“That makes no fucking sense,” Giovanni replies, striving for some strength.
Zane stills on his spot, tensions erupting. “I didn’t hurt you because I know if I did, Amelia would never forgive me for stooping to your level. I have strived to make her see how much I love her, and I will not allow someone like you to ruin it all.” Regardless of his speech, Zane does take a step forward, invading Giovanni’s personal space once more. “But mark my words, if I ever find you anywhere near Amelia again, I will cut you in so many different ways, you’ll know exactly what a slow death is like. And while I’m at it, I’ll taunt you until you take that very last breath.”
My heartbeat becomes rapid. This man, this beautiful male who adorns my every waking moment with hope and grace, will do whatever he can to protect me. At one time that thought terrified me, but now it fills me with calm. I know that whatever happens, Zane will come out of this predicament a different man - he'll be stronger, more resilient. He’ll care more, love unequivocally, and he’ll be able to stare whatever life has to offer him with dignity and a newborn potency that will make even the meanest of men quake with fear.
While I'll remain just as in love and enamored as I am. I used to imagine what corruption would look like once it crippled Zane, but now, now that isn’t an obsession. This crooked world hasn’t done anything to damage him. If anything, it’s matured him into a robust, brilliant force in which no one should cross.
He embodies the mental agility we all do, that need to use power and exert fear whenever it is needed, but unlike most in this lifestyle, Zane’s moral compass enables him to know when to stop. He is aware of his humanity and no one threatens that but himself.
It’s in that moment of power that the silence ebbs into all four corners of the room and we’re left reeling from yet a new event. However, as my mind chases multiple thoughts, I cannot stop myself from realizing that my father has said or done nothing to show his input or support.
“Cat got your tongue?” I ask, my tone lashing a little harsher than I had intended. “How can you be so fucking quiet while this is happening? How do you get to absolve yourself of any input now after all that has happened?”
I lash out as my father still remains silent. How dare he do such a thing when we’re all falling apart? His demand was to keep us together, maintain a ferocious exterior, but now we’re dealing with the ghost of grief, and he’s no longer aiding the moment or supporting our family.
It’s this that has me snapping entirely.
"Can't you see what's become of us?" I ask, my tone one full of seething anger and grief. "You have a dead son, a fugitive one, and one who couldn't care less. Then there's us," I say and an involuntary laugh falls from my lips. It's a mirthless one, one that shows the sheer irony of this. "None of us want to be here and you stand there with nothing to say! What is up with that?"
“I’m in the same predicament as you are, bambina,” he responds.
That’s all he has for me?! As rage bubbles, I narrow my gaze on him, almost full of disbelief, but I take note that he’s being deadly serious with his comment. He acts like the doting father who’s losing it all when, at this moment, he’s the only origin of this hell that I can see.
“You caused this,” I begin to say, my voice quiet yet firm. “Can’t you see that? You’re the reason we’re at this point. You’re the reason Manuel is dead and Enzo and me nearly died! You’re the reason he put me on your desk like some sacrificial fucking lamb! That’s on you, Sal, and the life you’ve pushed upon us without our say so.” I take a smooth, calculated step forward, the anger only just simmering. “And now you stand there and act like you’re one of us and can look mournful.” I shake my head in dismay. “You’re not. Never were and never will be.”
Even now, my father doesn’t spark up a conversation. No one else so much as moves in the room either, but he’s deathly still as he watches with soulless eyes.
Every tiny whisper of hate begins to spill from me, unraveling in tendrils of blackened tar, preparing to cause harm.