by Jax Hart
“Chicken?”
He leaned down. His peppermint breath landed on my baby lips. “I’m not afraid of the devil himself. Run, little Fiorelli. Live while you can. One day I’ll come for you. And finish this. It’ll be much sweeter to take your life when you’ll want more to live it. I won’t kill a child. But a woman—there’s much more interesting ways to punish one.”
“Coward,” I breathed. “I bet you’ve never even been with a woman. You’re barely older than me.”
He tucked his gun in his holster and grabbed me by the throat. The door burst opened. “End her, Roque, for family honor.”
He leaned in closer, dragged me back to the coat closet and shut the door. But he flicked on the lights. Maybe he was a pervert who wanted to watch. He wanted to witness the moment he stole my life. Before the dots started to swim and my vision began to fade, all I could see was the gold flecks peppered in with his stunning colored aqua pupils. He whispered words to me about angels and death. He held me close. He was a beautiful monster. He smelled good. His words were hushed murmurs tickling my hair. Could an angel of death seduce?
Air. I needed air. I clawed his arms, but he wouldn’t let go. They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Mine didn’t. It was too short. All I saw were all the thing’s I’d never do.
Kiss a boy.
Swim naked in the ocean.
Go to college and get stupid drunk.
All the stupid, little things many take for granted—I’d never do.
Dots clouded my vision. It wouldn’t be long now. His aqua eyes darkened as I slipped closer to the darkness. At least all my family was there waiting. I won’t be alone.
“I’ll see you on the other side, Little Red.”
But he won’t. This one with his eerie gaze and dark as pitch hair will only go straight to hell and if he dares to even find me and disrupt my peace—I’ll cast him down into the pits of hell myself.
I’m not sure if I fainted, died, or maybe a mixture of both.
I awoke sometime later in the woods. He left me by a small stream with a note and one of those funeral flowers tucked into my hand.
Today wasn’t your day to die. Live while you can, little one. I’ll come for you one day.
My throat was on fire. I knelt by the stream and drank the cold water. It soothed the burn for a bit, but I knew I needed to get out of the woods. The darkness was almost upon me. I refused to let it win. He was darkness… death and somehow, he let me escape its clutches tonight.
I’d do what he said. I’d survive. I’d live. But as I stared up at the stars playing peek-a-boo through the branches on the trees, I vowed he wouldn’t find me. I might be still a child, but I know way more about adult stuff than I should. I know how he meant to hurt me.
I followed the stream, my dress shoes crunching over fallen twigs and leaves. It was almost twilight. In the distance I saw lights flickering through the dense forest. When I reached a clearing, I knew exactly where I was. He left me in the woods a few miles from the cemetery.
I stayed hidden in the shadows, sheltered by trees as I followed the road. Shadows would become my friend. And my favorite thing to wear. I was tired, hungry, and hurt. But I never wavered. I knew I had to go home. The Salvatore’s weren’t looking for a dead girl who rose from the woods.
When I reached the street by my house there were no sleek cars or lights left on. It was dark. Just like my new world. I used the hidden key in the garden and slipped in the back door.
I didn’t bother turning on any lights. I didn’t need them anymore. Not when I was a girl who blended with the night. I washed my hands and made myself supper. Then I went upstairs and packed a backpack. I knew where Papa had his hidden safe and what the combination was. I emptied it. Took all the money and my passport and birth papers. I stuffed it all in under my stuffed kitty. I grabbed some jeans and boots and put them on. Went back to the kitchen for snacks and then to my father’s study. I took his gun.
“Someday, little-man Salvatore… I’ll spill your blood just as you spilled mi familigia’s.”
With hands shaking with rage and fear, I picked up the old rotary phone on Papa’s desk.
“Zio?”
“Romina? We thought… I had a frantic call from Palermo earlier. I thought… they said you were all gone. That Roque personally killed you himself.”
“No, Zio. I got away.”
“Where are you, child?”
“Papa’s study.”
He swore in a string of Italian.
“Wait behind the garden shed. Don’t make a sound. I’ll send somebody.”
“…Zio? Are they all gone? My aunt’s and cousin’s?”
“Yes. You and I are the only Fiorelli’s left.”
The Salvatore’s probably forgot about my Zio John. He wasn’t part of the outfit. He was ex-communicated. The truth was Zio was angry that Papa was the number one and Zio never wanted to be number two, so he left one day without a trace. Rumors spread that Papa had him killed for his insolence. But I knew the truth. Papa saved Zio. Helped him hide. Maybe deep-down Papa always knew his days were numbered.
Instead of math problems, Papa always drilled in Zio’s number into my head. He said if an emergency like today ever happened that I should call.
I waited long into the night, by the time the old woman from the café came for me my heart was as frozen as my feet.
“Mrs. Ponchetti?”
She nodded. “Your uncle was my favorite. I used to bounce him on my knee and feed him cannoli cream. Come child. I’ll keep you safe until your uncle can make arrangements to smuggle you out of here.”
I followed her out of the dark and into the back of her old VW. She fed me warmed biscuits and hot chocolate in the morning. She explained Zio was working old connections to smuggle me out of Italy to the USA… someplace called Brooklyn.
“Here, it’s your Zio.” She handed me the phone one day.
“Zio?”
“Little Romina… I can’t get you out of the country with your passport. The Salvatore’s have eyes and ears everywhere even in customs. You need a new name, I figured I’d let you choose.”
I wanted to be strong. Invincible. Something that stood for something but yet still felt like me. I remembered the Greek stories from mythology Mama used to read to me before she too was gunned down by the Salvatores. “Diana. Call me Diana. She was the goddess of the hunt. It will fit who I will be now.”
“Diana Palermo. That sounds good and Italian enough.”
“Palermo?”
“Yes. So, we never forget where we came from even though the Salvatore’s drove us out…Palermo will always be in our blood. I changed my last name to Palermo when I left. I’m working on getting you a new passport and papers. As soon as it’s done, I’ll send someone for you. I can’t come myself in case I’m recognized.”
“I’m going to live in America, with you?”
“Yes. You’ll be safe here.”
“Zio? I don’t want to be safe. I want vengeance.”
He breathed deeply into the phone. “So, do I. One day, little one. One day. Until then we will be patient. We will plan, but more importantly, we will train.”
CHAPTER TWO
“ZIO?”
My arms found his waist. I couldn’t fit around him but as he lifted me in his arms, I knew I was home. I hadn’t seen him since I was five, but I remembered his full beard peppered with gray and his thick hair. He was solid but his age showed in the deep lines around his eyes and face.
“Welcome to New York, bella.”
It had been a long three weeks travelling in hot trunks while hiding; always hiding as I snuck out of Europe for the freedom this country called America always promised to offer.
I looked around with wonder. I heard so much about America. Some good, some bad. But the tall buildings that rose high above the sky, the people, the traffic…I felt as if I could be anybody here. As if I could be a chameleon and make myself into whoever I wanted
to be. I wasn’t the orphaned girl from a crime family who saw more blood and death than a doctor working in the ER. I was Diana. Solid, strong, and determined.
“When do we start?”
“Your training?”
“Yes.”
“Today.”
“Good,” I nodded.
Zio drove us in his Cadillac from the airport over bridges where I could see all of the New York skyline.
“It’s just like I imagined.”
He grinned. “There’s lots of Italians here. They think I’m from the coast, a fisherman’s son. You are my niece. Your father died in a storm. Your mother ran off with a wealthy man.”
I sat back against the leather seats. “I’m not here for a dream…I’m here to become someone’s nightmare.”
“Did you know he’s next in line to inherit everything? He will be the next Don of his family. They’ve already started grooming him.”
“I know.” I tell Zio in detail what happened at the funeral and how I woke up with a note and a wilted flower in my palm.
When I’m finished the look in his eyes echoes the vengeance making a permanent home in my heart. He stroked the top of my head and held me close. “Someday, little bella, he will pay for not only his sins but the weight of the sins of his entire family.”
“Promise.”
“I swear it to you. The Fiorelli’s might be down but it’s a big mistake to count us out. The future of the entire familglia, rests on you little one. You have the blood of Roman soldiers in your veins. Your bloodline tells a story of war and vengeance. Honor and duty. You cannot fail, Romina, when it’s your destiny to win.”
Zio’s words made me feel invincible. I was a Roman and like my name, will conquer Roque Salvatore. When I’m done with him, he will beg me for mercy, but like my ancestors—I won’t give it.
CHAPTER THREE
I THRUST MY BALLED FISTS into the pocket of my trousers. I’m only fifteen but I already dress like il sovrano… the ruler of the family. My shoes are handmade from the finest Italian leather and they silently tread on the marble floor as I eavesdropped on my Uncle Franco, eating dinner with the heads of three different crime families.
He pretends otherwise, but I knew my uncle yearned to rule. But I’m my father’s eldest living son and it was my turn to reign next. That is if my Zio Franco doesn’t off me to take his shot. He and the rest of the made men held council as they drank red wine and boasted about our latest victory. It took a while for all the men to gather while the police and the government condemned the latest blood bath. We even caught the consternation of the Vatican in Rome, so the celebration that we won the war had to wait. But tonight, The Fiorelli’s are no more. We drove them out of Palermo and extinguished their flame. Only I knew one tiny candle still burned.
“It’s Roque’s crown to wear.”
“The boy is not ready. His hand not bloodied enough, his dick’s never been wet.”
“He took care of the Fiorelli girl. He snuffed her out without blinking once. His father would be proud.”
Zio Franco’s large hand smacked the table. The dishes jumped with a clatter. “I rule until he comes of age. He’s not ready. He’s full of teenage hormones. He’d make rash decisions that would jeopardize all our businesses.”
“Like a mass murder at a funeral gathering? Even our own women and children were hit in the crossfire. It was foolish, the order you gave. We could have held him, his, and his brat while escorting our own out the backdoor. Instead it was mayhem.” The head of the Castellione outfit shook his head and puffed on a cigar.
Through the crack in the door, I watched my uncle shrug. “Collateral damage. Fiorelli killed my wife and my baby on Christmas Eve. If my mistake was passion, so be it. Vengeance was ours.”
“You’ll groom Roque as your brother wanted. I promised your brother his son would wear the crown. I make good on my word.”
“His shoulders aren’t strong enough to support his head. The crown can be heavy, full of thorns and soaked with blood.”
“If you hurt him there will be payback, Franco. Murdering the next-in-line is against our code.”
My uncle laughed. “Hurt him? Roque? The boy is all I’ve got since Fiorelli murdered mi familigia.”
But I saw it in the glaze in his eyes. The way he balled his fist next to his wine glass. Uncle Franco was no longer family. His lust for power was stronger than blood. He wanted me dead and gone, buried like all the rest. I knew he had a mistress. With me out of the way—he’d start over as the DON with a new wife and baby. I could feel it just as strong as the little Fiorelli’s girl’s heartbeat against the flat of my hand where I held it on her neck before I squeezed.
I saw and heard all I needed.
It was time to plan.
I left and went home, sat in my father’s study and moved chess pieces around the board. I still had family…distant relatives of my mother outside of Rome. I’d call on them soon. Ask for support, in return I’d offer my cousins a spot at my table. My mother’s family isn’t as wealthy. I know her brother always wanted in on my father’s business but was shut out. Then, I’d call the one man who could back me until it’s my time to rise. None of the made men will back me at fifteen. Not when I have no access to money, no legal adult status or the muscles yet to make them bend to my will. My Uncle will buy them all, promise them more than he can deliver.
I need my own crew. One I can trust to break me just to build me into the perfect killing machine. One that I can use as a new foundation on which to build my own throne.
Constantine.
It had to be him.
He’s half-blind. Old as fuck but he trained Papa to be the Don he was. It’s a sort of fucked up tradition between our two families. They train us and we wed and bed their women in return, strengthening the alliance by blood. But Papa let it all go to his head. The money. The power. The pussy. Drunk on his own power, he became sloppy and the Fiorelli’s got him.
Money, power and a woman is a man’s weakness. I’d seen it time and time again with my own eyes. It works to my advantage that I’ve tasted none of them. I can exercise self-control to make sure none of the three ever bring my downfall.
Except…the girl. The one whose life was in my hands to take…one heartbeat away from stopping.
My fist smacked against the table as I remembered the feel of her silky red hair in my hands… the way it smelled like innocence and sunshine…how I shook as I held her. I was the one with my hands on her throat and yet she was the one who controlled me.
She’s a tween. Probably doesn’t even bleed yet and I’ve got some sick fascination with her. I should’ve ended it. I’ll find her, no doubt still in her Papa’s house trying to plot how to live. I let her live an extra day. I can’t let her have anymore not when my very place in my own family is being question. I will be the head of the Salvatore Syndicate. It’s my destiny and no one will take it from me, not even Little Red.
I grabbed thick rope from the cellar and walked into the dusk. The cold winter air burned my throat as I breathed in deep. I shut my eyes wondering if her throat burned like this as my hands closed around it.
Damn that hellish girl.
I couldn’t do it and that made me weak. She’s a weakness.
In the end, I couldn’t take her life…when something in me wanted to own it. As I squeezed and breathed in the honey-scent of her hair and felt her girlish body tremble… it excited me—her—a little girl.
I’m sick.
I really am my father’s son—a total monster. When she fainted, falling limp in my arms, I felt shame at how powerful it felt. I was her master. It was my decision if she lived or died by my hands. She made me feel like a fifteen-year-old god.
That little piece of obstinance was right about one thing—I was a virgin. A demi-god who was almost a man but never knew what it felt like to fuck. She called me out on it, too. When her eyes delved into mine; she tried to suck my soul straight from the center of my being.
How the hell else can I explain why I didn’t make the final kill that would even the balance? Her familigia killed my father, my baby sister, and all my aunt’s in a car bomb on Christmas Eve. They were on their way to church. It was supposed to be me and my brothers in that car. But we let them go instead. The engine was running longer, the interior warmer. My fate was to watch in horror four cars back as they burned.
I shook my head.
Her life was mine to take to make things right.
Shame crashes over me. I didn’t avenge them. They deserved vengeance.
I nod to the guards, waving them off as I take off on foot. With the Fiorelli’s gone there are no threats…except the one I left to his wine and cigarettes. It’s a brisk walk but it cools my heated blood. I’m back to being cold-hearted and calculated, I need to turn into a ruthless man to survive my lot in life. I never craved the crown since it was always mine to have. But now that it’s being threatened, I want it as bad as I want to snap the Fiorelli girl’s delicate neck.
Her house was a silent tomb.
No lights.
No flickering candles.
I stepped inside. It was filled with objects of the people turned ghosts who used to have a life within these walls.
She was too smart to have any light on. On silent feet, I moved from room to room. Her father’s study was unlocked. My fingers traced her baby-girlish face from the photo perched on his desk.
I lifted it high, smashed the glass and tore her photo from the frame. Like a lovesick fan, I held it tight, tucking it into my pocket.
Obsession. It consumed me. The need to make her pay for her father’s sins—that must be why. It was the only logical reason.
“Where are you little butterfly?” I called out softly into the darkness.
With a twisted grin, I climbed the stairs like the big, bad wolf knowing he had his target trapped.
My fingers pushed creaky doors open one by one until I found her room. I knew it was hers. The smell of honey and sunshine came from within.