. I haven’t seen you since you were a baby.” I find my own face heating, and I feel ridiculous.

  I nod. “Nice to meet you…again.”

  His lips quirk into the shadow of a smile before he looks away, dismissing me. “Would you like to discuss business, Gabriella?”

  “I only came to ask a favour, Nero.”

  “Oh?”

  “I need you to protect Adelina.”

  “What?” I blurt.

  Gabi’s pity-filled gaze meets mine and my stomach knots. She looks at Nero once more, emotion washing from her features easily.

  “The Bianchi family want her.”

  Nero’s eyes narrow, and he thrusts his hands into his pants pockets. “Why?”

  Gabi’s eyes slide to me and back again.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Years ago, my father agreed to wed Adelina to Salvatore Bianchi’s oldest son, Enrique.”

  No, Daddy would never do that. “You’re lying!” I snap.

  She closes her eyes, exhaling a sharp breath.

  “He was buying time,” Nero muses.

  Gabi nods. “The Bianchi’s have been growing for years, making deals with the Italians, expanding territory. Daddy was trying to make an ally of them, in case they gained too much power.” She looks at me again. “He let you play with Enrique. He hoped that the marriage would be a good fit, that you would love him of your own accord.” Oh, God. No.

  “Enrique Bianchi is a psychopath.”

  “I know. And Daddy knew…knows. But the original agreement said that you would wed on your twenty-first birthday.” That’s in two months. “They recently tried to meet and make final arrangements.”

  I feel sick. All at once, I’m angry, sad, hurt, confused, betrayed. I’ve always felt safe, despite knowing what my father did and what our family was involved in. Now, that safety suddenly feels like a lie or maybe just an illusion. My father was ready to sell me like a broodmare. My sister knew. As I push myself to my feet, my eyes fly around the penthouse, looking for an escape. Across the room, there’s a balcony that wraps around the side of the building. I turn and stride toward the door.

  “Adelina!”

  “I need a minute.” I yank the door open and step outside. Ice-cold wind instantly blasts me, calming the thoughts racing through my mind. I don’t want to think anymore. No matter how I spin it, I always arrive at the same conclusion: my father is not the man I think he is.

  3

  Sasha

  New York greets me with a blare of sirens and the incessant drone of traffic. Stepping out of my car, I hand the keys to the valet who leans over to take them. He mumbles something to the effect of “have a good day,” under his breath before he scrambles away to the car.

  I step inside the ostentatious lobby of Nero and Una’s building. I never thought Una would live this life, that we would have any life outside of our duties and orders. We observed people like Nero Verdi, watched them in their ivory towers while planning all the ways we would end their lives. And now here we are.

  As soon as the elevator doors open, I find a man standing in the entrance hall. He turns at my approach, reaching for a weapon.

  My gun is pressed to his temple before he even gets his free of the holster. “Don’t,” I warn.

  He slowly raises both hands, rambling in Italian.

  “Sasha.” Nero appears in the kitchen doorway with a woman beside him. “He’s with Gabriella.” Nero gestures to the woman, and I cock a brow. “So, don’t shoot him,” he says on an exasperated sigh.

  I lower the gun and put it
in the waistband of my jeans. “Gabriella, this is Sasha.”

  The girl steps forward with more bravado than I expected. She has the long, inky black hair of Italian women and dark eyes almost the same color. She’s a stranger, and yet I know her face. Gabriella Ricci. Heir to a Sicilian crime family.

  "Nice to meet you.” She extends her hand.

  I’ll never understand why people insist on touching each other. In my world, a stranger’s touch equals death.

  "Uh." Nero steps forward, angling his body between myself and the girl. "I wouldn’t. Sasha doesn't like to be touched." His body language is protective, and I narrow my eyes.

  I like Nero, but I would cut every limb from his body before I let him hurt Una. Of course, he could never harm her physically. The thought is laughable, but my adoptive sister has become fragile over recent years, her emotions like an exposed nerve. Nero very much has the power to damage her.

  "Who is she?" I ask. I know who she is, but I want to know who she is to him.

  Nero's eyes meet mine, and that storm that continually rages inside him now rumbles like thunder before the inevitable strike of lightning. If there's one thing I know about the Italian mob boss, it's that he hates to be challenged, and I’m testing him. I’d be lying if I said the thought of fighting him doesn’t regularly dance through my mind. I miss the bloodlust that comes with being a soldier, and Nero’s ruthless nature would feed that desire well. His suits and looks are a masterful guise for what he really is.

  "Gabriella is an old friend."

  I know little of normal human emotions, at least not what they feel like, a result of my training. However, I was taught to read them in others, spot ties between people, weaknesses. Gabriella doesn’t look at Nero like he’s a friend. There’s a tie there—she’s weak for him.

  Wordlessly. I walk past the three of them and head for the stairs that lead to the bedrooms.

  "Sasha,” Nero barks at my back. “I have a job for you."

  I pause. "I don’t work for you.” I work with Una and for myself.

  "It’s a contract. Gabriella's sister, Adelina needs protection." I turn around and find him looking at Gabriella. "As I’m sure you understand, I cannot directly protect your sister myself." Of course, he won’t jeopardize his petty politics. I’m not sure how the mafia doesn’t tire of their incessant lines drawn in the sand. “I trust Sasha completely. He saved my son.” His gaze swings to mine, and he gives the slightest of nods. Mutual respect passes between us, but respect or not, I’m not a babysitter. “He comes at a price of course.”

  “I can pay you. Anything." Her voice is controlled, but her eyes plead with me to help her.

  "Do you need someone dead?"

  Her brow crumples on confusion. "No."

  "Then you have nothing to pay me for.” I walk away, making my way up the stairs. I pass Dante’s room and pause at the sound of his care-free laughter. Through the door, I can see the house-keeper, Margo sitting in the rocking chair, bouncing him on her knee. One of Nero’s Doberman’s, George waits dutifully, watching the child like a hawk.

  “Oh, Sasha.” Margo spots me, and the older woman pushes out of the chair with a groan. “Will you watch him for a minute?” She thrusts the child into my arms and leaves the room.

  Dante watches me in that uninhibited, fascinated way of his. His eyes are the same strange violet shade as Una’s, but he has Nero’s jet-black hair. Dante and I share a bond of sorts. He forced me to make a choice between my life of duty and what’s right. I chose him. The thought of him growing up the same way Una and I did made me realize that what was done to us was wrong. I don’t regret it. It made me strong. Honestly, I still miss it, but I’m glad Dante isn’t in that. I turned my back on the only life I’d ever known and chose Una. I chose the love I didn’t even realize I possessed for her until that moment. We were trained to be invincible, unwavering, and yet this child broke me free of shackles I couldn’t even see.

  A floorboard creaks behind me, and I instinctively press Dante tightly to my chest, reaching for my gun as I whirl around. Nero leans against the doorframe with his hands shoved in his pockets and a smirk on his lips. “Una would have that gun to my head by now.”

  “She’s faster.”

  His eyes drop to his son, and the hard, implacable man disappears, replaced by a doting father. I lift Dante and hand him over to his father.

  “That girl needs protection, Sasha. There’s no one better than you.”

  “I’m an assassin, not a babysitter.”

  He huffs a laugh. “Semantics. She just needs deadly.”

  I frown. “Why do you care so much?” Nero cares about very little. His loyalties are frivolous and easily swayed to whoever benefits him in that exact moment.

  “Her father was a dear friend to my mother. A good man,” he says, his gaze focused on his son. “He used to dote on those girls like the very world orbited them.”

  “Who is Gabriella to you?” I cross my arms, and Nero meets my eyes as he inhales a deep breath. “She doesn’t look at you like a friend.”

  “I loved her once.”

  I swipe a hand down my face, blowing out a long breath. “You must not like her very much, anymore,” I say under my breath. If Una finds out… “Does Una know?”

  He snorts. “I like my balls attached to my body, Sasha. Una doesn’t need to know everything, but I’m asking you to do this for me. You’ll be paid well. It’s like any other job.”

  Except it isn’t, but Una clearly doesn’t tell him everything, either. Otherwise, he’d see the gaping conflict here. For once, Nero seems sincere, as though this actually means something to him. It’s rare for him to be invested in anyone other than the people under this roof or himself. He’s done a lot for me, given me a home, a family. It’s not as simple as just saying no. I owe him everything. And if I tell him why I shouldn’t do it, I might be dropping Una in it. She’s like a sister to me. I owe her even more than I do him. Shit.

  “I owe you a debt,” I admit.

  He shakes his head. “No, my friend. I owe you for bringing my son back. I can never repay that, but my position with the Sicilians is difficult. Italians can’t directly interfere in Sicilian affairs. To do so puts me in the crosshairs, and in turn, puts my family in jeopardy.”

  “They aren’t stupid. If I’m near her, you’ll be implicated.”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “But arguably, you work for hire. It’s plausible deniability on my part.”

  Damn it, I can’t say no, and the look on his face says he knows I won’t. “Brief me.”

  A slow smile works over his lips, reminding me why I prefer dealing with Una. The Italian is far too good at manipulation. I think he could persuade someone to shoot themselves if he so wished.

  He’s manipulated me into a position I really do not want to be in.

  4

  Adelina

  The cold chills every inch of my body, but I don’t care. It numbs me and makes me feel alive, all at once. The whoosh of mother nature is occasionally interrupted by the echo of a car’s horn in the streets far below. My fingers wrap around the glass edge of the balcony. There’s something invigorating about the perception that I could step right out into an endless sky. I wish I could.

  Gabriella’s words play through my mind on repeat. My father agreed to marry me. I have to wonder how I didn’t know about this. But then…maybe I did.

  A memory tugs at the corners of my mind, buried and long forgotten, but there nonetheless. I close my eyes, and I’m eight years old, running through my family home with my sister.

  We weren’t supposed to be in the office. Daddy would be angry if he found us. At the back of the office, there was a secret cupboard. He said if bad men ever came into the house, we were to go there and hide.

  Gabi pushed the wood, and it opened, revealing the hidden hiding spot. As soon as we were inside, she slid it closed behind us. It was dark, and at only eight years old, I was convinced the monsters were waiting to get me. I
heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and held my breath in case Enrique found us. Enrique and his brother Alberto had come to our house to play, but Enrique stamped on my bunny and Gabi punched him in the nose. He said he was going to kill us, so we ran. I think I was more scared of Daddy than Enrique though. Daddy would be mad because you’re supposed to be polite to guests. I didn’t want to be polite to Enrique.

  “So, Eduardo, let’s talk business,” a voice said.

  The office door shut. “Yes. Please. Take a seat.” Daddy’s voice was easily recognizable.

  I didn’t want to be in that dark cupboard. I disn’t like it. “Gabi,” I whispered.

  “Shh.”

  “It’s dark.”

  “Shhh.” She put her hand over my mouth. “Stop being a baby.” The tiny bit of light that crept through the crack between the wooden door highlighted her angry face, and I could see her shake her head at me.

  Daddy and his friend were talking, and we were listening. Mama used to say that it’s rude to eavesdrop, but Gabi would say it’s only rude if they find out you did it. Mama said Jesus knows. I didn’t want Jesus to know I was a dirty eavesdropper. I was so focused on that thought, that I didn’t really pay attention to what my father was saying.

  “Adelina.” Daddy said my name, and I froze, terrified that he knew where I was. He’s know I was a bad girl, and it would be all Gabi’s fault.

  “The younger one?” his friend asked.

  I waited on baited breath, convinced we’d been found out. The secret door didn’t open, and Daddy didn’t come for us.

  “Yes. Gabriella will take over for me. It will be Adelina.” Daddy sounded sad, and I didn’t like it.

  “Then it is done. When she is twenty-one, they will be wed. We will unite our families.”

  The man…the man was Salvatore Bianchi. It’s true. It’s all true, and that stings.