I manage to scratch his face, straight across his eye and cheek. My nails leave red claw marks down his face, and he stops. I try to move out from under him, but he reacts quickly and with a balled fist, he wounds me with one hard punch to my kidney and I cough in difficulty as the wind is knocked from my lungs. My eyes roll backwards as hot pain radiates from the site on my side, and I force myself to find composure. I tell myself to just breathe, but even that feat is a struggle.
The stiletto! My one beacon of hope as Big Al continues to viciously ravage me. Again, I fight by kicking my legs the best I can under him, writhing beneath his heavy mass and stretched out hand.
The moment he tears my panties away from me is the same moment I slam my stiletto heel straight into his neck. Blood sprays as it severs his jugular, but I don’t care as his hands fall away and he sits backwards to assess what the fuck I’ve done to him.
I’ve fucking killed him, that’s what I’ve done, and it never felt more liberating to kill a man like that right now.
I push myself backwards, distancing myself from him. I only stop when I hit the front door, and I watch him. He finally plucks the heel from his neck and discards of it across the room. He looks at me, the expression masked with a killer intent. He’s feeling feral right now, but he’s not going to last long. He goes to make an advance toward me, but he barely makes it before he starts to cough, spitting blood up as he does so. He falls onto his hands, now positioned on all fours. He begins to make a gurgling noise, and I can only assume it’s where he’s drowning in his own blood.
As scared as I am, I know I need to finish this and leave. Gathering everything my father has ever bullied into my mind and engrained into my learning, I pull my shirt closed and slowly rise to my feet and walk over to Big Al. There’s so much blood, I have to be careful not to step into it. As I step before him, he finally looks up to me and I throw him the dirtiest look possible.
“La pratica rende perfetti,” I hiss as I look down at him. He wants to challenge my ability to kill for my family, for those I love, I’ll prove to him that practice makes perfect. It doesn’t matter how the kill happens, just as long as it does.
And from the mess of carpet, it happened.
I gather my things absentmindedly. I pick my shoes up, one covered in blood, the other clean. I collect my purse and throw all my items into it. I make sure there is nothing left behind. I ignore Big Al’s final breaths and pick up his car keys from the dish by the door and begin to leave, throwing my final comment over shoulder.
“Ciao, Coglione.”
***
When I finally make the drive home, I try my hardest not to cry at the tenderness of my entire body. I don’t think I’m seriously injured, but then again, I’m no doctor. The bastard threw me around a little, hit me here and there, but I’ve survived worse, and a bath and a cleanup job will do me wonders.
I begin to head for the stairs, my bag clasped to my chest to stop my jacket from falling open. I keep my head down, trying not to make any noise. I can feel the tears beginning to build now that I’m in the sanctum of my home. The full velocity of what had transpired comes at me full throttle, and I’m ready to fall apart.
“Amelia?”
Busted, I think, as I stop at the bottom of the stairs. I look up and see Enzo and Manuel standing at the top of them. I find my neck hurts just looking up the vast staircase, and I look away. I saw their faces for a brief second before looking away, and I can tell there’s no disguising my current look.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice is much hoarser than it has been before. I turn away, keeping my hand at my chest, the other stabilizing me some. I want to groan out in abject pain, but that will only make them worry.
“Manuel, go and grab me some sweats and a top for her to get changed into and meet me in the grand room.” Enzo throws his instructions around as he begins to bolt down the steps toward me. The moment he touches me, I lose all control. “C’mon,” he says softly, keeping me close as he guides me through the house.
“Where’s Papà?” I ask roughly and am thankful for Enzo keeping me standing.
“He’s on his way back from a business meal,” he states, and I hear him exhale deeply. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” I comment dryly and look up at him. “I didn’t want you to see what he tried to do to me. I called your guys; they’re going there to clean up and send someone to pick up the car.”
“Was driving wise?” Enzo jokes, trying to lighten the mood as he helps me down into a chair. “Look at you,” he speaks softly. The tone itself brings me to tears again. He is so like my mother with his temperament that it’s hard not to want to just be vulnerable and allow all walls to drop. “Amelia, what did he do?”
I look down ashamedly and now the tears finally fall. “He tr-tried to rape me.” I swallow difficultly and look back up to him. “He knew what I had done, and he knew what I was going to do, so he attacked me and then tried to rape me.”