by Love, B. T.
I stayed silent, unable to find the right sentiment for the situation.
“Those words have stuck with me my entire life,” he continued. “He actually made my little sister watch when he killed our parents. So she not only suffered in those last minutes from physical pain, but she suffered emotionally as well. After that, I was just talking to her, telling her I would take care of him. I promised her I would kill him for her, that I would get revenge. She was just staring up at me, her eyes glassy with tears. And then I eventually realized that I was talking to someone who wasn’t there, because she was already gone. She died in my arms, and I didn’t even know when it happened. I didn’t know how long she was listening to me talk before the light went out from her soul; I didn’t get a chance to tell her I loved her, because I was so angry and set on getting revenge. To this day, I don’t even know if she heard me even talk about finding him and killing him, because her eyes never closed. They just stayed fixed on me.”
I brought my hand up to his cheek and he leaned into it, allowing me to comfort him. “I’m so sorry.”
“That day really messed me up; I mean, I was covered in my little sister’s blood from head to toe. I was already a kid who got into trouble, but after that I just exploded. It took about a year but I tracked Mike down and got my revenge, just like I promised Amy I would.”
I smoothed my thumb over his cheek. “Is that why you have that word tattooed on your back?”
“Yeah, it’s a symbol. It’s the reason I do what I do. I’m getting revenge for everyone who was abused by—in your words—their own personal boogeyman.”
I nodded and leaned closer. “How did you do it?” I asked. “To Mike?”
He reached up and took my hand gently in his, bringing it back down between our bodies. “That’s something I don’t think you need to know. Let’s just say I was very angry, and I was very thorough.”
My eyes examined his face, which was solid stone. It was probably better that I didn’t know what he was truly capable of doing. “Okay,” I agreed. “I understand.”
“You know,” he went on, “I’m not a very emotional man. There are things—those things in particular—that happened to me in my life that hardened me as opposed to breaking me. I consider myself more sentimental than anything.”
“Sentimental? What do you mean?”
“Well, like the weapon I used to take care of Jimmy Rolofo. It might sound odd, but in a way I feel that it’s your knife; it represents you and your revenge. I just wanted to keep it because every time I looked at it in my safe it reminded me that I succeeded in my retaliation for the wrong he did to you. And that’s also why I kept Machete. They’re both symbols to me, symbols that I protected you.”
“And that you did,” I said, smiling lightly. I looked down at the front of my body. “Jimmy shot me with a three eighty caliber handgun.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I looked back up at him. “I don’t like my scars. They bother me.”
“Why? I think they’re beautiful. They serve as a symbol that you defeated death.”
“I think you’re the only person on earth who looks at scars that way,” I chuckled.
“Yeah, well, that’s one reason you like me.”
“That’s very true.”
His eyes were relaxed as he smiled at me. “You know, I have scars too, Scarlett.” He brought my hand out of the water and placed my palm on his chest over his heart. “You just can’t see mine.”
My head cocked lightly to the side. “I know, Troy. I wish I could take yours away.”
He casually shrugged his shoulders. “My scars made me who I am today. And I like who I am.”
“I like who you are too,” I said, my face happy with sincerity.
His face matched mine. “Ever since I learned about what happened to you I’ve been obsessed with getting your revenge. So when it finally happened I had to keep everything I could to remind myself that I helped someone who was important to me.”
“You mean my brother?”
“And you. Even though I didn’t know you I felt like I did. You were always a part of your dad and brother’s life even though you weren’t physically in it.”
I leaned down and kissed him, pressing my bare chest against his. When I pulled away I smiled down at him. “It’s comforting to think I had a guardian angel for most of my life that I never even knew existed. Thank you for protecting me.”
“I always will, baby. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Eleven
I stood in Troy’s living room in the dark. He flipped the light on by the front door and illuminated the room. His house was nice, with modern furniture and expensive electronics. He was obviously paid well for what he did.
“I like it,” I said, scanning his walls and admiring the art he had picked out. “These paintings are nice.”
“They were my mom’s.”
“Really? That’s awesome. She was very talented.”
“Yeah, she was.”
I walked past the living room toward the kitchen. “Do you have a room here like you do at my brother’s?”
“No. I don’t bring my work into my house; I’d go crazy if I did that. Your brother was happy to lend me his spare room so I could handle my business from there.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
He held his hand out toward the hall. “Wanna see my room?”
“Only if we get to use it,” I flirted.
“Of course,” he chuckled. “Nothing would make me happier.”
I followed him down the hall and into his bedroom that was at the end of it. It was huge, with a large bed and a giant flat screen TV hanging on the wall. There was more art on his walls, which was presumably his mom’s.
“Big room,” I said as I went back to an area that led to a bathroom with a stand-alone glass shower and a Jacuzzi tub. “Nice tub.”
“We can have a lot of fun in that tub,” he said, shooting me a smile as he went into an open doorway that led to a walk-in closet. He shuffled some stuff around a bit and a few seconds later came back out, holding what appeared to be a photo album in his hand. “I want to tell you something.”
My eyebrows lifted with curiosity. “You actually want to tell me something?” I teased him.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and smiled. “It’s another part of your story.”
“I didn’t know there was any more to tell,” I said as I sat down beside him.
“There’s just one thing I left out.” He opened the album to its first page, which was a picture of me from kindergarten.
My mouth dropped with surprise. “How did you get this?” I asked, sliding the book from his lap onto mine.
“It’s amazing what you can find if you search hard enough.”
I flipped to the next page to find my first and second grade school pictures. “Why do you have these?”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together in front of him. “When I met your brother and he told me about your story I started researching Jimmy to hunt him down. As kind of an extra gift for Eli and your dad I researched you and your mom as well. I found out where you lived and what school you went to. I found access to your school photos, which at that time was up to about the sixth grade. After that I just waited for the years to pass and gathered each year’s picture as it came along. Every new picture I got I made a copy for your dad and brother, and kept one for myself in this album. We all kind of watched you grow from a distance.”
I turned each page and smiled as I watched myself get older by each year that passed. “So you stalked me,” I said, partly serious but mostly joking.
“Yeah,” he agreed with a small smile. “I guess you can say that. Your brother was so upset that your mom kept you from having a relationship with him. When I brought him a new picture of you it made him feel better, just to know you were still alive and doing well.”
I got to the last page with my senior picture on it
. “Did you ever come to my house?” I asked.
“No; I had no reason to. And you were still a young girl by the time I was an adult.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, acknowledging our age gap. “I wish Eli would have visited.”
“He wanted to. But you have to understand, he was trying to get to you through your mom, who wasn’t about to let that happen.”
“Yeah, but he could have tried after I moved out and went to college. I mean, I know he tried finding my profile online and stuff, but I’m sure he could have found me if he tried hard enough. Or if you tried hard enough, I guess.”
“I did try hard. And I know where you’ve been living the whole time.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. You live on Forest Street.”
I let out a gasp of surprise. “How on earth do you know that?”
“It’s my job to know, remember?”
“Well how come you didn’t tell my brother where I’m living?”
“Because,” he shrugged, “I figured you didn’t want to see him. And if you didn’t want to see him then I sure as hell wasn’t going to give him your address so he could show up and get a door slammed in his face.”
“So you just kept it from him?”
“Yeah. But I figured you would find him and your dad eventually if that was what you really wanted. And look, I was right . . .”
“I know,” I smiled. “You certainly were.”
* * *
The next day I went to my uncle’s restaurant to find my dad. Even though I was an adult and was going to do what I wanted anyway, I wanted to give him some respect and tell him about the relationship I was having with Troy, even though I wasn’t quite sure what our relationship was exactly.
I pushed through the glass entrance and spotted my dad’s head bobbing around in the back of the kitchen. He looked over at the sound of the bells ringing above the door and smiled when he saw me. “Well look who it is,” he said happily as he came up to the counter while drying his hands on a white dish towel.
“Hi Dad,” I smiled.
“You here for lunch?”
“Oh, no, but thank you. I just wanted to see if we could talk for a few minutes.”
His eyebrows creased with worry. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I calmed him. “I just wanted to tell you about something that’s kind of happened.”
“Something that’s happened?”
“Yeah, between me and Troy.”
His face relaxed and he nodded as if he already knew about what was going on between us. “I see.” He motioned to one of the tables behind me. “Let’s go have a seat.” He followed me over to the table and sat down across from me. “Well,” he said as he used the hand towel to wipe a spot from the table, “when did this all start?”
“Well, uh, I guess when I showed up.”
He moved the towel off to the side and laced his hands together, resting them against the front of his mouth. “I told you from the beginning that Troy was someone I wanted you to stay away from.”
“And why is that?” I asked, seeing how much information he would give me about him.
“That’s not your concern.”
I leaned forward, locking eyes with him. “I know what Troy does, Dad. He told me.”
His eyebrows lifted high on his head. “He did? Told you what, exactly?”
“That he’s, you know, a hitman,” I whispered.
He watched me for a long moment and then cleared his throat, dropping his hands down to the table but still keeping them folded together. “And that doesn’t scare you?”
“Yes, to be honest, it does. But, I also feel really safe with him. I mean, you told me yourself that he’s a good man.”
“Yes, I did. But I don’t know if I want my daughter with someone who does what he does. He has a lot of things he has to deal with in his head because of things that have happened in his past.”
“So do you.”
He nodded and leaned back into his chair. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“And I’ve seen a soft side to him. He’s not just some heartless killer.”
A reminiscent smile crossed his face. “Would you like to hear a story about Troy?”
“Of course,” I smiled back. “It’s hard for me to get information out of him so if anyone’s willing to talk about him then I’m willing to listen.”
“Troy doesn’t talk about his past much,” he agreed. “I’m sure he told you about what happened to his family.”
“Yeah, he did.”
“It messed him up inside, screwed with his head. I remember the first time he told me about it.”
“When he came to see you in prison?”
“Yeah. He came with Eli. I’ll never forget it: He was this straight-faced tough-lookin’ character who came in with your brother like he was his bodyguard or something.” He chuckled pleasantly as he recalled the memory. “Your brother had told me he made a new friend who was a lot like him. He said he was moved by the story of what happened to our family and that he wanted to track down the guy who did it. So I told your brother I was going to add him to my list of approved visitors so he could bring him the next time he came to see me.”
“Did he tell you about him tracking Mike down?”
“He told you about Mike?”
“Yeah, and Jimmy; but I’m not allowed to ask about anyone else.”
He nodded, approving of what Troy restricted me from knowing about. “Yeah, he did. And he told me he wanted to take care of Jimmy in the same way.”
“And how did you react to him telling you that?”
“I told him that I saw the potential in him to fill a position some friends of mine were trying to find someone for.”
“You mean being a hit—”
“We don’t have to keep repeating that word,” he cut me off, his voice close to a whisper. “You never know who could be listening. But yeah, you’ve got the idea.”
“And what did he say?”
“Well, he accepted the offer. But only on certain terms.”
“What were the terms?”
“He said he would only pursue someone who had been violent in certain situations. You know, like to women and children and such. And luckily for my friends the people they needed to have taken care of fell somewhere along those lines so Troy agreed. Word got around that he was good at what he did and other people began seeking him out for his services and the rest is history.”
“Hmm,” I said, nodding as I digested the details. “I already kind of knew he was a hitman with a heart.”
“Enough with that word!” he warned me with an angrier hush. “But yeah, he’s a good guy like I said.” He leaned forward and tapped his finger on the table. “You know he’s kind of like a second son to me. He visited me all the time in prison. And he always had an interest in getting revenge for you and our family for what happened all those years ago. Our story reminded him of his own.”
“Yeah, I know. I found a letter that he wrote me after he took care of Jimmy.”
“You did?” he chuckled quietly. “I remember that letter; he told me about it. I told him he shouldn’t have sent it but he said he felt he needed to tell you you were safe, even though you most likely wouldn’t have read it.”
“And I never did; I never got any of your letters. But I’m glad I have them now.”
“I’m glad you have them too, sweetheart. You know, when your letter came back to the house he wanted it put with all the ones that were returned. I think he’s a bit sentimental when it comes to the subject of you.”
I smiled at his words; I was flattered by Troy’s sentimentality of me. “Well I think that’s a good thing. I wouldn’t want to be with him if he were completely heartless.”
His face lifted with a smile. “Heartless is something that Troy Valenti is not.”
* * *
I woke up in Troy’s bed with his arm draped protectively across my chest. Machete was whining out
by the front door and I could hear it all the way back in the room; he wanted outside.
I stretched and then kissed Troy’s hand before carefully moving his arm off of me so I could throw back the covers. “Take your phone,” he mumbled as he shifted around in the bed to get more comfortable.
After pulling on my clothes I stuck my phone in my pocket and went out into the living room. “You want outside, Machete?” I cooed to him as he excitedly wagged his tail. I opened the door and walked out to the freshly-cut green grass in the front yard, staring down at my phone as Machete did his business.
I looked up as the sound of an approaching car caught my attention. It was a black limousine, one that I was quite familiar with.
“Hello, Scarlett,” Vladimir greeted me in his heavy Russian accent as he stuck his head out of the back window. “It’s quite a surprise to see you here; I had no idea you and Troy were involved.”
I gripped my phone in my hand and faked a smile. “What brings you to this part of the neighborhood?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I needed to have a little discussion with your boyfriend. Is he available or is he . . . indisposed?”
“Um, he’s available,” I said. “I’ll go get him,” I spun around quickly, calling Machete to follow me inside as I hurried back to the bedroom. “Troy!” I hushed loudly. “Wake up!”
His head lifted from his pillow. “What is it, baby?”
“Vladimir’s outside. He wants to talk to you.”
He threw back the covers and slowly sat up on the edge of the bed. “What did he say to you?”
“Just that he needed to discuss something with you.”
He stood up and went to his walk-in closet, coming back out a moment later wearing jeans and a t-shirt. “Stay inside,” he ordered gently.
I followed him to the living room and peeked through the curtains as he walked confidently across the lawn to Vladimir’s limo. He stood like a bodyguard next to him, crossing his arms and listening intently as Vladimir spoke to him from the back window. After about five minutes Troy gave him a single nod and then Vladimir’s tinted window rolled up. The limo pulled away from the curb, continuing up the street.