by LP Lovell
When we get back to the villa, I go straight to my room. As soon as I lay down on the bed, it pours out of me like an ugly black ooze. Grief grips me in its clutches so hard that it’s all I can do to breathe.
My father is dead, and nothing will ever be okay again.
11
Sasha
I put down my book and check my watch. It’s nearly eight p.m. I haven’t seen Adelina since we got back in the early hours of the morning. When I realized what she’d done last night, I could barely contain my rage. What little anger I’ve experienced has always been fleeting, easily pushed away as one would swat a fly. This was…more. By the time her sister called and asked me to come and get her, I was already halfway to Mondello. I knew exactly where I’d find her. She’s predictable, a bleeding heart, unable to accept that her sister might offer herself up in her place. Selflessness is a rare trait in my world, and I admit, I almost respect her for it. Adelina’s rash and reckless, petulant and immature, and yet, she’s brave. Stupid, but brave. She stands up to me when she should back down, talks incessantly without a response…until last night. At first, I enjoyed her elusive lack of rambling, but as the hours dragged and still, she said nothing, I found myself unsettled.
And now, it’s been an entire day where she hasn’t left her room. I’d be lying to myself if I pretended I wasn’t concerned. Pushing to my feet, I walk down the hallway to her room and pause outside the door. For a moment I just listen. Nothing. I rap one knuckle over the rustic wood. Silence greets me.
Turning the handle, I push open the door. The room is dark but for the moonlight that streams through the open balcony doors. I’ve told her to keep the windows and doors shut, and I grind my teeth at the sight of her blatant disregard. The light touches the form of her body where she lies on the bed. Her back is to the door, as she huddles in a ball.
“What do you want, Sasha?” she eventually asks, her voice small and quiet.
“You haven’t eaten.” I’m met with more silence. “You need to eat, Adelina.” I step into the room and round the bed, flipping on the lamp. She winces against the sudden burst of light.
“Just leave me alone. I don’t want anything from you.”
“I am contracted to protect you, regardless of your feelings on the matter.”
She huffs a laugh, and the sound has a bitter taste falling from her lips. “We don’t need to speak. Get out.”
“Adelina—”
She leaps from the bed and plants her hands against my chest, shoving me backward. “Get out!” Her fists clench, and she visibly shakes. Something feral and untamed flashes in her eyes just before she lashes out. “You knew! You knew he was dead, and you said nothing!” She sucks in a staggered breath; tears well and spill down her cheeks.
I don’t know what to say. On a ragged growl, she slams her hands against me again, and again until her palms become fists. She unleashes all her bottled rage, and I let her. She continues to cry, broken sobs erupt from her chest like a wounded animal. “Fuck you, Sasha!”
I see her palm coming long before it collides with my cheek. I fight the reflexive instinct to stop her. Every muscle in my body locks down as the slap echoes off the walls. A low-level sting radiates over my cheek, and I release a slow breath, forcing myself to remain calm.
“What kind of monster does something like that?” she whispers.
She has no idea. I will protect her, but I’m not a hero. I’m the monster in this story. I always have been.
“Gabriella requested that I do not divulge your father’s death.”
She shakes her head, and all the fight seems to drain from her at once. I’m almost disappointed to see it leave. Her shoulders sag, and her pain becomes visceral, tainting the air around us. A sense of pity creeps through my layers of hardened indifference. Her face crumples, and a choked sound slips past her lips. She slams a hand over her mouth and just…breaks. It’s like the glue that holds her together hardens and cracks, and like shattered glass, she just disintegrates.
I don’t know how or why, but one moment we’re standing, me paying witness to her destruction, and in the next, her face is pressed to my chest, and my arms surround her. I frown at the tiny girl pressed against me. I wait, expecting instinct to slam into me at any moment, but it doesn’t happen. I’m thrown off kilter, witnessing such vulnerability from another human. There’s something…fascinating about it, and yet troubling at the same time. I don’t know how to react.
“I am sorry, Adelina.”
She cries harder, her fingers clutching at my shirt.
We stand like that for long minutes before I maneuver her to the bed and prop my back against the headboard. I lift my hand, hesitating before stroking it over her back the way I’ve seen Una do to Dante when he’s upset. My scarred, calloused hand looks so out of place against the shiny, deep chocolate of her hair. I’m confused, unsure, and uncomfortable, but over the next few hours, I relax. I don’t have much choice. Her sobs go on forever until I’m sure she must be deprived of oxygen. Her tears have long since soaked through my shirt and now wet the skin of my chest. Somehow, she seems to need this…me, though I do nothing. It’s strange to see her weakness so openly displayed. Through my confusion, I start to feel something with startling clarity; guilt. I did this to her. She’s in pain because of me, and with that realization, I do something I’ve never done before—I think about the people I’ve killed. I wonder if they have an Adelina at home, someone breaking in their absence, mourning their loss with a torrent of tears and anguish. I shove the thought away before it can take hold.
Adelina finally falls into a fitful sleep. I try to move, but every time I attempt to shift away, she stirs, clutching my shirt as though I’m a life raft on a stormy sea. So I remain awake, terrified to sleep with her touching me—I don’t trust myself not to hurt her. The sun just starts to rise, painting the sky a dull gray. I glance down at Adelina, her face sad, even in sleep. Long lashes sweep over her cheeks, and a line sinks between her brows.
I’ve never really looked at her properly, but she’s pretty. The golden tones of her skin remind me of warmer climates, sunshine and the scent of lemon trees over cut grass. Her hand moves, sliding upward over my chest. I still, holding my breath as her nails lightly scratch the base of my throat.
This is…unprofessional, but this whole job has been unprofessional, a conflict of interest. I didn’t want it to begin with. There are reasons for rules, and this is surely it. Swiping my hand over my face, I release a long breath and try once again to slip away from her; this time more forcefully.
“Hmm,” she mumbles, and I manage to slide her onto the mattress and off of me. “Sasha?” She blinks up at me in confusion.
“I did not—” I start.
She grabs my wrist. “Stay,” she says groggily.
I glance down at her fingers on my skin, hesitating. I need to leave. I’m the last person she should seek comfort from. Compassion and emotions are not something I’m remotely familiar with, and yet, that foreign sensation of guilt pulls at my chest, making me pause. I resume my position against the headboard, and she falls back to sleep. Her hand remains clasped around my wrist, but it’s the only contact between us.
I jerk awake, my heart pounding as my gaze darts around the room. It takes me a few seconds to register where I am, and then I notice Adelina’s sleeping form beside me. Pushing up from the mattress, I take in the sun now pouring through the open balcony doors. Judging from its position in the sky, I’d guess it’s mid-morning. Getting up, I pull the doors closed.
I spare Adelina one more glance, disturbed by this turn of events. I leave the room and go to the kitchen to make some food. The sizzling of the pan on the stove is strangely settling. I’ve spent my entire life training to be a soldier, a killer. Food was always for sustenance, but since leaving the Elite, I’ve found I enjoy cooking. It’s methodical and satisfying, and one of the few things that can drown out the constant sensory overload in my mind.
I’
m just plating up some eggs, bacon, and avocado when Adelina walks into the kitchen. Dark shadows linger beneath her bloodshot eyes, and her hair is a knotted mess.
I push the plate toward her, along with a cup of coffee. “Eat.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, and it’s laced with suspicion.
“I’m not the enemy, Adelina.”
She lifts a brow, her lips pressing together. “Aren’t you?”
“I’m a soldier. I had orders.”
“Is that all you do? Follow orders? You can’t think for yourself about what’s right or wrong?”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’ve already stepped out of bounds for you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I slowly drop my hand, and we stare at each other in a standoff. I don’t know what to say. This shouldn’t even be an issue; she’s a job. That’s it. “I’m a soldier. I’m contracted—”
“To protect me. Yes, I’m aware. Heaven forbid you should actually feel some guilt because you betrayed me.”
I have no response for her.
“I apologize for last night. I’m not usually so weak. Let’s pretend it didn’t happen, okay? You can go back to acting like a robot, and I can go back to thinking you’re a dick.”
I inhale a deep breath, gritting my jaw. “It would be best that we remain professional.” For now. I just need to wait a couple of days for news of Enrique’s death to trickle through…
She huffs a laugh. “Professional. Sure.” She picks up the plate of food and takes it to the attached dining room.
I follow, and we sit and eat in silence. As soon as she’s done, she gets up, washes her plate and retreats to her room. Instead of following her, I hear my phone vibrating in the kitchen, so I get up to retrieve it. I have two missed calls from Nero. I call him back, and it rings once before he answers.
“You tried to kill Enrique Bianchi, didn’t you?”
“I killed him last night.”
He releases a long sigh. “The car bomb?”
“Yes.”
“It was his brother Alberto, not Enrique.” I drop my chin to my chest and close my eyes. My heart pounds, and my chest tightens. Sloppy. I rushed into it, and I made a mistake. I never make mistakes. “Shit.”
“Lay low. Enrique won’t officially go after you, not openly, but he’s a savage little shit. By now, he probably knows you’ve kept Adelina from him and killed his brother. He’ll be gunning for you on principle.”
I’d love it if he did, but of course, he won’t come himself.
“Word has it he’s gone to ground. If you wanted to get to him, you might have just missed your chance.”
Shit, shit, shit. “I need you to find out where he was last seen.” He sighs. “Nero. I won’t leave her while he’s still alive, and Una—”
“I know. She’s up my ass, too. I’ll find out, but Sasha, if you fuck up…”
“Once, Nero. That was my first, and I can assure you only mistake in my life.”
“I’ll have Gio send you any whispers.”
“Thank you.” I hang up and launch the phone across the room. “Shit!” That was stupid of me. I rushed in on limited information, and now, I’ve backed us into a corner.
I’m on edge for the rest of the day. Bianchi’s men will be looking for me. They know I’m here in Sicily, and if they know I have Adelina, then they’ll know she’s with me. We need to leave, but I can’t move without knowing where to go.
It’s not until late afternoon when I finally get a text from Gio with an address in Rome. This is a long shot, it says. It’s all I have right now.
“Adelina! Pack a bag. We’re leaving!”
Nero organized an apartment for us in Rome. It’s central, across the road from the building that houses the apartment Enrique owns here. I keep a close eye on the windows, but the shutters are closed, making it hard to work out if there is anyone inside.
Adelina and I have existed as ships in the night for the last two days. She goes into the kitchen to eat once or twice a day, and then immediately retreats to her room. I heard her crying last night, but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to do anything since she clearly doesn’t want to discuss it.
I’m making breakfast when I hear her bedroom door open. I turn around in time to watch her place a gun on the kitchen counter, and I wonder where the hell she got it.
“What are you doing?”
She pulls her hair up into a ponytail, fastening it in place. “We’re in Rome.”
“Yes…”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. Enrique’s family has a house here. My father always brought us to Rome for business dealings. You’re going after him. It was kind of obvious. You took me to Sicily.”
“That does not explain why you have a gun.”
She grabs the gun, shoving it in the back of her jeans. “I’m coming with you.”
“No. You’re not.”
“I want him dead; you want him dead. Our interests are aligned.” A glint shines in her eye, one I’ve seen many times before in Una, a feral drive for revenge. Once Una gets that look, she doesn’t stop until she’s bathed in blood. Adelina is not Una, though. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.
“Give me the gun.” I step forward and hold out my hand.
She glares at me. “No.”
“Adelina…”
“Fuck you, Sasha.”
I inhale a deep breath and move. She barely manages to scramble back a step before I grab her wrist and yank it across her front, spinning her. She grunts as her I tug her back up against my front. Her head tilts to the side, and I notice the scent of her shampoo; lemon, just as I expected.
I slide my free hand between our bodies, and she stills as I grab the gun and tug it free from her jeans. “You’ll hurt yourself, malyshka.” I soften my hold, and she yanks away from me like a hissing cat.
“No. I won’t.” She slowly turns around, another gun in hand. My gun. Slowly, she lifts it, pointing it at me. I pat my holster, sure enough, finding it empty.
“Adelina,” I growl.
She rolls her eyes before lowering the gun and popping out the clip. She then dismantles the chamber and places the parts on the counter in front of her before picking it up and reassembling it. I’m handed back my gun with her delicate fingers wrapped around the barrel. “My father always made sure we could defend ourselves just as well as any of his men. Can I have my gun back now?” She holds out her hand, and I stare at her outstretched palm.
I didn’t ask Gabriella the specifics on this, but I’m sure she doesn’t want the little sister she tasked me to guard running around trying to kill Enrique Bianchi. But she has that right. He’s hunting her like a prize bitch, having taken out her father. She has every reason, and I’ve killed men for a lot less. She wants revenge, and that’s one thing I understand intimately.
Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back and picture Adelina standing in front of a faceless man, her gun raised, body tense with the urge to pull the trigger. Then I imagine a ring of Elite soldiers closing ranks around him.
“No,” I say.
“Imagine if it were your father, Sasha.”
I helped kill the only father I’d ever known. “I think you misunderstand the meaning of protection.”
“So, what, you can go after him, but I can’t? Does my sister know you plan to kill Enrique?” A humorless smirk touches her lips. “No, of course not. Because if it were that simple, she would have sent men after him herself.”
“I’m not bound by the same politics as your sister.”
“No. We aren’t.”
“There is no we.” I try another approach. “You realize that any involvement from you could reflect on your family and your sister. You risk war.”
“It’s too late for that. They’ve already waged one.”
“No, your father did when he broke faith on an agreement.”
Her jaw tenses, th
e muscles ticcing erratically.
I know I’ve touched a nerve. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. I’m sure your father would want you safe.” I glance down at the gun in my hand before holding it out to her.
She takes it, staring at the polished steel. A lone tear tracks down her cheek, and my chest tightens. I reach out, gently wiping away the drop of moisture that mars her skin, and she lifts her glassy eyes to mine. “I know you want revenge. I promise you; I will kill him.”
I turn and walk away, leaving her to her disappointment.
I linger on the corner of the street. I have a clear view of the front door of the building that Adelina and I are staying in. Truthfully, I don’t think she’ll try anything, but the building only has one way in and out. I’ll see her if she does.
A few people meander down the sidewalk, going about their daily activities. I seemingly go unnoticed as I press my back to the wall. Finally, Emilio rounds the corner, his shifty stance setting him apart from the tourists and locals. I wouldn’t usually meet him in broad daylight, but I don’t have time to waste. Emilio is one of Gio’s moles, and I need the information he has.
“Sasha.”
“What have you got?”
“I watched the apartment. I saw no one come or go. The doorman said they weren’t there.”
“He could be covering for Bianchi.”
He shrugs. “I do not know what to tell you, my friend. I don’t think he’s there.”
I remove my wallet from my pocket and thumb a few hundred Euros out, handing them to him. “Thank you, Emilio.”
He nods jerkily and wanders away, disappearing around the corner.
I tilt my head back, inhaling the clean air. I’m not sure what to do next. I’m torn between Adelina and my loyalty to Una, my family. I know exactly what Adelina’s fate will be without me, and the thought bothers me far too much to simply ignore.
No sooner has the thought crossed my mind than my phone vibrates in my pocket. Removing it, Una’s name flashes across the screen. “Yes.”