I don't know how to act with other people and I don't know how to stop myself from seeing everyone as a potential danger.
Even now, a week later, I still can't truly sleep, one eye always open to make sure there's no incoming attack.
I'm primed for danger like a caged animal suddenly set free, the lure of the wilderness seemingly treacherous as only memories of captivity suffuse my mind.
And people have noticed. Everyone has noticed.
I've paid my respects to my brother at his home, and even him, bedridden and barely in command of all his faculties, could see I wasn't the same.
But while most seem to be wary of my new attitude, Cisco's seen it as a thing to exploit.
He is his father's son.
He knows that there's something simmering just beneath the surface. Something angry and deadly that he wants to use to destroy Guerra.
And I'm itching so much for a fight that I'm going to let him.
After all, my life begins and ends with the famiglia. I've been its fists and shield for so long, I don't know how to be anything but an instrument of punishment. Even more so now that my entire existence for the past five years has revolved around using my fists.
Going back to the kitchen I set about preparing something to eat. The space is small, and I'd chosen this apartment specifically for its compactness.
After I'd gotten out, I had been unable to sleep at my old place. Too much open space led to paranoia, and I could never get comfortable enough to rest. I'd immediately relocated, finding a small studio with everything contained in one room.
There's a degree of familiarity in not having the freedom to move, even when I know I am now free.
A whooshing sound gets my attention. Slowly leaving the utensils on the counter, I step away from the kitchen, following the foreign sound. My ears prickle with awareness, and while a side of me thinks it's my sick paranoia, I'm not about to take any risks.
On the pads of my feet, I move stealthily towards the source of the sound, my muscles straining, my fists clenched for action. And in that moment, I wish someone tried to barge in. Just so I can have an excuse to exercise this violence out of me.
As expected, the door rattles for a few seconds before the knob slowly turns.
I fit myself to the wall as I wait for whoever is on the other side to come in. It's enough for me to see the outline of a silhouette and I act.
Extending my arm to the side, I bring it into his neck, hitting him in his Adam's apple and making him fall to the ground with a groan.
Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I'm ready to dispatch the motherfucker, consequences be damned. At that moment, all I can see are my fists smeared with blood, my knuckles hitting until I reach the bone.
But a hint of blonde hair manages to get me out of my rage, my eyebrows pinched together as I realize just who my intruder is.
"Dario," I mutter under my breath, disappointment settling deep in my gut.
Damn, I'm not getting a kill today.
All this time I'd behaved. I'd told myself that as long as I don't kill or attack anyone unprovoked, then I'm fine. That doesn't mean that I don't always wait for the moment when someone will attack me. The only excuse I need to let loose. To finally feel some familiarity as I watch life leave a body.
And as I look at the pitiful form of my nephew, I can only shake my head at him, turning back and heading to the kitchen to continue preparing my food.
"You could have..." he wheezes, trying to get himself off the floor, "killed me."
"I would have," I reply, my attention already back to the stove.
"Damn uncle, is that my welcome?" He tries to make light of it as he teeters towards me.
I look him up from the corner of my eyes, refraining from snorting at his less than stellar physical condition.
Dario looks exactly as you would expect of a pampered child, never used to the hardships of life. Tall and lanky, there's no muscle mass, nothing to help him hold his own against anyone. But then again, he doesn't have to. He has his many bodyguards for that.
His fluffy existence doesn't revolve around death, or blood, or violence. No, he's only concerned about his next fuck, or his next fix. It's not as if I haven't noticed the way he sniffles his nose, always touching his nostrils with his fingers. I've spent enough time with addicts to recognize one. Dario lives up to his spoiled kid persona to the T.
"You know better than to provoke me, boy. In any way." I arch a brow.
He knows that even before my stint in prison I was a hardened man. It happens when you're taught to use your fists instead of your words from a young age.
He rolls his eyes at me, taking a seat at the small table in the middle of the room.
"Wonderful accommodation," he snides, looking around in disgust. "Very... spacious."
"Careful, Dario. Less space for me to catch you and..."
One look and he shuts up, pursing his lips in annoyance.
"Why are you here?" I get straight to the point, not wanting the pleasure of his company for more than necessary.
He might be my blood, and that makes it my duty to protect him, but that doesn't mean I have to like the little shit.
"My cousin sends his love," he snorts, pushing an envelope on the table.
"What's that?" I frown.
"Gianna's new schedule. You need to make your move this week." He shrugs. "Cisco said to use his men to do whatever you want, but you need to get that job by the end of the week."
"If not?" I raise an eyebrow.
I admit that I've been biding my time because her age makes me uncomfortable—no matter how hot she is. I may be the family's instrument of vengeance, but even I have my scruples—few as they may be.
"Not my business." He gets up. "You know better than me what happens to people who don't follow the boss' orders. Your sister's still in Sicily, isn't she?" He has the gall to smirk.
I barely hold myself in check as I level him with my gaze.
"My sister happens to be Cisco's aunt too."
"You're a little late to the party, uncle. Cisco isn't the same boy you used to know," he comes closer to me, and for the first time he has a serious expression on his face. "He doesn't make idle threats." He says and an emotion passes over his face.
Before he can turn to leave, I grasp his shoulder, holding him in place.
"What did he do?"
He blinks, slowly raising his gaze. And for a moment, the immature Dario seems to disappear.
"What didn't he do?" He gives a dry laugh. "Heed the warning. When Cisco wants something, he gets it. He doesn't care who gets hurt in the process," he says and suddenly he's back to his nonchalant self, giving me a derisive smirk as he heads for the door.
I keep in the background as I watch Gianna step out of her car, her bodyguard hot on her trail. Right before entering the store, she meets with another girl that seems to be her age. They both giggle as they hug each other, waiting for the concierge to open the door for them.
For the first time in years, I'm dressed in a suit, trying my hand at showing some respectability since no doubt I'll be assessed from head to toe the moment I enter the fancy store.
Pushing my glasses up my nose to hide at least half of the monstrosity that lies beneath, I follow.
The man in charge of the door gives me an odd look, but opens the door wide for me. The entire showroom is filled with see-through glass cases that house incredibly expensive jewelry.
The only type Gianna would ever wear.
I keep my distance, pretending to study some designs while ignoring the annoying sales assistant following me like a shadow.
Just like the last time I'd seen her, Gianna looks absolutely stunning in a yellow sundress, her creamy shoulders naked and drawing everyone's attention to the pearly white skin peeking through. And as she turns her gleaming smile to the sales assistant, I can see how anyone would become a blubbering fool in her presence.
Fuck but she's beautiful.
&nbs
p; If I didn't know how nasty she was, I may have enjoyed my assignment more. As it stands, I can only regret that such a perfect face is wasted on a shit human being.
Like a lecherous old man, I let my eyes rove over her generous curves, over the deep cleavage of her dress that emphasizes the swell of her breasts with every breath she takes.
She's eighteen now.
I have to chant that piece of information to myself, though it does nothing to lessen the disgust I feel at myself for feeling so attracted to her.
And just as I make no secret of my perusal of her, she turns slightly, raising her head, her eyes meeting mine. There's no mistaking the disdain that replaces the former cordiality, not in the way her upper lip curls up in a snarl, a scowl taking hold of her features, her beauty eclipsed by derisive condescension.
She doesn't glance at me more than once before she turns with a huff, her attention once more on the sales assistant.
She's also a bitch.
The reminder is like a cold shower, and as I look down at my watch, I note that only a few minutes remain until showdown.
Deep in conversation, Gianna turns so that her back greets my view. Intentional or not, I feel a need to rile her up. And as I move closer, I note the stiffening of the shoulders. The way she's probably aware I'm just a few steps behind her.
Her hands are balled into fists and as her friend asks her a question, she takes a moment to reply.
I disgust her.
Even with the glasses on my face, my scar is still visible, the white line stretching all across my cheek. The sight of me probably offends her tender sensibilities, the ones used to luxury and pretty, useless boys that probably fuck like they do everything else–with the enthusiasm of a sloth.
"What was it?" Gianna asks her friend to repeat her question.
"Why didn't you tell me you fucked Max Connors. I had to find out from Emily," her friend rolls her eyes.
My entire body tenses, my lip twitching in displeasure. And as my mind conjures images of this luscious creature, limbs tangled with some fumbling boy, his dick sliding in and out... My nostrils flare as I realize just how distasteful the thought is. Even while knowing all about her reputation, hearing about it firsthand seems to do something to me.
"I don't kiss and tell," she giggles, waving her hand dismissively and turning her attention to the jewelry.
"Come on. You know I'm curious," the girl continues in an enthusiastic voice. "How big is his dick?" She asks in a shushed voice.
"Really Marie? That's what you want to know?" Gianna shakes her head, still refusing to engage her friend. Instead, she just addresses the sales assistant, asking for a few pieces to try on.
I'm hovering a few steps behind, but as I pretend to look at the jewelry case before me, I see Gianna quietly signal her bodyguard.
Two steps and his hand is on my shoulder.
"If you could come with me," his voice greets my ear just as my lips pull in a smile.
If before I thought I offended her, now I'm sure.
Ah, but this is going to make my victory much sweeter, knowing I truly disgust her. Let's see how she's going to feel about herself when she's slumming it with the beast.
I don't have to act though. Not immediately.
Because just as I turn to answer her bodyguard, the door to the store opens. Five men fully masked with black balaclavas enter, wildly waving their guns around.
The concierge is the first to fall as he tries to struggle with one of the masked men.
I'm immediately forgotten as the bodyguard hurries towards Gianna, telling her to get down.
I stretch my foot out, tripping him just as he dashes to her side, falling to the floor instead.
One nod at the men, and I'm down on my belly, behaving like the other hostages.
The men shoot a few rounds in the ceiling as a threat, quickly giving the store manager a list of demands.
I have to give the bodyguard his due. Even with the men aiming guns at everyone in the store and telling them to stay still, he tries to crawl towards his charge.
An errant thought enters my mind, and I have to wonder about the nature of their relationship. Especially as Gianna keeps calling out his name in a low voice.
Manuello.
Lover or not, he's not making it out alive. That was for sure before. But now...
There are a few glass cases separating Manuello and I from Gianna and her friend. And because the lower part is made from wood, we can't see them and they can't see us.
A smile pulls at my lips as I wrap my hand around Manuello's foot, easily pulling him to my side. His eyes widen as he sees my expression, his brows drawing together in a frown.
But any surprise is short lived as I have him in my hold.
Not only does he need to die today for this plan to be successful, but I also find that I don't quite like his face—or the fact that he may have taken his guarding too seriously. Ironic, considering I plan to do the same.
And as he opens his mouth to protest, trying to push me off him, I just use my other hand to reach for his neck, my fingers snug against his throat as I squeeze swiftly. With the force I'm applying, only a few, barely audible sounds escape his lips. And as I press on his Adam's apple just a little more, I feel his entire larynx collapse under my fingertips. One more ragged breath and he's out–forever.
There's a side of me that regrets the circumstances of the kill, a need to give him a more violent death just as I imagine him guarding Gianna—guarding her very well indeed.
The noise from the masked men covers any sounds Manuello might have made, and as soon as I release his body, I focus on the next part of the plan.
One of the men meets my eyes, a small signal with his fingers letting me know it will happen any moment.
The staff hurry around the store as they remove more jewelry from the back for the robbers, directly handing them all their prized possessions.
"No," one says, throwing a box to the ground, a diamond necklace rolling on the soft carpet. "I know you have more in the back," he barks. "In the safe. I want everything. Now."
"We don't... I swear, this is all we have."
"If you don't... then how about I give you some incentive," one man laughs, striding between the rows of cases and stopping where Gianna and Marie are.
The sound of struggles reaches my ears just as he plucks Marie off the floor, gun to her temple as he drags her back to the center.
"You either bring me the good shit, or she drops dead," he announces.
I frown.
He was supposed to grab Gianna, not her friend.
"Let her go!" my head snaps back as I hear Gianna's voice ring out in the store. I raise myself just in time to see her try to rush towards the armed man.
What the...
I don't even think as I react, jumping to my feet and reaching her side just in time. From the corner of my eyes, I see a man raise his gun, aiming straight for Gianna.
Grabbing on to her arm, I whirl her around just as I put myself in front of her.
The shot is quick, the pain sharp as the bullet makes contact with my shoulder.
Her eyes go wide as she sees me, but she doesn't protest as I pull her to the ground.
"That..." she trails off, her eyes on my shoulder that's no doubt leaking blood.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, confused about the change of plans.
None of this should have happened. Certainly they shouldn't have tried to shoot anyone.
As if nothing happened, they continue to order the staff around, assessing the variety of jewelry brought for their inspection.
I'm still trying to understand what's happening when a jab in my ribs takes me by surprise. I turn around to see Gianna kicking me aside, the scowl from before back on her face.
"Don't touch me," she hisses, her eyes shooting daggers at me. That's when I realize that I'm still holding on to her, her front molded to my chest, her lush tits digging into me.
"Let me go!" She
continues to squirm against me, doing nothing but further inflame me despite the pain in my shoulder.
I blink twice, taken aback by the viciousness of her tone. I just saved her a bullet hole and this is how she repays me?
Pushing her away, I lift my hands up, a smile on my lips.
"Go ahead, sunshine. If you don't mind an extra hole," I shrug, delighted to see the way her expression morphs into one of fury.
"Fucking asshole," she grits, her small fist making contact with my wounded shoulder.
Damn but that shit hurts!
She quickly sobers up as she sees the amusement leave my gaze, especially when I catch her hand in mine, my fingers tightening around her dainty wrist. One tug, and her face is inches away from mine. My other hand is quick to wrap around her throat as I bring her even closer.
There's still defiance in her eyes as she looks at me, but there's no mistaking the way her lower lip trembles, her body tense.
"Careful, little one. I might still feed you to the wolves," I whisper, my breath on her cheek as I inhale her sweet, most definitely expensive scent. It's just like her. Classy, yet wrapped in perversion, the underlying aroma promising long nights of reckless abandon and unsubdued passion.
Just like the fire cat in my arms.
"Let me go," she whispers on a small voice, and that soft plea does wonders to my cock.
Suddenly, all I can see is her on her knees as she begs me to let her go, to leave her alone. But even as she utters the sounds, her mouth is parted, her luscious lips open as they wait for my cock.
Fuck.
Just as soon as that thought enters my mind, I thrust her away from me, disgusted with myself.
She's an ungrateful little bitch.
I keep repeating that in my mind, trying to convince myself that's all she is, and urging my body to react accordingly.
Fuck, but I don't think I've ever had a stronger reaction to a woman in my life. And I've no doubt it's the allure of the forbidden. Because while my mind loathes everything that she is and stands for, my body can't help but be taken by her physical beauty. The duality of my desire for her only enhances its potency, and I know that while I'll definitely enjoy fucking her, I'll hate doing it nonetheless. And that combination forecasts itself to be explosive.
Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE Page 4