Page 20
Chapter Twenty
CRUE
“ C an it be? The Big Bad is asking me for advice?” Mark’s sarcasm is the last thing I want right now. It’s hard enough that I’m asking for help, but the fact that he is poking fun at my vulnerability stings.
Another feeling. She’s changing you.
“Since when is big bad a nickname?” I can’t take my eyes off the window while I talk to Mark to avoid my inner voice. From the second Fiametta kneed Tomas in the nuts, I’ve been glued to it like a housewife watching her afternoon soaps.
“Since I started running out of things to call you? It was this or “ cunt, ” so count your blessings.” Mark cracks open another beer and flops into a more comfortable position on my sofa.
“Jokes aside, I’ll tell you what I think. But you need to promise you won’t lose your shit when I do.” He’s going to tell me I should snuff out my Little Flame. I knew it when I called him, but I have to go through this anyway. He’s one of the two people on this planet who can talk to the real me, and not the facade that keeps my death-dealing monster at bay. The other is the woman who plagues me enough to need outside counsel on the matter.
I don’t think Fiametta’s going to answer honestly, when the question is should I kill you and retain my professional integrity or not?
“Fine. I’ll wait until you’ve left before I throw a tantrum.”
Mark snickers. Looking on the bright side of this whole ordeal, I seem to be getting better at telling jokes. That has to count for something.
“Don’t do it,” he says.
“What?” I snap my head in his direction.
“Don’t kill Fiametta. Who gives a fuck about Matteo Baronne’s vendetta? That guy’s filth, anyway. She clearly means something to you. Whatever a sneaky blowy in her dad’s house can mean, anyway. Just be prepared to skip town, and not because I think the mob’s gonna have any chance of bringing you in for questioning.” Mark slurps his beer before finishing. “But let’s face it, not many folks are gonna hire an assassin who can’t get the job done.”
“I wasn’t expecting this.” My response is calm, but my head is spinning out of control. I wanted nothing more than for him to reassure me that this kill is more important than the budding sensation inside my chest.
I turn my attention back to Fiametta’s window and see her lamp is off, but the bathroom light is still on. A few more minutes and she’ll be sound asleep. Then I can make my move.
“Why? Because of the money? Screw that noise.” Mark kicks his feet onto the coffee table, knocking over the empty cans scattered across it. “You’ve made enough out of Matteo’s original list. Man, I got a fraction of what you did, and I don’t have to work another day in my life.”
“It’s not about the money. It’s about hurting Lorenzo Napoli.” I temper my mind and focus on the bigger picture. Lorenzo’s suffering is what this whole endeavor has been about, and it won’t reach its crescendo if I can’t go through with killing Fiametta.
“So hurt him and spare her. Take him to that killing floor of yours. Hook his nuts to a car battery and don’t turn it off until he’s singing, “She’ll Be Coming ‘round the Mountain.” Mark’s right. I hate to admit it, but the best way to make Lorenzo suffer is by bringing the hammer down on him instead of Fiametta.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, and make my way over to the single-seater on Mark’s right.
We share another beer, and then we shift our conversation away from Fiametta, focusing instead on our hunting shop. I’ve neglected it over the past few weeks. And as I hoped it would, bringing the mundanity of normal life back into the room, helps. Mark jumps to his feet and makes his excuses to leave.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say, disappearing into my bedroom to collect the book, my gloves, and my tools.
“Why?” he asks, when I meet him at the door.
“I need the fresh air to clear my head.” The lie flows like water.
“Could’ve gotten it on your balcony.” His lips curl in a knowing grin.
“Maybe I wanted to spend some more time with you, Mark.”
Mark spits out a laugh. “Says the man who chased me away with mind numbing chats about buckshot and bait.”
“That was weeks ago.” We get onto the elevator and start moving down.
“And it still haunts me to this day.” He smacks a firm palm against my back. “You’re gonna go see her, and that’s okay. I just wish you wouldn’t lie to me about it.” More sarcasm and mockery.
Maybe inviting him here was a mistake. I wouldn’t feel this silly had I not.
“Whatever, I’ll see you soon,” I say, once we’ve disembarked the elevator and exited into the chilly New York night.
“Have fun, Big Bad .” He gets in his car and starts to drive away. I watch his car until his headlights vanish in the distance, before I cross the street. I head into the alleyway, keeping an eye out for any Napoli men who might be on patrol, before I start my ascent up the fire escape’s metal stairs. A few minutes later, I’m outside Fiametta’s room.
I test the window, expecting it to be open after my last uninvited visit. But given Tomas’s treatment of her that night, I suppose she has good reason to lock herself in.
Merely thinking his name makes my blood boil over and my mouth curl into a snarl like I’m some kind of rabid animal. I’ve had ample opportunity to slit his throat, and I should’ve done it already. The only thing stopping me is the fact that he is in Fiametta’s apartment. Being drunk all the time makes him an easy target, but if I killed Lorenzo’s second in command in her home, he’d move her away to some secure facility to keep her out of my reach.
I grab my leather toolkit from my pocket and rummage through it for the best tool for the job. A long, thin piece of metal with a hooked end and a handle. It slides through the narrow gap in the window with ease, and it’s only a matter of time until I knock the bolt loose.
I’ve been in this room a few times, but tonight is reminiscent of my first time inside Fiametta’s home. It’s not about being nervous, at least I don’t think it is. But the start of a hunt brings with it a certain blend of uneasy excitement.
I feel it again now, as I creep through her window. My eyes instantly fall onto Fiametta, once I’m inside. I watch the gentle ebb and flow of her chest, rhythmically raising and sinking her duvet covering. Her slightly parted lips are what draw my gaze the longest, much to my stiffening cock’s dismay.
What I wouldn’t give to have another go at it. To feel her soft, full lips engulfed around my throbbing erection. Her spit soothing my aching head, while her eyes roll to the back of her skull in sick enjoyment.
I’ll never get tired of seeing that image.
Focus .
Was that my rational mind or my inner voice?
Get it done. Get out. Danger lurks around every corner.
Definitely the dark spot in the back of my mind.
I lower myself to my haunches and slink my way toward Fiametta’s bed, but when I reach her side, I find her copy of Pride and Prejudice open on the side table. I turn my gaze toward it, to see it’s on the very same page I inspected the night I came here. Her favorite quote from Mr. Darcy, with a new sticky note above all the others.
In big, bold Sharpie, it reads:
Our souls are connected. Mine and his. Entwined in the cosmic fabric. Destined to be together, in life or death.
But can the heart overcome what the mind wishes to reject?
Slowly opening the bedside table’s drawer, I find Fiametta’s writing supplies. I grab the antique edition of the book from where I tucked it into my belt along with a sticky note and pen.
It’s my turn to leave her a message, and I do so, by answering her question and sticking it over the same quote from Mr. Darcy. I set it down next to her old, worn copy and focus my attention on her once more.
I press a gentle kiss against her still damp cheek.
“Your suffering is nearing its end, my Little Flame,” I whisper. “I’ll see to its resolution, personally.”