Amadeo
I take the dagger from the guard. It’s a small but sharp knife, both pretty and deadly like her. I go to my room and slip it into the nightstand drawer, touching the place on my neck where the cut has already closed up. The scratches from her fingernails burn. It’s a good reminder that even stripped naked, she has claws. I want to take a shower before returning downstairs to clean the filth of the afternoon off me. And I need a minute.
I’ve known this day was coming for fifteen years. The day I would take my vengeance for what the Russo family did to us. But it's a different reality to have her here, in my home, flesh and blood.
She may be innocent of the crime that led us to this day, but I remind myself that the fact that she’s oblivious to the violence brought upon my family, the thing that put Hannah in the ground, makes her as guilty. She’s lived her merry little life all these years while we’ve dealt with the consequence of what her brother did. What her father ordered done. It is enough to push me to the edge of the void that is the deep, dark fury inside me. But I can manage that. I knew it would be like this with her. She was too young to remember. Even though she saw it, she didn’t understand, that is certain, and her own memory coupled with her love for her father would have buried the reality of what happened that day in our small kitchen.
She took a risk coming to Naples. She knew it, she must have. Her brother, the coward, watched from an ocean away. But she honored her father’s wish to be buried in Italian soil. She loved him and he loved her. Probably more than his other children. More than the sister for certain. I can understand why. But Vittoria is no longer a child and she must know the things he’s done, the people he’s hurt. Does it not make her as evil as him to love him regardless?
I switch on the shower, strip and step under the flow. I see her eyes the instant I close mine. That vivid blue so bright. I open them again and pick up the bar of soap to scrub myself clean. My reaction when she mentioned her brother is something I will need to get hold of. I can’t hurt her in a rage. Not when I may need her more than I like.
The image of her naked body, her spread legs when I stood over her, it makes me want. A voice inside my head reminds me that I can take her. Have her. She is mine. I switch the water to ice cold and suck in a deep breath, turning my face up to it.
I am not that monster. Because like I told Bastian, that would make us no better than her brother. It would erase what he did to Hannah.
I switch off the water, grab a towel and dry myself off, looking at my reflection as I wrap the towel around my hips. I pick up my comb and brush my hair back, leaning in close to see the scar Geno Russo ordered his men to carve into my face. Mine and my brother’s. He thought it would frighten us. Make us tuck tail and disappear. But he was wrong. It only enraged us. Drove us to this point. My only regret is that he died before I could kill him.
Switching off the bathroom light I walk into the bedroom. I own this house, have this life, because of my grandfather, Humberto. What I have should have been Angelo’s. But he didn’t live. That’s another wrong I will right. I have yet to punish all the men who killed my best friend. But it is coming.
Choosing a light charcoal cashmere sweater and dark jeans, I get dressed and head downstairs, pausing only momentarily at her door.
“Anything?” I ask the guard.
He shakes his head. “Not a sound.”
“Francesca will bring food up. Check the tray when it goes in and when it comes out.” I wouldn’t put it past my little captive to steal a fork to stab me with.
“Yes, sir.”
Downstairs, the kitchen door swings open, and my brother steps out, saying something that has my mother and Francesca laughing. When he sees the scratches and the cut to my neck, his expression grows serious.
“Our Dandelion has claws,” he says casually.
“That she does.”
He eyes the damage more closely. “Don’t tell me she ambushed you.”
“She had a dagger on her.”
“Hm. I guess I’d be more surprised if she didn’t.”
“How’s mom?”
“Not great. She asked when Hannah’s coming down to eat.”
Our mother’s dementia has progressed to the point that she can’t be left alone. Francesca is her nurse but also a companion to her. I guess I should be grateful she can’t remember that Hannah is dead. That she’s been dead for fifteen years. Maybe it’s a blessing. But seeing her decline too soon is hard.
“What’s she like?” He gestures upstairs.
“More ballsy than you’d expect.”
“She will make trouble for us, brother. I’m telling you now.”
“I’m sure she will but like I said, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
“I’m going to go have a shower. We still on to go to Palermo tomorrow?” Palermo is where the man who actually pulled the trigger that killed Angelo is being held. A man they call The Reaper. He’s American. Brought in especially for the job apparently. Stefan Sabbioni, the man who controls Sicily, caught up with him on his property once I’d put the word out. He’s been holding him for me. I want to question him before I kill him.
I nod. “I’ll go alone, though. I think one of us should stay here and keep an eye on our captive.”
He glances up the stairs, the idea clearly appealing to him.
“Besides, I owe The Reaper personally.” Because his was also the bullet that almost killed me.
“Amadeo,” mom calls out from the kitchen, interrupting us. “Are you coming? Your food’s getting cold.”
I give her a big smile. “Coming, mom.”