Corsican Crime Lord: The Complete Series

Chapter 4

FOUR

Angelo

Sabella stands in the door with a scream trapped in her throat. She doesn’t give sound to it, but it’s there. It’s in her eyes. It’s in the way horror transforms her features. But she’s frozen. She wants to run. Cry for help. Deny what’s in front of her. She can’t. Her body and brain are locked by a terrifying spell of shock.

I know.

I’ve been there.

She’s a fragile picture of a delicate object that’s been violently broken. A beautiful vase. Shattered. Shards of paper-thin glass. And even when she picks up the pieces, she’ll never be the same.

I know.

Food lies around her feet, wasted. That’s why she’s here when she wasn’t supposed to be. She wanted to surprise her father. She brought him lunch. Or dinner. It’s too late for lunch and too early for supper. Too late to unsee what she’s witnessed.

There’s no choice. I have to finish the job. Even if she screams, no one will hear her. The office buildings around us are closed for the weekend.

Tearing my attention away from her, I place the gun in Edwards’s hand and fold his lifeless fingers around the shaft.

My father looks down at the body with contempt as I straighten. He adjusts his jacket, steps over the blood, and walks to the door.

“Finish her,” he says, holding her gaze as he shoves past her.

Finish her.

Because she’s a witness.

Because we don’t need her any longer.

But I need her. God knows, I hate her for it, but I do. I don’t even know when it became so imperative that her father kept his promise. Maybe when I first saw her. Maybe before, when she was nothing but a distant knowledge and a vague concept of my future. Maybe when I kissed her. Definitely when I fucked her. Undeniably when I branded her with my seed in her pussy and my mark on her skin.

Finally, she finds her voice. What escapes from her lips is more of a raw sound than a scream. Instead of running away, she rushes to her father and falls on her knees beside him. She reaches out, groping.

Before she can touch him, I grab her arm and drag her up. It’s cruel. It’s inhumane to withhold this from her.

I know that too.

I have to, lest she disturbs the scene or steps in the blood and leaves prints.

“Don’t look, cara.” I drag her toward the door. “Goddamn. You shouldn’t see this.”

“No.” She fights like a wild animal. “I need to help him.”

I shake her. Hard. “You can’t help him.”

She claws, her nails leaving burning paths on my neck and cheek.

“Let me help him!”

Grabbing her wrists in one hand, I pin them behind her back while holding her in place with my free hand wrapped around her nape. We’re standing face to face, pressed up against each other, our expressions naked and exposed. Hers is panicked, terrified, bewildered, crazed… I can heap on a mountain of descriptions. Between good and bad or love and hate, they’ll all be on the darkest end of the spectrum.

Me? All I have left is cold anger. My senses are still sharp from the kill. If I could feel, I’d experience everything with more intensity. Now, I only see what lies behind and in front of me clearer.

“No. Please.” Her eyes are dry. Demented and feverish. She’s looking but not seeing. “You have to let me?—”

Her mind is blocking out the reality, protecting her psyche from a truth that will wreck her. There was no choice. My family had to destroy hers like hers destroyed mine.

An eye for an eye.

Sabella and her father for my mother and sister. I hate how her father made that decision for us.

Her gaze darts to the floor, to the blood seeping into the rug. “I have to call an ambulance.”

I turn our bodies, blocking the view with mine. “Stop it, Sabella.” My words are violent, but my hold is gentle. Willing the meaning to sink in, I say, “He’s dead.”

It does. The truth registers.

Her expression twists into a mask of agony. “Not true.”

“Yes.” I don’t shrink from holding her gaze, from letting her see who I am. “It had to be done.”

“You did this to him,” she says between a sob and a gasp. “You shot him.”

“No.” My voice is flat. “I wish I had. That justice was reserved for my father.”

“You did this.” She twists in my hold, turning feral again. “You did this to him!”

“It was justice for my mother and sister,” I bite out.

She’s not listening, not even when I tighten my grip so much it must hurt. She’s shaking from head to toe, screaming herself hoarse.

Letting go of her nape, I slam a hand over her mouth. There’s still no risk of anyone hearing her. I just can’t stand the sound of her grief.

Her eyes grow round. She sags a little, either from the crush after the adrenaline high or because she believes her turn is next.

I want to take her with me. I should.

I don’t.

I had a funeral. It didn’t change shit, but it did bring a warped sense of finality. Closure, I suppose. She deserves the same. She deserves to be there for her family like I’d been there for mine.

It’s only fair.

What do I do with her in the meantime? Where do I take her? I can’t get into her house. I could take her to our hotel, but my father won’t understand. He’ll need time. The idea has to grow on him. It’s not ideal, not at all, but I have to leave her here.

The fight has left her. All that remains are sobs and fear. The sobs are racking her shoulders. The fear makes her tremble. She heard what my father said.

“Shh, cara. I’m not going to kill you.” I lower my lips to her ear. “I should, but I won’t.”

She shakes harder but cries more quietly.

I continue in a hushed tone. “Just remember, I spared your life.” Pressing a kiss on her temple, I tell her how it works. “Now, I own it.”

Straining in my hold, she tries to lean away. I lift my hand from her mouth. She gasps, sucking in air. When I caress her nape with my gloved fingers, she shakes her head.

“No, no, no, please,” she begs through her tears, already knowing what I’m going to do.

This time, I don’t apologize. I find the right spots on her neck and squeeze. Her eyes dim. The light in them doesn’t fade. The brown pools don’t turn glassy when her eyelids flutter closed. Not like my mother’s. Not like Adeline, who we buried without eyes or a face. I don’t tell her I’m sorry because I’m not. The only thing I regret is that she witnessed something she was never supposed to see.

She goes limp in my hold, her body succumbing to the mercy of unconsciousness.

Scooping her up in my arms, I carry her downstairs—as far away from the upstairs office as possible—and lie her down on the sofa in the staff room. I push a cushion under her head and cover her with a throw, making sure the ends are tucked beneath her body.

When I’m sure she’s comfortable, I step outside and call Roch.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Sabella came to George?” I ask when he answers.

He sounds baffled. “In George? She’s at her sister’s place in Stellenbosch. She hasn’t left the house since she arrived. Her car is still in the driveway. I’m looking at it as we speak.”

I scan the street. Matilde’s car is parked on the curb. “She took her sister’s car.”

“Fuck. I couldn’t know that. She tricked me.”

“Get your ass down here now. Edwards is dead. Sabella walked in on the scene.”

“Fuck,” he says again. “I’m on my way.”

“She’s in the office building. Make sure she stays safe, but keep your distance.”

“If she saw what you did, why don’t you take her with you?”

“Because she deserves a funeral,” I say in a clipped voice before hanging up.

I glance at the Mercedes that’s parked on the opposite side of the street. My father’s profile is visible through the passenger window. He’s waiting, expecting me to carry out his order.

I’ve never disappointed him. I’ve always done as I was told. This is the first time I disobey him.

Making my way to the car with brisk steps, I send a text message to Ryan, informing him where to find Edwards and Sabella.