“I know you, Amelia. I know how you loved him once. You’re so fickle as it is, why wouldn’t you be fucking him to bide some time. The way you walk around here like you’re queen bee too, sickens me. You will never run this place, and soon, everyone will look down on you like me and Papà do. Everyone sees this strong, beautiful woman, but maybe we should let them see the real you. The weak victim you hide from everyone.” He leans in close to me to a suffocating degree. “What would happen if I were to run this down your face?” he asks and presents his infamous switchblade. The knife shoots from its hilt, the light glistening from its metal edge. “I didn’t get you a gift, but I have a perfect one for you now,” he says and begins to lower it to my face. “A scar right down your face would be a perfect reminder to keep you in line. Even Maverick wouldn’t want a butchered bitch.”
I close my eyes as I prepare for that piercing bite on my skin, but Giovanni’s weight suddenly disappears, and I’m left cowering to an empty space. Once I pry them open, I see why. Bruno has arrived and has Giovanni thrown over the pool table by the collar of his shirt and blazer.
“You are one sadistic bastard, Giovanni,” Bruno spits and releases Giovanni enough to allow him to turn to face his brother. “I knew there was reason I fucking despised you. If I didn’t have cause before, what I just witnessed was a real clincher.”
“Get the fuck away from me,” Giovanni grunts, straightening his shirt and jacket back.
That ignites more hate in my brother. “One day you are going to wake up with your balls shoved down your throat, Gio.” Bruno terrorizes Giovanni while we all stand and watch. Bruno towers over our brother when he is riled up, and I have to admit, that look of fear on Giovanni’s face is too fucking good to miss. “And I’ll be the one holding the knife. Threaten our little sister again, and I will make your biggest nightmares come true. Capisci?”
Clapping resounds after Bruno’s warning, and we all turn to see our father standing in the doorway. I sense Giovanni stand up, straightening himself and regaining his composure.
“I knew you still had that Abbiati fight still left in you, Figlio Mio.”
“Cut the fatherly duty, Salvatore. I am far from your son.” Bruno’s demeanor doesn’t relinquish its hardened stance. If anything, our father’s sudden appearance only bristles Bruno furthermore. “I’m here to celebrate my sister’s birthday, not tear away psychopaths from permanently scarring her.”
I feel amused as my father’s face fills with aggression, his eyes narrowing upon Giovanni. That look is one that makes me feel like I haven’t totally ruined my life within the family. I may still have a chance to redeem myself in my father’s eyes.
“Oh wow, now you strike up some resemblance to a doting father,” Bruno comments sarcastically. “I know what you tried to do with her the other night and don’t think I’ll ever forget finding her on my doorstep absolutely terrified.”
“Scare tactics,” our father says with a gentle shrug. He looks at me and smirks. “She seems okay. She just needs to get back to the party.”
Bruno snorts in disbelief. “Giovanni just threatened to permanently disfigure her, Sal. Yeah, I’m sure she’s ready to party.”
With that, our father’s face transforms. The devil comes to life and he slowly diverts his gaze to Giovanni. He stalks toward Giovanni and doesn’t stop until he has Giovanni pinned against the wall by his throat. Knowing the pure lengths Giovanni would go to harm the only Abbiati daughter seems to have my father in a tumultuous rage.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” my father asks, his voice is wild and so unlike him. “Stupido. Idiota. Il Bastardo!” My father begins to slap Giovanni with each new insulting adjective, and my brother just takes it. “You never lay a hand on her. She’s my precious cargo, you complete imbecile!” My father gives him a hard strike around the ear and Giovanni cowers at the walloping clout to the side of his head. Our father then stands back, keeping himself from blowing again. “You know she’s useless if you scar her in your rage. If she’s not perfect, then we lose our secret weapon. The only reason she works out as the Femme Fatale is because she is stunning; don’t jeopardize that. Think before you fucking act next time or I won’t be so light.”
“Wow, I really wished I had been born ugly,” I scoff my musing. My morale sinks lower than it has been all week, and once again, my father is to blame. “Great to know where your love for me stems from.”
I go to leave, admittedly sulking my way out of the room, but why do I care? It’s not as if he wants to keep me around, he’s delivered the threat of sending me off with a total stranger to whatever life followed by a swift ‘Hey Amelia, your next meal’s a poisoned one’. However, when he grips onto my arm as I pass by him, he hauls me backwards until he’s standing close to me, and his grasp on me tightens.
“Don’t be such an ungrateful little cow. You weren’t brought up like that,” he hisses at me, belittling me.
“I also wasn’t brought up to know I was going to be a grade-a killing machine, but would you look at that? Things really do change from what we expect.” I can’t stop myself. The words keep churning out, and my brain isn’t fast enough to stop them from falling from my painted red lips.
“What would you rather have, Amelia? A mundane life or all of this at your feet?” my father questions me, queries my motives. “Because I gave you it all.”