Page 33 of Die for You (Kiss or Kill #2)

“My father trusted you!” she yells, tears of anger cascading. “You promised to protect me! You fucking lied! You son of a bitch! How can you do this to me? I have been nothing but loyal to you. How?”

Lenny doesn’t retaliate as she spits abuse at him.

Gianna watches this shit show she created with fire in her eyes.

The commotion is what I need to gesture to Francesco that it’s time. I’m certain Lenny is biding his time. When he sees the opportunity, he’ll take the knife from Francesco and act in whatever way he can.

Lettie is watching me closely. She’s waiting for instructions. She is Lenny’s and my daughter after all. It shouldn’t surprise me that she knows what to do.

I thought we created a monster.

How wrong I was.

I nod, and everything happens in a split second.

Lettie twists and stomps on Gianna’s foot. Gianna topples over, unbalanced and caught off guard, which is my opportunity to charge at her. Lettie takes cover behind the altar. Francesco quickly hands Lenny the knife, then runs to protect Lettie.

Lenny grabs Bria by the waist as she fights like a wildcat, desperate to get to me.

Gianna grabs a pew to balance herself, but I bring my foot down, stomping on her kneecap. She buckles with a yelp.

I give her no time to recover as I elbow her in the face. Her nose cracks.

Her stilettos will be the death of her, as will her elaborate train. Both hinder her movement because every time she tries to run, her heels catch the train.

I use her poor wardrobe choice to my advantage and stand on the train, holding her in place as I punch her repeatedly in the face. She tries to fight me off, and usually, she’d be able to block me.

But my rage is animating me in a way I’ve never felt before.

Every part of me is humming, demanding I bathe in her blood and use her skull as a goblet as I bask in celebratory champagne.

She scratches across my cheek with her long nails. It only infuriates me further.

I hear Lenny ordering Francesco to take Lettie back to his home.

Bria is cursing at the top of her lungs to let her go.

Gianna manages to kick off her heels.

Her nose is bleeding, and her face is slightly swollen.

But it’s not enough.

“Looks like I should win the fucking Oscar…bitch,” I spit.

Gianna smirks. “I always knew you’d be my most worthy opponent.”

“Is that so?” I ask, removing my foot from her dress.

Let’s make it a fair fight, then.

“Well, as they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Does it…Mother?”

Gianna’s eyes widen.

So she didn’t know.

Something is amiss. Gianna came into this, thinking she had an advantage. But this puzzle has missing parts.

I can figure that out later, though, because now we end this.

“You’re not my child,” she cruelly spits as we circle one another. “I may have given birth to you, but I disowned you the moment I left you on these steps. You’re nothing but a disappointment. Nothing but a sniveling little weakling.”

Her words bounce off me because the days of being wounded are long gone. And I know she says this with intent because an angry fighter is a fighter who makes mistakes.

“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” I mock, reveling in her anger that I haven’t fallen for her tactics.

She lunges and attempts to punch me, but I block her and spin, jabbing her in the kidneys.

“You taught me well.”

“I haven’t taught you a thing,” she counters, placing a hand over her lower back.

“On the contrary, you’ve taught me not to feel, which is why I’ll have no issues cutting off your fucking head!”

She nods, understanding that only one of us will be leaving here alive. “Let’s do this, then.”

Just as she taught me, we bow as a sign of respect, which seems ironic. But once we stand tall, it’s every man for himself. Even injured, she charges me, kicking me in the stomach. I stumble back three steps.

Lenny is still restraining Bria, so all he can do is watch. However, he knows this is my fight. He’ll jump in if necessary, but this bitch is mine.

When she punches, I block.

When I kick, she sidesteps.

We know each other’s fighting styles, but I have something Gianna does not—years of pent-up anger because of her.

I won’t fatigue.

I won’t surrender.

I will beat her down until there’s nothing for her to give.

We circle the other, eyes fixed, watching for an opportunity to strike. As Gianna taught me, I look for anything that can be used as a weapon because we don’t always have a gun or knife on hand. And I see it in the large statue of Mary.

I slowly lead her toward it because if I can kick her into it, that statue which sits upon a pillar will fall on top of her—I hope. At the very least, it’ll knock her off-balance, which will give me an advantage.

“All these years,” I start, hoping to distract her from my plan. “I wanted to ask my mother, why? Why did she abandon me? Why did she leave me here to fall prey to the vile creatures inside? But now that I’ve met my mother, I know the answer.”

Gianna listens intently, oblivious to the statue behind her.

“My mother needs to lie, cheat, and steal because she’s nothing but a coward. And I don’t want to be anything like that. If I’m to sit on a throne, it’s because I earned it, not because I stole it. You’re pathetic. A bitter woman who is terrified of being alone.”

Gianna is offended by my barrage because the truth hurts.

And so does the Virgin Mary as Gianna bumps into the pillar, and the statue topples onto her back. Gianna buckles under the force, which is when I advance and slam my fist so hard into her face, a tooth is embedded into my knuckles.

Blood trickles down her chin.

With a roar, she charges me, but I’m faster, and I deliver a roundhouse kick to her stomach. She staggers backward, but soon regains her footing. She grips her dress and rips off the train, freeing her legs. She doesn’t wait and comes running toward me, delivering a succession of punches.

She manages to land two.

One in the face.

The other in the ribs.

The bitch can pack a punch.

I shake off the double vision, and when she throws another punch, I grip her wrist and bend it back, breaking it with a loud crack.

She screams in pain.

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her scream.

She crosses her injured arm over her chest and uses the other to grab my hair like the catty bitch that she is. I try to break free, but she yanks on my hair like whipping reins. She tosses me into the side of a pew, the sharp edge digging into my flank.

Our fingers tangle as I try to pry myself free, but she only holds on tighter and heaves me into the confessional booth.

There’s no way she’s letting me go, so with no other choice, I pull away so hard, she yanks out a chunk of hair.

I use the confessional booth wall as leverage and kick her in the stomach.

She’s hurled through the air and crashes into a tall brass candelabra. The lit candles roll along the floor, but one bounces on the altar, setting the linen altar cloth alight.

With the altar on fire, it sets the perfect backdrop as I elbow Gianna once, twice, in the face. She loses her footing and bangs her head on the side of the altar. The hit is hard, and she grips the edge, her feet slipping out from under her.

She tries to stand but can barely hold her weight, as she’s only able to use one arm for support.

I walk toward her, and seeing her this way, I feel nothing.

I don’t feel guilty.

I don’t feel bad.

I reach down, and with my finger, I swipe the blood from her cheek.

Placing it into my mouth, I say, “The infamous Gianna Ricci is human after all.”

Her eyes are filled with pure hatred. “I’ll always be a part of you. You can kill me a hundred times, but that doesn’t erase who you really are. You’re my blood. You’re rotten on the inside…just like me. And deep down, you know, even in happiness, you’ll forever feel solace in the darkness.”

“You’re right,” I reply, watching as she struggles to hold up her weight. “But I’ll do my damnedest to try to stay in the light. If not for me, then for my daughter…something you’ll never understand.

“You kidnapped your own granddaughter and used her as bait. You left me here to rot. You are the true monster in this story, Gianna, and whatever your backstory is, if perhaps you didn’t get cuddled enough as a child, or maybe your parents were as heartless as you are, I really don’t care.

“You had a choice to do better, but you chose to be a fucking cunt.”

I hear commotion behind me, but I’m transfixed on the sight before me.

“You need me. That’s why you keep coming back. You’re nothing without me!”

“You arrogant woman. You came into this thinking you had won. Why? What ace do you have up your sleeve? I thought it was Lettie…but it’s something else, isn’t it?”

“You clever girl.” She grins, revealing her missing tooth.

I yank her up, pressing us nose to nose. “Tell me what it is.”

She instead laughs manically. “You can’t kill me.”

The small, slow-burning fire creeps closer and closer to the end of the altar, giving me a wonderful idea. I turn to walk into the sacristy, wishing to retrieve the consecrated wine, but am knocked to my ass when a loud pop rocks the chapel’s walls.

Spinning, I see Lenny tackling Bria, who has a gun.

My bad for not checking if she was armed. Her ball gown allows ample space to hide a piece.

The gunshot throws me off, and Gianna uses that to her advantage as she rams something sharp into my ankle. Peering down, I find her jeweled hair clip sticking out of my Achilles.

And the bitch, just like Jesus Christ, has arisen.

Gianna gets a second wind as the playing field is somewhat leveled because an Achilles tendon injury is one of the worst to have.

She slams my head onto the altar, holding me down.

I drive my elbow backward, connecting with her stomach, winding her.

She releases me, but when I hear another gunshot, I know Bria didn’t miss this time.

She hit the back of my shoulder.

A flesh wound, but Gianna jams her fingers inside and twists.

A scream rips through me because that fucking hurts.