I have no idea how I’m going to rid myself of this guilt, but I know I have to try. I cannot be eaten away by the ghosts of men who deserved what they had coming to them. I need to build my life into what I want it to be – whether that means running away or sticking around to face the swan song of my romance.
As I zip my skirt up, finally dressed, I look around the room, looking for any more of my personal belongings, but all I see is my cell phone. I look one last time at Jimmy and start the hasty retreat from the room. I snatch my cellphone on the way and walk away from the master bedroom toward Marius’s dead body. I step around, not allowing it to slow my sweet escape. I may be a hurricane of emotions, but I cannot let this defeat me. I did what I had to – don’t feel, don’t deviate, kill. My ongoing litany is almost becoming my own form of justification.
As I leave the house, I adorn a triumphant outlook. Only good things can come from this. As I walk across the front porch, I yank out my phone and hit Enzo’s number on speed dial. He immediately answers with a worrying tone.
“Where the hell are you?” he asks, his tone not far from berating me. “You left before the sun was up.”
“I was working,” I merely muse. “Tell Papà we only have one left to deal with.” I speak down the phone. “I’m on my way home for a shower, but someone needs to bring a cleanup crew to Jimmy’s. He and Marius need disposing of.”
“You’ve already killed them?” Enzo gasps down the phone at me. I can hear the horror in his tone, the shock laced upon every word. “Amelia, what in the hell?”
“No one messes with me, Enzo.” I can feel how tense I am becoming. I should be more relaxed now; two of the deeds are done. “No one gets to undermine me, ever. It’s time people realized that.”
“What have you done?” Enzo asks with a weary tone.
“What I promised,” I remark back with a snarky tone. “Papà wanted them dead by sunrise. I had to wait for Marius, but they’re definitely dead. What Papà wants, Papà gets. He’ll have to wait to have Big Al’s head. I have other things to do today.” I finally get to my car and unlock the doors. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”
I look up at the house, the sun glimmering around it like a shrouded halo. I merely pull my sunglasses out of my bag, put them on, and smile. I look around, take in the beautiful morning, and find myself thinking of nothing but Zane. I know the tidal wave of emotions will hit me and the ghosts of my past victims will come out to play, but right now, I feel fulfilled.
Maybe I am an Abbiati, after all. Maybe this will solidify my spot in the family. Maybe Zane won’t have to die.
Maybe I’m a dreamer.
***
As I walk back into the hospital, I feel the weight of my prior actions come back to haunt me. I think it’s because I’ve bounded from murder to worried lover. I haven’t vented or internalized, nor have I rationalized how the fear of Zane dying has rendered me. If I can take revenge upon men who tried to kill him, how will I ever confront myself if I do my father’s work and kill Zane?
I can’t run and hide from myself. I am left to confront the woman I have evolved into on a daily basis as it is, but soon, I will be more like the devil than ever. And while he might revel in the idea of it, I will be itching to leave my body.
The simplest response I have is this – I can’t do it.
While my father will celebrate the end of Zane Maverick’s potential anarchy on our lives, I will be destroyed. Yet I know, if I leave it too long and have to do the work of Dio Lavoro, I will never be the person Zane made me into. I will be covered in much darker shades, smothered in scars, haunted for life. Maybe that’s what my father wants. He wants my utter destruction so I will be his puppet like everyone else under his power. If this is just a gentle buildup, he’ll have his way if I live in fear of what will happen as a result of my disobedience.
As I walk nonchalantly to Zane’s room, I try to repress all my feelings and attempt a happier exterior. I’m riddled with my demons, but most of all the ones that howl Zane’s name. I did it for him – it’s all I can do to carry on my justifications. I killed for him, to give him the protection he needed. He should only fear me, and people need to know that he is mine. I am the one who has this hit. If I have to fire warning shots to make that abundantly clear, then so be it.
I enter his room, looking directly at the bed. He’s now covered up with a gown, still hooked up to a heart monitor, and still sound asleep. I walk across the room and retake my seat in complete silence, the sounds of Zane’s heart bleeping beside me.