7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
CRUE
I rony is the mother of all bitch-slaps and today I’m its victim. This thought weighs heavily on my mind as Mark and I drive through the countryside. After all of my vain attempts to spare Fiametta any suffering, I’m the one who has caused the most.
Six months ago, some chick throwing a tantrum because I got a little too rough wouldn’t have fazed me. I’d have smiled, told her to piss off and carried on with my life as if nothing had happened. This little change in my behavior that was imperceptible at first, but which is now growing inside me like a cancer, leaves me feeling very uncomfortable.
These foreign feelings have no place in my mind or my body. I’m not a man who cares what others think. I’m the monster who bends those others to my will. Everyone. These titans of New York, and their servants below them. Everyone...
Apart from her.
Get over it, you big baby.
My shadow’s savagery has found no end since I climbed the trellis up to Fiametta’s window. It has kept up a constant thrum of grumbles about how pathetic I was for indulging my sexual urges, rather than pressing my blade against her throat.
“Are you a hundred percent sure this is a good idea?” Mark pulls me out of my own head, when my car engine stops rumbling. We’re parked in front of Matteo Baronne’s villa. Mark has every right to be concerned.
“Nope,” I answer honestly.
Good or bad, I can’t say. But it won’t take long for Matteo to find out that I’m back in New York. As far as these things are concerned, it’s better for him to hear it from my mouth than from the grapevine. Especially when my first stop was Lorenzo Napoli’s home, rather than his. I wouldn’t want him getting the wrong idea. I really could do with fewer complications in my life, not more.
“Then why are we doing it?” Mark glares out the windshield at one of Matteo’s men, who’s guarding the front door. Or rather, waiting outside of it. I get the two confused, when I don’t know where I stand with someone.
“He needs to know I’m back.” And I need to know he isn’t a threat.
“Why do you think he’s even gonna care?” Mark reaches for his door handle and so do I. I shrug my shoulders once we’re outside, because admitting I don’t know, out loud, feels worse.
“You know, I’ll kill you if you get me killed,” Mark turns a glare to me.
“Then I’ll meet you at the gates of Hell, brother .”
“Very funny.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
“You didn’t have to come. You know that, right?” An uncomfortable sense of déjà vu washes over me. Only the last time we had a conversation similar to this, I was still in control of myself.
“And let you die alone? Nah, if we’re going down, we’re doing it together.”
We walk up to the doorman, side by side. He’s holding an AR. The make and model are beyond my recognition. Never really been one for guns.
“We’re not going to die,” I reassure him. “Not tonight, anyway. He’ll enjoy torturing us first.”
The doorman scoffs but doesn’t interrupt our conversation with any pleasantries. I recognize him. He is the same man who took us inside the last time we were here. Then, why does everything feel so unfamiliar? It’s only been nine damned weeks.
“I’m too pretty to be tortured,” Mark says, tilting his nose toward the ceiling.
“Annoying and pretty are very different things.” I shove my hands into my pockets, not sure what else to do with them. “And I think you’ve gotten them mixed up.”
The doorman scoffs again. Maybe even chuckles. At least someone thinks my jokes are funny.
Don’t do it. Don’t you dare think about her.
I don’t, though I want to.
“Hey, boss,” the doorman speaks after giving the frame around Matteo’s office door a gentle tap. “Got someone here to see you.”
No answer comes from inside, but by the way the doorman steps out of our way and ushers us inside, the Don must’ve made some sort of hand gesture.
When my eyes meet Matteo’s, a wide grin forms on his face. I have had no contact with him before pitching up at his door. I thought that giving him time to prepare a kill wasn’t the brightest idea. Not that much will change if he does want me dead.
At least I’ll have a good shot at taking him with me if he tries.
“I was wondering when you’d crawl out of your hole.” Matteo gets straight to the point. Why can’t Lorenzo be like this?
“It wasn’t a hole. He simply did some mountaineering to clear his head.”
Instinctively, I glare at Mark. He can’t even get his interruption right.
“You keep surprising me. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing, or a bad one.” Matteo eases back into his chair, and kicks on leg over the opposite knee. “And you brought him back. How cute.” He addresses Mark instead of me.
“I brought myself, thank you very much.” I say testily.
“Why, pray tell, did you bring yourself back?” Matteo cocks his head to the side. “Better still, what is it that brings you here , Crue?”
“The job. The money. The girl.” I stare him dead in the eye, even when he turns to Mark. I won’t show weakness here. “What else?”
“So, failure?” Matteo asks.
He’s got you there. My shadow adds, kicking me while I’m down.
“Or is it repentance?” Matteo continues, understandably. He doesn’t realize that he’s rudely interrupting the fucking voice in my head.
“A bit of both.”
“Where it should be neither,” Matteo smiles.
“Oh, thank God,” Mark sighs with heavy relief. “I was ready to go full psycho on this place.”
“Shush, friend. The adults are talking.” Matteo raises a finger to silence Mark. It’s for the best. He’s the absolute opposite of my silent brooding and tactical choice of words. If either of us let him talk for too long, it’s almost certain that one of us won’t walk out of here alive.
“That’s rude,” Mark says glumly and folds his arms over his chest like a scolded child.
Curious, indeed.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I have spent the last two months devoid of humanity and civilization.” Leadville is included in that. I may have walked among people , but they’re closer to the ninth circle of hell than actual human beings.
“What do you mean it should be neither?” I question Matteo’s last comment.
“One failure out of thirty odd names? Only a fool would believe your worth has diminished.” Matteo reaches for a rectangular wooden box and pulls out a fat cigar. He stopped offering them to me, long ago, but from time to time he offers Mark the opportunity to share a cigar with him. Today is one of those times, and stranger still, he offers Mark the first pick.
“There we go. Can’t jib-jab at us, while you’re sucking on that.”
My instincts spike at his calm, casual response to us. I’ve been in more situations like this than I care to count, and the worst part is I’m no good at reading them. Is this genuine sincerity or is he lulling us into a false sense of security while his men prepare to shoot us to shit outside?
Rarely do I wish I had a better handle on my human side; that part of everyone that can empathize with emotions other than hot-blooded rage. It didn’t cross my mind with Fiametta a few hours ago, but it does now. I feel the desire to understand them , so that I can make the necessary preparations.
My shadow, however, has always kept me safe. Even in silence, and dormant, it always manages to find a way. But it’s not for me, I know. I’m just a vessel carrying it around. Without the vessel, it would die too, and that’s why it spikes my senses and keeps me alert when things feel... off.
Once Mark’s selection is complete, Matteo starts his own hunt for the perfect cigar. He finds one, snips off the end, and lights up before continuing.
“Where one door opens, another always opens, Crue. I’d have thought you knew that already.”
“I’m still going to do it.”
No, you’re not. Pussy . My shadow belittles me. It’s right, but I can’t let Matteo know that.
And, as if he could hear my thoughts, Matteo says. “No, you’re not.”
“Why?” What does he know? What’s he planning? Better get ready for a fight.
“Word travels. I know you had her dead to rights and couldn’t do it.” He puffs thrice on his cigar, allowing massive plumes of smoke to escape his lips. “But let’s not be bogged down by inconsequential details. The contract is now void. If you kill her, it’s on your own head. The best part of all is, I’m going to let you keep the money.”
The money concerns me the least. Hearing that Fiametta is a free woman, with no bullet carrying her name, sets my chest ablaze. We can finally indulge our darkest whims with no pretense and no care about who knows it.
She wants nothing to do with you, ‘member? My shadow is quick to remind me of my shortcomings, and although I want to fault it, I can’t. Killing comes easily enough, but feeding this beast is another story. It awoke with the thought of Fiametta’s blood being spilled, and I fear it won’t be silenced until the deed is done.
Shit.
“What about us?” I remove my hands from my pockets, realizing that I look like an edgy kid trying to play badass.
What the fuck is going on? Now I am caring about how others see me?
Maybe I’m hurting over Fiametta more than I let myself believe.
“Us? Nothing changes. Don’t see why anything would.” Matteo wipes away some non-existent fluff from his short-sleeved button-down shirt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was meandering through the beaches of Florida, rather than staring down Lorenzo Napoli in slummy New York.
God, I’ve missed this place. The stench of piss wafting over the city’s streets. Hobos by the dozen shambling from one alleyway to the next, begging for coins they’re going to spend on booze or smack. An underbelly fraught with corruption and wicked men pulling the strings. And easy targets no one’s going to miss around every corner.
Leadville could learn a thing or two from New York. And if the only thing it acquires in the hard lessons my Big Apple slaps across its silly little streets is getting a larger pool of criminals who are deserving of my blade, I’ll be all the happier for it.
“Then I should tell you that Lorenzo Napoli has made me a compelling offer. Double your wage, with half upfront and the rest on its way,” I say.
My instinct’s sharp edge turn back to neutrality. Glorious neutrality. Empty nothing. Bliss.
“And why would you go and accept a stupid thing like that?” Matteo’s eyes narrow as though I’d just confessed to killing Jesus Christ. He holds the look for an uncomfortably long time, and then erupts into laughter. I knew it was bound to happen. Matteo knows I have no love for Lorenzo. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You should see your face.”
His face shows the same false seriousness it has been wearing since I walked in.
“It’s wonderful news,” Matteo continues. “By trying to take you away, Lorenzo’s playing straight into my hands. He’s bending over, spreading his cheeks and begging for it, without knowing.” He takes another three puffs, and more billowing smoke is emitted.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” I ask.
Matteo shakes his head. “Not yet, but in time you will. Just know that everything is going perfectly and according to my plan.”
“Until that time?” I can’t say why I’m interested in doing this. Any of it. Maybe it’s the thrill of playing both sides, knowing that if either catches wind that I’m screwing them around, they’ll kill me where I stand. I’m not much of a thrill seeker, but this is an interesting and unique opportunity. You probably couldn’t count the number of people who’ve found themselves in a position like this, on two hands. Why not be a part of something crazy, when my whole world is on the verge of collapse anyway?
“Play along and do what he says. I have no need for you at the moment,” Matteo says in a tone that says our conversation is at an end.
“Understood.” I turn around and start walking out. There isn’t anything else either of us can say to keep me here.
This doesn’t stop Matteo from speaking, though. “And Crue.” I don’t bother looking at him while he speaks. “Welcome back. We’ve missed you.”
Yeah, something isn’t right. I can smell it.
But now isn’t the time to concern myself with the dealings of men.
I must see to my Little Flame.
And help her grow into a towering inferno.