“What?” Giovanni suddenly asks as if he’s entirely innocent, reaching for a napkin to wipe the blood away from his hand and knife. Now all eyes are on him and he smirks at the attention. “The bastard touched my sister and threatened her. I won’t tolerate that behavior toward her.”
My father begins a round of applause. "That, gentlemen, is what will happen when you even so much as think of my daughter in that way. You ever disrespect her and your payment for it will be worse than our dearly departed there. Disrespect my daughter and you may as well be disrespecting me." My father's voice is full with venomous malice now. He’s enraged that a man even so much as thought of touching me, but to do it at this event when it’s for my father’s honor? Unforgivable. It seems to me that is one thing people forget to remember when they're dealing with someone like my father. Abbiatis do not forget, forgive, or give second chances.
Well, all but one. I broke my family's moral code - or lack thereof - for the sake of my own beating heart. Selfishness has me wrapped so tightly, I begin to suffocate at the mere thought of Zane being gone forever. Don't feel, don't deviate, kill - the devilish voice from within beckons forth and I'm reminded of the only training my father granted me. Don't feel, don't deviate, kill. Its tone is a silent wonder in this abyss within me, its echo fills the dark void pierced into my soul, and I can do nothing but listen to it.
I feel its claws dig deep into me as they morph and change into a symphony of horror – don’t feel, don’t deviate, kill Zane Maverick. That is my saving grace, my true chance to absolve myself of all this fear. Tonight is proving that. Zane is one thing that won’t get me granted with a second chance. All the time he’s alive, I’m not. As soon as he is gone, my father will welcome me back with open arms and all this – all this upheaval and strife – will fizzle away to absolute nothingness. Just like I will.
I just have to decide which is better – a life without family or a life without the promise of a future.
The decision seems a tremendous responsibility. That is, until the face of my deceased mother ignites alive in my mind and I'm confronted with Zane's beautiful voice, telling me how I'm made for much grander things than the Abbiati life. I hear him speak of how it’s only ever going to me or how he regrets ever leaving me. I remember the way he made my body hum to life, how the fire ignited and coursed so vibrantly through me, how I wanted to remain in that state forever.
The battle I am in with myself turns disastrous as all of the voices collide and I feel a headache erupt. I’m pretty fucking sure if I don’t stop my inner monologues soon I will explode from the pressure. Every time the good succeeds, the evil overcomes and drags it down, repressing it, reminding me of my fate and no one else’s.
“I think this dinner has come to an untimely end,” my father proclaims, and I’m dragged back to the reality of the evening. “Amelia, boys.” My father narrows his vision on his children. “Please, follow me to my office immediately.”
My father doesn’t dismiss anyone or bid a farewell. He starts to leave, Giovanni cutting past to stand beside him. Enzo, Carlo, and Manuel all stand and follow suit. As we head to the office, Giovanni walks up in front with our father, and Enzo walks with me, protectively hovering close for having not noticed Nicolas’ pursuit and sexual prowess toward me. It’s unnecessary, really. I’m fine. I’m just in shock over Giovanni. It was so unlike him to protect me, but to murder for me? Well, that’s just a sign of loyalty for Giovanni.
“Tale padre, tale figlio,” my father praises Giovanni as they walk through the door, and his hand slaps onto Giovanni’s shoulder in pride. Like father, like son. The term sickens me and the way my father uses it on Giovanni only makes the nausea worsen. Even though Giovanni showed some love to his baby sister, he did it in the most murderous way. We were all born in the eye of my father, creations he would nurture, but only Giovanni is hell bent on becoming him.
“By the way,” my father abruptly stops and turns back. “Work your magic on Maverick soon, or you’ll find that addition in your next meal, Bambina.”
I don’t follow as they leave. The sting of the nickname sends red-hot prickles over my skin. Not only has he revoked giving me time to enjoy a love, but apparently, Giovanni’s kill has changed his way of thinking. I’ve just been delivered my own death sentence, and it looks nothing like I thought it would. No hail of fire, no gunshots ringing, no overload of strength to strangle the life from me. No, it’s just merely what is in those vials Giovanni hides until I need extra.
I look at Enzo and gulp.
I’m officially a dead woman walking.
CHAPTER EIGHT
My one glass of Dutch courage turned into four before I realized I was officially and royally screwed.