Page 14 of Die for You (Kiss or Kill #2)

ONE MONTH LATER

I taly is utterly magical.

It’s modern, yet still true to its ancient roots.

It’s rich in history wherever one looks. It’s no wonder people come here and fall in love—with the food, the people, and the country itself.

It does feel as if magic is present, and tonight is one of those nights.

If this were any other woman, she would feel like a princess in her golden ball gown. A sweetheart neckline, which puffs out in layers of tulle, and a stunning emerald necklace with matching drop earrings complete the outfit.

But this is merely a uniform, a disguise to lure in my prey, and that is Enzo Cattaneo.

Vince texted me earlier today, informing me of a ball I must attend, as anyone who is anyone will be in attendance. I was told to buy a pretty dress. It was to be suggestive but still conservative.

Now older, I see what Gianna did the night Lenny and I attended that ball, the ball where I made my first kill.

I was nothing but a pretty pawn to do her dirty work while she watched on.

And tonight is no different.

She wants me to do the same thing to Enzo that I did to that disgusting pig. The only difference is that Enzo hasn’t done anything to me. He’s Gianna’s rival, not mine, and I’m suddenly grappling with the morality of taking a man’s life who I don’t even know.

It feels almost cowardly.

What of Enzo’s family?

How will they explain to his kids and his grandkids that their beloved father and grandfather is dead?

I peer at myself in the bathroom mirror, gripping the edge of the marble basin, knowing this is so fucking wrong.

I don’t know why I give a damn. But I do.

However, if I don’t do this, then I will never be free.

As I am soon to be a mother, I can understand why my mother did what she did, to some extent. She thought she was protecting me against Aldo. However, it was a cowardly, selfish act. I suppose my mother and I are not made of the same girth.

I will do anything to protect Lettie, but I would never abandon her as my mother did to me. Regardless of this, I wonder if her coming to Sicily is merely a fantasy that will never come to fruition.

I wrestle with these endless thoughts because I’m trying to justify what Gianna wants me to do.

The bathroom door opens, reminding me that this isn’t the time or place to suddenly have a guilty conscience.

If I do this, I am free.

But deep down, will I ever really be free?

My hands tremble as I open my gold clutch to retrieve my red lipstick.

I apply it to my lips not to rouse suspicion.

The woman who entered does the same two basins over.

Our lipsticks don’t need touching up, but it appears we both need a breather from the vile men and women who fill this spectacular venue.

Once a castle, it has been transformed into a hideaway for the rich to be themselves as they check their coats and morals at the door. I have no idea what the occasion is, but it seems anyone with wealth and power is here.

I have yet to see Enzo, though.

Vince sent me a photo of him, and the resemblance between him and Aldo is apparent.

Thoughts of Aldo have me getting back in the game.

Enough of this pity party for one.

I gently wipe any excess lipstick from the corners of my mouth and exhale slowly.

I look how I should, and that is bait.

I disassociate from what I am about to do and think of the bigger picture.

To achieve this, I must detach myself from emotion, something I was once very good at doing.

But I now realize that isn’t entirely true.

If it were, I would have no qualms about killing Enzo and making it home in time to binge Baywatch reruns.

The woman I pass on the way out appears to be wrestling with her own personal demons. It seems that even in the most beautiful of settings, we’re still prisoners to our pasts.

A string quartet plays classical music, and servers in tuxedos serve drinks and canapés from silver trays. People mingle, chatting animatedly as most Italians do.

I snag a glass of orange juice from a server who, no doubt, has been instructed to blend in. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t make eye contact because he knows what happens if he sees or hears too much.

I try my best to fit in as I don’t want to draw any attention to myself. Vince is adamant that no one knows who I am. But once tonight is over, that will soon change.

A loving couple to my right has a pang hit me low.

I haven’t seen Lenny since the night we said goodbye. I woke the following morning, and he was gone.

No note.

No nothing.

No sign that I hadn’t dreamed the entire thing.

I knew I hadn’t because I was enveloped in his scent, and my body ached for days.

It still does.

But it aches for a different reason this time.

I didn’t think missing someone could physically cause pain. But I’m living proof that it can. My heart is empty and missing an integral part.

I know I will see him again, but our reunion will be filled with violence and bloodshed as we fight on opposing teams.

The quicker I finish tonight, the faster I can attempt to live some sense of normalcy.

The thought has me snickering to myself because, who am I kidding?

But I can at least try.

I realize what I probably look like. Laughing to myself, I’m probably not the most appealing sight, which is why at that precise moment, I meet the gray eyes of Enzo Cattaneo.

It’s that meet-cute moment you read about, but my narrative isn’t a romance story.

It is far from it.

I can see from the get-go that he’s interested.

Some men are such simple creatures—like a crow, mesmerized by shiny things.

He’s about to meet something shiny, and that is the blade of the knife I have stowed away in my purse.

My instruction was to seduce Enzo and learn his secrets, only to then betray him.

But there is one not-so-tiny problem with that scenario—soon, my already growing belly won’t be easily concealed.

Unless Enzo has a mommy fetish, this plan won’t work, which is why I plan on killing him tonight and dealing with the consequences later.

Gianna won’t be happy.

But she can do her own bidding if she isn’t pleased with my tactics.

It feels almost sacrilegious to disobey her this way.

Enzo looks rather sharp in a navy suit with a crisp white shirt. He’s opted for no tie, but instead wears his shirt unbuttoned with a gold crucifix chain on display.

He reeks of power and money.

Different from Aldo, who, although dressed well, was never flashy like Enzo appears to be.

I shyly avert my eyes, playing the game as I was taught by the best.

A moment later, a man is by my side. “Mr. Cattaneo wishes to speak with you.”

I nervously curl a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Who is he?”

“Best you do not keep him waiting,” he says in a strong accent, ignoring my question. “He wants to talk to you in private.”

Nodding, I follow the man as he leads me through the unsuspecting crowd.

This place is like a maze, but I ensure I keep count of the turns. The man stops and opens the library door.

Enzo stands with his back turned to the door, perusing a shelf.

The man gestures for me to enter, and when I do, the door closes behind me.

Is this how these men woo women? They believe barking a possessive order makes us women putty in their hands?

I suppose money talks, as there is no mistaking that Enzo is extremely wealthy.

The gold Rolex speaks for itself.

I don’t speak.

I wait for him to address me as a good little lamb is expected to.

He retrieves a book from the shelf and opens it, appearing to read over it. It seems like a rather strange time to engage in some light reading, but to each their own.

“Ciao,” he finally says, placing the book back.

“Hello, I don’t know a lot of Italian. I’m sorry.” I scare myself by how easily I can slip into this damsel-in-distress role.

Enzo turns with a smile. “Ah, American. I knew something was different about you. Who do you belong to?”

His comment has me biting the inside of my cheek to stop from telling him to go fuck himself. I do not belong to anyone.

My heart, however, does.

But my mind and who I am as a person—I belong to myself.

Swallowing down my profanity, I reply as Vince instructed, “I am here with Elio Barone. He’s my uncle.”

Elio is no doubt on Gianna’s payroll and will vouch for my story. But I don’t need anyone to be my alibi because Enzo is minutes away from taking his last breath.

“How long are you here?”

“I don’t know yet. I came here to study history.”

Enzo doesn’t care why I’m here. I could tell him I was interested in flying to the moon, and it wouldn’t make a difference because I’m good for only one thing in his eyes.

Killing him suddenly becomes a whole lot easier.

He walks toward me, but I stand my ground regardless of how he towers over me. He doesn’t hide his appraisal of me. And when his eyes linger on my breasts, it’s evident he likes what he sees.

He cups my cheek.

I try not to flinch at his cold touch.

“Allow me to show you the most beautiful history in all of Sicily, then.”

I chew my bottom lip, faking playing coy, before nodding. “I would like that.”

“I would too.” He leans down and plants a chaste kiss on my lips.

I slyly unfasten the clasp on my purse, and as my fingers pass over my knife, Enzo throws a curveball I was not expecting.

“But first, tell me who the fuck you really are.”

It appears I was the one being played all along.

Before I have a chance to retaliate, Enzo snatches my purse out of my hands, and when he sees my knife, he grins.

“A girl can never be too careful,” I quip, refusing to back down.

“Somehow I doubt you’re just a girl.”

I search for a weapon, just as Gianna taught, and see them in the form of books.

Lunging for the shelf to my right, I grab a hardcover and throw it in Enzo’s face. The moment he swipes it away, I punch him in the stomach, winding him.

I don’t give him time to recover before I yank up my ballooned skirt and kick him in the ribs.

He staggers back three steps, gripping his side.