I know what I’ve done is not productive or good for the family, but my association with Giovanni doesn’t feel like it’s obligated because he’s family. He is a puppet my father loves to use. He, long ago, left the family. He wants to have an opinion in my life, but he’s too late for that. That ship sailed a long time ago, and I won’t miss him trying to have a say in how I should conduct my own business when he doesn’t respect our input in his.
I head through the house – it’s all silent now, a stark contrast from before. I make my way up the grand staircase, taking my time as I do so. I’m in no rush, but cannot wait to wash the day away and crawl into my bed. When I make it to the top landing, I walk down the corridor, bypassing Carlo’s and Manuel’s rooms. They’re silent, too, and I realize I have no idea if they’re even in the house. If I know Carlo, he will have left the house to find his latest sexual conquest. Manuel keeps to himself a lot, so I can easily assume he’s in his room, locked away with a book.
When I reach my bedroom, I push the door open and quickly enter only to slam it shut. Locked away in my room, I stand still for a moment as a rush of tranquility invades my system. In all the horrors of this evening, I haven’t taken a moment to think about Zane. Looking at the clock on my bedside table, I realize it’s now nearing two AM. So much for that seven hours of sleep I had so craved before I head back to the hospital first thing in the morning.
Driving myself toward the bathroom, I head straight for the shower. I turn it on and allow the water to warm. While I wait, I strip and begin to mentally plan my next three assassinations. Jimmy, Marius, and Big Al – they will be my best and worst kills. I don’t know if I’ll stick to my normal Femme Fatale ways of poisoning or if I’ll address them with a Giovanni influence, but whatever happens, they will all end up six feet under. I want them to regret ever underestimating me and my plans.
As I finally stand under the shower, I feel like I’m being showered with droplets of weighted iron. Each one makes me feel heavier and heavier as my thoughts consume me in one. I thought a shower would help me relax, allow my notions to fall away and wash away with the water. However, here I’m trapped with my inner philosophies and working plans of murderous intent.
I wonder what the outcome of this will all really be – the fallen Abbiati princess, the Femme Fatale, Zane’s lover. The possibilities are endless, but this is something I have to do. It goes against my better judgment, but I never want to feel like I did when Enzo told us Zane was shot. I never want to feel a rush of hatred burn through me like I did when I found out this was orchestrated. I never want to be doubted again.
I have three more deaths before my fourth and final one. By the time I have to kill Zane, he will be healed, and I will, hopefully, have a plan for him to disappear. His recovery bides me time, gives us hope, but before that can begin, I have to strike again.
I stand up straighter in the shower, looking forward as the water rains down over my face. I will make sure Jimmy and Marius are not breathing by the time I head back to the hospital.
Stepping out of the shower, I grab my towel and wrap it around myself. I am fueled by lack of sleep and the lesson my father drilled into my – don’t feel, don’t deviate, kill. However, this is all influenced by my feelings, and I don’t care, for once. I will make sure Zane is safe. After this, people will know he is my hit, and they won’t try to stop me. I wanted sleep, but now I want to leave my mark for all to see. No rest for the wicked tonight.
Opening my closest, I look at my many outfits and wonder one thing – what would Femme Fatale wear?
CHAPTER TWELVE
As I step out of my Ferrari, I look up to the grand mansion before me and cannot believe that I’m about to commit a murder – or two – in a house so grand and beautifully kept. I guess there are worse places I could do my job.
I saunter up the drive and ring the doorbell twice as soon as I’m within reaching distance. Anticipation flares up in me, red-hot and eager. I have no idea how smoothly this will go, but I can pray that what I’ve decided to wear will help me. My top is low plunging, tucked into a leather figuring hugging skirt. The shirt itself is white, almost transparent as my bra shows through. My Louboutins are the ones I feel most powerful in, and my lingerie matches it. The door begins to open, pulling me out of my reverie to stand poised and ready.
“Amelia?” he utters as I stand before him on his porch. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Jimmy,” I say and just smile sweetly. “I heard what you did for my family where Zane Maverick was concerned. I’m here to say thank you.”
“Oh,” he utters surprised. “I thought you’d be mourning to be fair.”