“How about we go in and turn this party around?” he asks me and gives a smirk. “I only want you to be happy today.” I take his hand, stand up, and he leads the way, with my hand still encased in his large, callous hand. I thought he always had the hands of a hardworking man. The mere size and hardness of them made me feel protected when I was younger, but now I know the uncared for hands are those of murderous work.
“I am happy,” I contradict him and myself all at once. I’m not happy, but I don’t want him to change the party he planned. I don’t know how long the happy act is going to last, but I know it won’t be for long. “If I’m honest, I just want our family to be one without the arguments and hostility.”
“I’ll work on it,” he vows and walks beside me up to the house.
The closer we get, the louder the hubbub of mixed conversations and music mingle into the air. As we get to the door, my father releases my hand to hold the door and allow me to enter first. As I do, I find Bruno, Carlo, and Manuel eagerly waiting for our arrival.
“You didn’t kill one another then?” Manuel asks, nervously. “People were beginning to ask questions. You’ve been outside for ages.”
Our father ruffles Manuel’s well-placed hair and chuckles a little. “Don’t worry yourself, Figlio Mio, your sister and I were merely working out the kinks of our relationship.”
Pulling away, Manuel strives for damage control on his hair, causing us to laugh. Even though he sees it as anything but hilarious, he doesn’t lose his temper. We all know how Manuel prides himself on appearance. He doesn’t have the heart of a lion, so works harder to keep his exterior sharp and well-groomed.
As the mirth begins to fizzle away, I look around and furrow my brow. “Where’s Enzo?”
“He got a phone call like two minutes ago,” Carlo pipes up. “He left the room to take it.”
It takes a few minutes for me to locate what I’m feeling, but when I do I’m not prepared for its impact. “Something doesn’t feel right,” I note as a sudden rise of unease creeps up my entire body. “I have to find him.” I leave my family’s side, rushing out of the room and working my way to my father’s office. It’s where most of the business is taken care of, why is this any difference?
When I push the door open, I see Giovanni sitting at my father’s desk and Enzo practically looking like a defeated man as he uses the desk to keep him standing. I feel my heart twist in my chest, each beat is a pitiful duty, and my eyes begin to water.
“Enzo?” I meekly ask and the way that Giovanni leers behind him leaves me thinking every bad scenario possible.
Apart from the one he utters as he finally stands to turn and look at me.
“Zane Maverick was shot tonight.” Enzo looks at me, his own grief filling his eyes. “From our informant, it’s not looking good. He almost bled out before an ambulance arrived.” My eyes water, but I see him look toward our father who comes to stand behind me. “Amelia might just have been saved doing your dirty work on this hit.”
As all my senses defuse, the last thing I see is Giovanni’s smirk, the last thing I feel is the vice close around my ribcage.
The last thing I think before it all comes crashing down is this cannot be happening.
CHAPTER TEN
“Amelia!” my father bellows as I collapse, and he strains to catch me before I fall in a heap on myself.
I feel disconnected with my body as I barely register being picked up and taken to the nearest seat. I don’t look at anyone, I just stare forward, almost catatonic, as images of Zane bleeding out haunt me. They are much more vivid than any I had dreamed in the aftermath of the grenade my father presented me with when he told me I had to kill Zane Maverick. This is reality.
As I feel a hand come to rub soothing circles on my back, I lash out. I act as if I’ve been burnt, unable to dance with the flickers of flames. My outburst is lethal, dramatic, and fearful, but I need to react like this. I need to get away from the thoughts and accusations assaulting me.
“Get off me!” I spit and inch away from my father. I’m purely driven by the overpowering idea that my father, or better yet my brother, are behind this. Why wait for me when the power was always theirs to abuse? “It was you, wasn’t it, you Bastardo? Come hai potuto?” I yell, my bilingual nature coming out with my grief and anger as I wonder how he could do this. “You gave me that pep talk to soften me up to hear this!”
My irrationality escalates, and I stand up. I have to get away from him if I’m going to remain strong during this. However, the look he gives me tells me I have fed my unfounded thoughts too much. He looks broken, hurt even as he stands before me.
“I never had anything to do with this,” my father responds calmly, seemingly confused.