Loathe Me

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Loathe Me Page 9

by LP Lovell


  Once outside, I cross the street and go to the car. From there, I watch it all unfold. Chaos ensues in front of the club as people run like the devil himself is chasing them. And then, just as I anticipated, Bianchi’s men rush outside, guns drawn. I don’t see him through the crowd until he’s ushered into the first car. A few seconds later, the two Mercedes are speeding down the cobblestone street. I check my watch. Two minutes. I start the car and follow at a safe distance.

  Five, four, three, two, one.

  I slam on my brakes just as the first car erupts into a ball of fire. The second collides into the back of it before exploding seconds later.

  The distant wail of fire engines can be heard in the distance, and people stop, getting out of their cars as though they could possibly do anything to help. The men inside are long dead.

  I turn left onto a back road, heading back to Adelina. It’s done. Enrique Bianchi is dead.

  10

  Adelina

  Listening intently, I wait for the front door to click shut before I move. Stretching as far as my restraints allow, I reach for the nightstand. Just a little further. My wrist screams in protest as I strain against the metal cuff, but I manage to reach the drawer and the face cream inside. One final lunge and I snag the bottle, but It feels like all my joints pop at the same time.

  I slather the lotion around the cuff, working it underneath the metal. I take my time, working it millimeter by precious millimetre. The widest part of my hand is of course the most difficult, and I grit my teeth when the I feel the delicate bones strain and squeeze together. But the sweet relief of freedom is worth the pain.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel smug right now. Men have a tendency to underestimate me- Sasha certainly isn’t the first. Daddy once tried to handcuff me in my room to keep me from seeing a boy. I didn’t even like the boy that much; I just wanted to rebel. The more my father tried to stop me, the more determined I was to defy him. I really thought Sasha was starting to trust me a little. I grab my pre-packed bag from under the bed where I stashed it.

  Sasha is going after Enrique Bianchi. He may not have said it, but I’m not stupid. I grew up in a mafia family, and I know how it works. We’re in Sicily, the stronghold of the Bianchi family. I saw him loading weapons in the car earlier. And he’s a killer tasked with protecting me. The logical conclusion is that he’s going to kill Enrique. I can’t imagine any other reason for me to bring me to Sicily; endanger me to protect me. I’m not sure how that will play out with my family, but personally, it’s a win-win. Enrique dies, then I’m no longer part of some pre-historic marriage pact, and I don’t need that Russian psychopath watching me like an errant child. Daddy will be able to come home. Gabi won’t have to sacrifice herself, and everything will be as it should.

  Sasha’s current pre-occupation also means I can now get to my sister, hopefully before she does something stupid. He may kill Enrique, but if I know the Bianchi’s, it won’t be that straight forward. They’re powerful, bordering on untouchable. Until that man is confirmed dead, I’m at risk, and Gabi will sacrifice herself to save me. I know she will. She’s been doing it our entire lives.

  I now have a few hours head start to get back home to Mondello. And I know I’ll need it. I fully expect Sasha to hunt me down like a dog with a scent.

  The alarm goes off, startling me; I had no idea he’d fixed it. I hurry to the garage and try to pull the front panel off the box, but it’s sealed shut. Damn it. Scrambling around, I find a toolbox and try to open it in the hope of finding a hammer. It’s locked, so I panic and pick up the entire steel box. It’s heavy, but I lift it, and swing it back, driving it into the plastic on the wall. I have to smash it three times, but finally, the alarm cuts out. It likely alerted his phone, which means I have to move fast.

  I jog through the house and out the front door. The driveway winds down a hillside that seems to go on forever. The road is illuminated by the silvery gray of the moon, and it would be tranquil if it weren’t for the adrenaline firing through my veins. Cicadas chirp in the nearby long grass, and the occasional firefly buzzes past. The scent of jasmine blends with the subtle smoke of a distant bonfire. I inhale it all deep into my lungs, embracing the sense of freedom I’ve been so sorely deprived of. At the bottom of the hill, I see signs of civilization and other houses. The tiny villas are dotted along the sparse road, their driveways winding off like roots from a tree. I spot a car parked in front of a garage and debate stealing it but decide against it. It’s too rural out here, and an engine sputtering to life won’t go unnoticed.

  Carrying on, I jog down the road until the streets become busier. People pass as they go about their evening, couples walk hand in hand, and friends laugh as they make their way to dinner. I feel like a dead girl walking, a ghost roaming amongst the living, envious of their care-free night. I want to go home to my family, eat dinner with them, kiss them goodnight. Instead, I’m running away from my bodyguard as he tries to hunt down the man that wants to force me into marriage. All while chasing my sister to try and convince her not to offer herself into said marriage. Oh, and my father is hiding like a coward. I try to be understanding, but as the days go on, I find myself more resentful of Daddy. No part of me understands how he can sit back and allow any of this to happen.

  I glance down the quieter side streets until I find one that cuts off the main road and down toward the ocean. There are a few cars parked at the end. It’s so narrow that the banged-up vehicles are touching the wall, most missing side mirrors from being carelessly swiped. I spot a little Fiat and unzip my bag, removing the metal coat hanger I stashed there earlier. I slide it between the window and cracked the seal, catching the lock and releasing it in a matter of seconds. Lorenzo taught me how to do this. He believed it was an important skill Gabi and I needed in case we ever found ourselves in a situation where we needed to run. Of course, we then used it to steal Daddy’s cars for joyrides in our teenage years.

  I climb inside the little red car and yank the plastic panel away beneath the steering wheel. I dig in my bag and find the kitchen knife I stole. Severing the wires, I strip the plastic off the end, touching them. The engine coughs, so I twist them together. The car sputters to life with reluctance, and I touch the accelerator to give it a bit of life. I anxiously search the surrounding area, convinced someone is about to run out to drag me from their car. I pull away and turn around, heading back up the perilously narrow street until I’m on the main road. I’m nearly there, now to just make the two-hour drive home.

  The house is a beacon of light. I haven’t been here in over a year, and I’ve missed it. The limestone villa sits high in the hills, overlooking the city of Mondello. It’s really more like a mansion. Daddy built it for Mama. She loved it, and when she died, he could never bring himself to leave. It’s the only home I’ve ever known, and I can’t believe he would allow the Bianchi’s to chase him from it.

  I pull up to the tall metal gates and two figures separate from the shadows, their rifles firmly clasped in front of them. I wind down the window and Tony, one of the younger men in my father’s employ, approaches the gate.

  His brows pull together in confusion. “Miss Adelina?”

  “Tony. It’s good to see you.” His eyes flick over me, and I’m not sure why. “Are you going to let me in?”

  “Uh, yes… of course.” He lifts a hand, and the gates slowly glide open. As I pull forward, I notice all the cars parked in front of the house. There’s no reason for this many people to be here. I can think of only one event that would attract such a crowd. A wedding. No, no, no. She didn’t. Jumping out of the car, I sprint for the front door. It’s locked, but I still have a key. Fumbling through the pockets of my bag, my fingers clasp around the metal. I shove it in the door, and it falls open. Two guns are immediately pointed at my face and then lowered.

  “Miss Adelina,” the two men say in unison.

  I ignore the men and rush through the house. People stare at me as I pass, and I slowl
y start to acknowledge them. They’re all wearing black. Every single person. One other event would bring this many people together… When I finally stumble into the formal dining room, I see the coffin. I instantly know, perhaps I always did, because I was right; Daddy would never run. Never. A sharp stabbing pain radiates through my chest, and I swear I can feel my heart cracking, splitting apart in a way that will never be repaired. The room falls silent, everyone witnessing a daughter’s crippling grief. Tears streak down my cheeks, and I move forward on trembling legs. Before I reach the coffin, someone steps in front of me. I blink and look up at the towering form of Ronaldo.

  “Adelina.”

  “You lied to me,” I whisper.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I need to see him.”

  He closes his eyes for a second. “It’s best that you don’t.”

  I shove at his chest as hard as I can, and though it’s not enough to move him, he does move aside. Those few short steps feel like miles as I narrow the space to the closed casket. Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around the lip of the highly polished wood. On a deep breath, I lift it. The upper part of the lid swings violently, bouncing on its hinges. For a moment, I fix my gaze out the window that frames his resting place with elegance. I can’t look. I don’t want to; once I do, it will be true. But I know I need to.

  I drop my gaze, and all the air rushes from my lungs in a painful breath. My father’s once strong and formidable features now appear withered. There’s nothing left of the man I remember. The deep bronze hue of his skin has turned a sick and waxy gray. And whoever did his makeup did a horrible job of concealing the bullet hole in the center of his forehead. As grotesque as it is, without the blood and gore, it’s almost tranquil. But it’s not, because my father was murdered. Shot in the head. Fifty years old, and his life was cut short. My breath catches on a sob, and the pain in my chest spreads until I feel it in the very depths of my soul. All I can think is, I wish I could see him. Just one more time.

  Staggering backward, I turn around and come face to face with my sister. She stands like a statue among the sea of people invited here to mourn my father’s life. Friends, business acquaintances, distant family…and I—his daughter—wasn’t offered the opportunity mourn the loss of my own father, because Gabi lied to me. Anger and hatred bubble up, and I clasp hold of them, using them to mask the potent pain.

  “Lina.” She steps forward. “You can’t be here.” She grabs my arm, and I snatch it away.

  “Don’t touch me.” I move around her.

  Lorenzo offers me a sad, apologetic look, but I simply glance away. They’re traitors. Every single one of them. I’m disgusted and broken and hurt. So fucking hurt.

  The pain rises like a tidal wave and crashes over me until I’m drowning in it, unable to drag a clear breath into starved lungs. I can’t stay here. I have to leave.

  I climb the stairs to what used to be my room. It remains untouched since I was last here nearly a year ago. I swallow around the lump in my throat. I stayed away. I asked to go to England because I was tired of living in Gabi’s shadow, fed up with being the second daughter of a mob boss, not quite in, not quite out, but still unable to live a normal life. I fought my father tooth and nail to go to England where no one would know me as anything more than an Italian student. I was so desperate to escape him, and now I’d do anything to be in his arms, to hear his words of wisdom and witness that knowing smile. The last ten minutes suddenly press down on me like the weight of a building. I sit on the edge of the mattress, smoothing my fingers over the white satin bedspread. I’m not sure if or when I’ll be back here, but it’ll never be the same. The house that has always been home now feels hostile.

  I force my grief down, far into the recesses of my soul to deal with later. Now, I need to focus, plan my next move. I came here to stop Gabi from handing herself over to Enrique in my place, but at this moment, I don’t care. I hate them all. Her, Enrique, Ronaldo…

  I go to the closet and push aside the racks of dresses, remembering being forced to wear them. And now, I can’t help but wonder if Daddy was always grooming me for marriage. But I refuse to believe that. At the back of the closet is the safe. I enter the code, and the heavy door swings open, revealing a stack of money and my gun. I clasp the cool metal of the gun in my hand and think back to the day my father gave it to me. He’d spent the majority of my fourteenth birthday teaching me how to shoot, and even now, it’s one of my most cherished memories. Shoving the gun into the waistband of my jeans, I toss the cash in the bag I brought, and then I grab another to shove clothes into. I’m fed up with living out of a backpack and nothing more than two outfits.

  I throw the bag over my shoulder and step out of the closet. Although, I halt when I see my sister sitting on the end of my bed.

  She drags a hand through her jet black hair, her gaze locking with mine. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

  “What for? Lying to me? Or not inviting me to my father’s funeral?”

  A long breath hisses past her lips.

  “You shipped me off without even telling me Daddy was dead.” My voice breaks, and the pain creeps out of that dark place, shadowy talons reaching out and sinking into already raw, exposed flesh.

  “I… I didn’t know how to tell you.” She swipes angrily at a tear as it streaks down her cheek. A rare show of weakness from my steely sister. “Daddy was killed by the Bianchi’s for refusing to honor the marriage agreement.”

  I swallow heavily, my emotions a jumbled mess.

  “He tried to fix his mistake, Lina. He’s regretted it ever since he made the deal. He never intended for you to marry against your will.”

  I don’t know how to feel about any of it. He died trying to save me, but he never should have had to make that decision. It’s all such a mess.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  “I wanted to try to fix this first. Come to an agreement with the Bianchi’s, or… I don’t know, but I didn’t want you to feel like you were in danger and defenseless without Daddy. I will protect you, Lina.”

  “Fix this?” A hysterical laugh slips past my lips. Her brows pull tightly together, and her mouth flattens into a straight line. My eyes prickle, and I sniff back tears. “You’ve betrayed me, Gabi.” I shrug my bag over my shoulder and push past her.

  “Where are you going?” she calls after me.

  I don’t answer her, because truthfully, I don’t know. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I move toward the front door, but Lorenzo steps in my path. “Move, Lorenzo.”

  He offers me a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Adelina.” His gaze drifts past me, and I follow it to where Gabi stands behind me. “I have my orders.”

  “You’re keeping me here?” I ask my sister.

  “No.”

  As if it were perfectly orchestrated, there’s a knock at the front door, and Lorenzo steps back, opening it. As soon as he does, I retreat a couple of shaky steps. Sasha stands in the doorway, the exterior light silhouetting his tall, muscular frame. Our eyes meet, that icy blue cutting me to my soul. He steps into the light, and I shrink back farther.

  “Thank you for coming,” Gabi says.

  I turn and glare at her. She digs the knife in deeper.

  “Adelina.” I turn at the sound of my name spat with that Russian accent. “We need to leave.”

  “Did you know?” My voice breaks, tears clogging my throat.

  Sasha’s gaze holds mine, and everyone else seems to disappear as we stare at each other. Everyone I thought was close to me has betrayed me. Sasha stands silent. It suddenly feels vital, to have someone I can rely on, even if it is the cold bastard of a Russian. “Did you know my father was dead?”

  “Yes,” he says, crushing that tiny spark of hope that I need.

  I grip the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles ache. Fixing my gaze on the open door, I walk past everyone in silence. I cross the threshold and step out into the darkness. The cool night air greets me, and
I suck it deep into my lungs, glancing up at the night sky. A full moon bathes everything in a cold, silvery light, and the stars twinkle like glitter scattered from one horizon to the other. I hear the quiet crunch of gravel at my back and twist my head just enough to hear Sasha approach. Moving ahead of me, he goes to a black SUV and opens the passenger door. He stands silently, waiting for me to get in. I could try to fight it, but I don’t. I don’t care anymore. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m nothing more than a pawn in a game I can never play much less win.

  I get in the car, dropping my bags on the floor. Sasha closes the door and then climbs in the driver’s side to pull away. I watch in the side mirror as the brightly lit house shrinks in the distance. And standing in front of it is a lone figure that I know is my sister.

  I wonder if she feels it as keenly as I do; the frayed ends of the severed thread that once bonded us so irrevocably.

  The house disappears in the background, and I know I should feel a slew of emotions, but instead, there’s a void. Every time I search myself, tentatively checking my own pain, there's just nothing. I'm numb.

  I barely register the drive. The radio is a quiet background hum to our combined silence. I’m tired, but every time I close my eyes, my father’s lifeless face waits for me. I should have known that he was gone. I should have felt something, an absence in the fabric of the world.

 

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