"That isn't my usual mix," I tell my father, yanking at his hand with fierce madness. "What was in that?"
"Princess, it's just a new poison. It's to hasten things. Really leave a reminder. I don’t want you to do anymore of your calling card business, either. It’s time for a marked change." My father's voice is calm, a stark contrast to mine. "It's the least Maverick deserves."
"It's not that easy, and you know that," I respond, my eyes watering at the thought of Zane ending up a bloodied mess in his bed with my lipstick staining his cheek. As my father morphs into Italian madness, I steel myself. “I can’t just pour that into his drink and be done with it! That isn’t how I want to be able to do this.”
At first, all I get is a smile, followed by my father guiding me to a seat. As we sit, my father's demeanor is calm again, composed with twisted intent. His reaction scares me more than the uproar he so casually adorns.
"Amelia, there are multiple ways of skinning a cat. You know that saying, right?" he asks, and I merely nod my head. "Then slice his throat while he sleeps for all I care. I just want news of his death ringing from all corners of Manhattan. Just because I enable you with one method doesn't mean you have to use it. Make me proud of you, Bambina.” He reaches out for me, pushing a strand of hair away from my face. “L'amore è cieco. That is your issue here.”
I shake my head at him at his statement, knowing I know – have felt – otherwise. “No, love isn’t blind, Papà. It’s very real, very consuming, and right now, very mine.” I’m holding my heart out to him, allowing it to ebb with each slow beat, praying he’ll allow me some leeway to protect it. “Grant me time to just experience this before I do what you want and kill my chances of feeling it again for a very long time.” My heart bottoms out as I admit that and ask for one dwindling chance to just love Zane. “Please.”
“Fine, but you are still on a time limit. If I allowed you, you’d have forever with him before you did my job.” He’s right; I’d stall until Zane’s last day on earth before I had to kill him myself. I know that was never an option, but I take the extended time I have graciously. “Now that that’s decided, let’s go back.”
I don’t respond, just get up, and find my own way back, my father trailing behind me. As I resume my seat, I, uncomfortably, feel Nicolas’ eyes all over me. I have felt his gaze all evening, but now even more so. He had stared at me when I entered the room, counting my every step I took until I took my seat back beside him and Enzo. I try to settle as my father ignites conversation across the table and try my hardest to relax and enjoy the evening – regardless of Max’s dead body still flopped over on the table, blood staining the white linen cloth.
“I have to admit, you are every bit as lovely as your mother.” Nicolas leans over, his hand coming to rest on my lap. “I always did fancy myself a piece of her. Why not you, too? No matter what force, I’ll get a piece.”
“Keep your dirty mitts off me,” I warn him in a low tone and throw his hand back into his lap. I make sure my hand is on him right, and as I throw his arm back, I make sure my fist makes contact with his dick. I’m in no mood to be touched or drooled over by someone who has done nothing worthy of deserving me.
He grunts at the connection, winded for a moment, but sit backs and forces himself to recover quickly. When he’s stabled, he grabs me under the table. “Do that again, and I’ll make damn sure Daddy and his lapdog sons are too late to stop what I have always had planned for you.” When he sees the fear ripple in my eyes, he smirks, clears his throat, and looks back across the table.
Giovanni's hand slams into Nicolas' neck, and I'm struck by the blood that pours like ribbons around my brother's hand. I sit, admittedly, trying to stop the creep of terror threatening to escape my throat. Nicolas gurgles as his life leaves him at my brother's will, but Giovanni doesn't grant him mercy. He keeps the switchblade rammed into the man's throat, threatening to slice his entire throat open. Nicolas' carotid artery pumps blood out in fierce crimson rivers as his heart continues to beat rapidly, but as my brother slides the knife away, he takes with it Nicolas' final breath, and he collapses on himself in a pool of his blood.
I’m still in shock at how quickly this transcended. One minute I’m fighting my own battle – seemingly alone – and the next, Giovanni’s doing something to protect my honor.