45. Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Four
Olivia
One Hour Prior.
L ove. This is what it must feel like. This terrible, incessant ache in my chest, the anxiety that the man I am falling in love with, may not come home tonight. Alessandrio . That’s the thought that keeps me company in our room in his absence. I haven’t been able to rise from the bed, the scent of us heavy on the sheets, a warm cocoon of our passion. It makes my throat ache with the threat of tears.
Knock. Knock.
I sit up, wrapping my sweater covered arms around my chest. “Come in,” I call expecting Donatella, who brought me breakfast and yet am surprised to see—“Lucia?”
Emilio’s wife stands uncertainly in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, and my stomach tenses.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper, struggling to form the words.
She has braided her hair back, dark circles marring her usually warm brown eyes while she chews relentlessly on her lower lip. She steps into the room, crossing to the bed, with her shaking hand outstretched, offering me her phone.
“Look.” Her voice is tight as I reach out tentatively to take the device.
The screen lights up as I touch it. There is a message on the screen that makes my heart stop.
Unknown number: Bring me my sister and I will leave you all alone.
“Riccardo?” I gasp, looking up at her. She only nods. “How?”
“I don’t know.”
I re-read the message over and over, fear catching my throat in a death grip. The time stamp says three am. She got it in the night.
“What did Emilio say?” I lift my head in confusion. Why is she showing me this?
“I didn’t show him.” Ah. “This has to end.”
I really look at her then.
Gone is the worry, replaced by determination. She’s wearing tights, sneakers and a black sweater—dressed for shit to hit the fan. My stomach twists as I climb from the bed, the scent of Alessandrio filling the air as I disturb the sheets.
“I want him dead,” she continues on. “I cannot put Emilio in danger anymore. What they are doing isn’t working, and I think Riccardo knows how desperate we are. That is why he messaged me.” She shudders before ploughing on. “He knows I am Emilio’s weakest link, from experience. ” She stumbles on the word and I balk. “But he doesn’t know that I have a lot more to protect now, and I cannot continue on with his presence hanging over us.”
“You want to hand me over?” I ask, voice deathly quiet.
She shakes her head vehemently— no. “That won’t kill him, only you. He will come back. His kind is not comfortable lying low. I have a plan, but I need your help to execute it.”
I cast an exhausted gaze to Alessandrio’s and my crumpled bed sheets, my heart so full of the thought of him and yet the weariness lingers. He has put himself on the line for this family, has bled and fought for it, worn its weight on his shoulders.
“What’s your plan?” I ask, sliding my gaze back to her.
She smiles then, not with happiness or warmth, just calculated appreciation. She closes the door then and sits on the bed.
“You take me hostage,” she says and I gape at her. “Just listen.” I reluctantly sit and gesture for her to continue. “It’s the only way to get us out of here. And once we are, I let Riccardo know we have a deal, and find the meeting point. We go there and—”
“He will know that’s a trap. He will expect Alessandrio and Emilio to have organized it.” With my words, a flicker of doubt fills her eyes. “I have a better idea. I still take you hostage, but I call him and tell him he can have my inheritance and I have you as a hostage if he will let me go. He knows the Greco brothers, but he doesn’t know me and he might expect that kind of deceit from me.” The way Alessandrio once expected it from me as well.
“That will work.” She reaches for my hands then and clutches them. “Thank you,” she says, tears filling her eyes.
She leaves then, tells me she is going to prepare everything and that I should ready myself. My chest feels like it will crack wide in her absence. I know this will ruin Alessandrio . He will hate me and blame himself for the deceit. But I could end this. Riccardo wants me—dead or alive, he wants me . We were always on a collision course. This has been hanging over my head my entire life and now I get to choose how it ends. I can let Alessandrio put himself on the line or I can put myself on the line—the choice feels easy.
When Lucia enters the room again, she’s carrying a gun and my heart stops, her eyes bright.
“I have never held one of those,” I whisper, staring at the black metal in her hands.
“No time like the present. The safety is on. I am going to turn off the security cameras. Once I do, we literally will have minutes to get out of here and into the car.”
“I have only had a few driving lessons,” I gasp, wracking my memory for the few lessons I took at Ironwood, uncertain if I am trying to poke holes in our plan.
“Emilio has been giving me lessons,” Lucia replies triumphantly. “Now let’s do this. Quickly,” she gestures for me to follow.
I take one last mournful look at the room. The crumpled sheets and the sun filtering through the windows held so much promise this morning. My throat and eyes burn. I may never see him again. He will never forgive me for what I am about to do, but I steel myself. It’s time someone took care of him, and I want to be the one to give him a future.
Present time.
Adrenaline makes my teeth clack as Lucia pulls the car off onto a quiet street. My mind still hasn’t caught up with what we just did, the shock of it all so raw, the memory of the utter hatred in Alessandrio’s face as he beheld us. I put my head in my hands and try to breathe. Everything we had begun to build just went up in flames, and I would be better off dying at Riccardo’s hands than Alessandrio’s or Emilio’s.
“Oh God,” I gasp. “Oh God.”
A warm hand settles on my back, soothing and gentle. Lucia. “I need you to be strong for a bit longer,” she murmurs, pulling my hands from my face and pressing something against my palm. “I need you to make that call,” she says.
I stare at her phone as if I were holding a venomous spider— fuck . We are really fucking doing this. Forcing myself to breathe evenly, I focus on calming my nerves. This needs to be done and I remind myself that I have been playing a part since Alessandrio took me. My finger taps the call button and my shaking hand raises the phone to my ear. The line rings and I don’t realize I am holding my breath until Lucia taps my knee and gestures for me to breathe. There is a beeping noise, and silence. For a moment, I look uncertainly at Lucia, who nods her head vigorously and motions for me to speak.
“Riccardo?” I wince at the choking sound of my voice. “Riccardo, it’s me, Olivia. I saw the message you sent Lucia. She tried and failed to get me. I have her hostage.” I pause and wait, wanting and not wanting him to speak at the same time.
“You have Lucia?” An oily voice full of malicious excitement fills my ear and I have to pull the phone away to swallow my gag.
“Yes,” I gasp out and squeeze her hand, desperate for some of her warmth.
“Oh you are a Dolmino aren’t you?” There is pride in his tone and the bile continues to threaten me.
“I want this over,” I snap. “You to leave me alone. I will sign over my inheritance and hand over Lucia, but I am done with this. I want to live a normal life free of the Mafia.” There is some truth to my words; that makes it more believable.
This horrible society thrives on death and power, and I wanted no part of it. And yet my entire soul is wrapped up in a man who is at the very heart of it.
“Is the engagement off?” he croons down the line with false empathy.
“Yes,” I can’t even hide the pain in my voice. As the tears fall, it’s Lucias turn to squeeze my fingers.
“Good, that’s good,” Riccardo replies.
“What do I need to do? Where do I come?”
“Send me a picture. I want to know it’s true and then I will send an address.” I take a long breath. “And Olivia, I have been waiting a long time for this reunion.” I shiver as the line goes dead.
Lucia is relentless. She gives me no time to think, and it’s probably for the best because I know this is possibly the worst plan in the history of mankind. Opening the glove box, she sifts through a plethora of possibly illegal things: handcuffs, tasers, pepper spray and another gun. Removing two sets of handcuffs, she scoops up the gun we brought before opening the door and slides out, forcing me to follow her to the back of the vehicle. We work in silence. I help her put the cuffs on around her wrists and then her ankles, assisting her to climb into the trunk where she curls up. This isn’t real, but the sight of her so vulnerable unnerves me.
“Make sure he sees the gun in your hand pointed at me,” Lucia says, shifting more. “Emilio would never allow that, and Riccardo knows it.” I have never met someone so determined.
Lucia directs me on how to open her camera and I snap a few shots. Her face shifts into a mask of distress. Showing her the photos, we decide on two and I hit send before any more doubt can settle over me. Done, I help her unlock the cuffs and climb back out before we circle the car again and climb back in. There is a moment of tense silence. Lucia is bouncing her knee, eyes flicking in every direction, at every mirror as we wait for a response.
Ding.
I swallow my nerves as she opens the phone and I see an address pop up on the screen.
“New York,” Lucia says before putting the address into her phone.
We fall into silence as she starts the drive. I’m a whirlwind of emotions. Anxiety, fear for how many ways this could go wrong and heartbreak for everything I left behind. The gun rests across my lap and I assess it, knowing it’s my best hope of survival. Lucia does her best to give me a rundown as she follows her phone’s directions. Long stretches of road become dense neighborhoods, which become warehouses and docks. The streets become emptier than that of the residential neighborhoods, thanks to the weekend.
“Four minutes away,” Lucia whispers, her face going sheet white as she pulls over on the street. “I will get in the trunk and pray we have the element of surprise.” She crosses herself then and fear weakens my already tentative resolve.
“Okay.” I reluctantly climb out of the SUV, my feet feeling like lead blocks with what feels like imminent doom.
At the trunk, she hands me the handcuffs. The metal is cold and heavy in my palm as I kneel and attach them to her ankles. Done, I stand, and doe brown eyes wide and full of terror meet my own. It’s a punch to the gut—this could end really badly. Would have ended really badly.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and watch her brow crinkle in confusion. I cross the divide and hug her, her body going stiff in surprise before soft hands rub my back. “Tell him this was for him.” The words get caught in my throat, tears choking me. I pull away then, her sharp inhalation brushing my ear as I turn my back on her.
“Olivia!” Lucia’s panicked voice cracks the concrete surrounding us.
I don’t look back as I climb into the driver’s seat, knowing with the cuffs around her ankles she can’t move. The tires screech as I put my foot down and peel away from the curb, mounting it in my haste and inexperience. Don’t look back . I command myself, focusing my energy on following the directions as it ticks down the minutes to a confrontation years in the making.
“Now arriving, your destination is on the left.” The brakes squeal as I put my foot down a little too hard.
Tilting my head back, I rest it on the chair and try to calm my racing heart with deep, soothing breaths. He wants me. Riccardo wants me. If Lucia had asked me to be her bargaining chip, she might have found that I would have said yes, despite my fear. But our little ruse was necessary, because Alessandrio is a force and he would have stopped me, and I would have let him. I gasp with the pain of it, the look in his eyes of utter devastation and betrayal something I will never forget. However, it was necessary and now I have to be strong. I snatch the gun up and tuck it in the waistband of my sweats, the metal now bringing me comfort as I prepare myself for the final battle. With nothing left to do, I use Lucia’s phone.
Lucia: We are here.
With shaking hands, I open the door. Sliding from the seat, I feel weightless with nerves and find my knees buckling as my feet hit the ground.
“Harden up, buttercup,” I curse myself and put all my energy into closing the door and moving my feet.
I stare up at the nondescript warehouse: its windows are so grimy I can see nothing, not even the slightest of movement inside. Does he expect me to knock on the door? I look around for an entrance, but only see a metal roller door rusty with age.
Click.
The sound reverberates around my skull, as terror makes my heart leap into my throat and my stomach bottom out. Stupid. So fucking stupid.
“Now this is the kind of reunion I like.” That oily voice slips over my shoulder. “You, bringing me gifts.” I almost vomit as a hand slips beneath my sweater to pull the gun from my waistband.
“I—” I start, but he taps my head with something cold.
“Show her to me. That Greco bitch and I need to get reacquainted.”
“She is in the trunk,” I gasp as pain cuts across my scalp, a relentless grip encircling my ponytail.
He pulls, dragging me, and my feet struggle to keep me upright as we make our way toward the trunk. I can only see a pair of black sneakers and dark denim legs as we move.
“Open it,” he spits, releasing me, and I fight the urge to look over my shoulder.
But I don’t need to. I see him in the reflection of the heavily tinted glass. His face isn’t clear beneath the hood of his white sweatshirt, but those eyes are unmistakable. Alessandrio had every right to despise me. How did he ever see beyond the similarities to see me ? Bile burns the back of my throat as Riccardo’s reflection smiles a knowing smile.
“Open it,” he mocks and I see a flash of the gun.
With an unsteady hand I reach for the handle of the boot and as it opens I make my move, darting away from him as nothing but empty air greets him.
“I knew it.” I see him then, really see him as he whirls on me.
We are the same and yet so different. And I thought I looked cold. His angles are much sharper, a hollowness in his cheeks and a hunger in his eyes as he steps toward me and points his gun. I back away as he follows me around the car.
“Disappointing, and yet you came to me.” That hunger is vicious and true. The hollowness I can tell is that of a man who hasn’t eaten in a long time. His jeans bunch up beneath his belt around a slim waist, and the shoulders of his sweater hang off him, showing that he is starving, and I am his meal ticket.
“I’ll sign it all over,” I gasp in my panic.
That gives him pause. Grey eyes, so like mine, narrow. “Oh, you will.” He pulls something out of his back pocket, a wad of papers and holds it up like a prize. “It’s the least you can do,” he says, lowering the gun and I feel like I can breathe a little better. “Sign it over and you can go.”
He hands me the papers, which I take gratefully, if only to give my hands something to do. He reaches into another pocket and pulls out a pen and I snatch it away in my greed to be done with this. My money was never truly mine. I knew it was there, but I would rather have my freedom and a life over the money any day of the week. One cannot spend a fortune if they are dead. Leafing through the pages, I find the marked spots and sign, feeling a sense of relief and a lifting of a weight from my shoulders as I watch the ink dry on the paper. All the while, a hungry wolf breathes down my neck, knowing his next meal relies on my cooperation.
“Done,” I breathe. “I ask only one thing.” I face him then.
Humor flickers across his face, the crazed kind that delights in torment. “Anything,” he says, smiling.
“Leave the Greco brothers alone,” I whisper and hand over the papers.
That smile twists into something ugly and disgusted. “You fucking whore.”
It happens so fast, the gun raising, as his fingers wrap around the paper. I would be surprised if I expected to survive this, but I didn’t and in this moment, all I feel is sadness that I will never get to see Alessandrio Greco snarling or menacing me ever again. Never get to feel his warmth wrapped around me or hear that sensual timbre of his voice.
Bang.
Something hot and wet sprays my face as a dark blossom appears on Riccardo’s chest, followed by the sounds of a car window shattering as whatever entered him, found its mark behind me. Surprise coats his features as he stares down at the vibrant red now dripping from the hole in his chest.
Pop.
My back hits the car with the impact, a burning sensation filling my chest. Riccardo never dropped his weapon. Even when he saw that death had come to claim him, he decided one last act of his nature was enough to seal his place in hell. I clasp my hand to my chest, the wet warmth there so at odd with how fucking cold I feel as I watch my brother crumple to the ground. So fucking stupid. My legs give out as I slump to the concrete myself, my breathing wet and raspy.