8. Adam
Present
Things don’t always play out like we planned. Alaric wants me dead now. I guess standing up to him bruised his royal majesty. But that’s not what he’ll get.
After beating up half the fraternity—I ate some punches, too—Michael dragged me outside and pretended to kill me. Just bam! Performance of the year.
Alaric thinks it’s over. I challenged him, and killing me would settle the score, so, for now, disappearing is the only smart move. Because if he ever learns the real reason I walked away, he’ll come for her, and if that happens, all of this will have been for nothing.
I have no idea what is happening to me. I would never abandon the task—let alone this task—for a girl.
But apparently, she’s not like the others. God, how cliché can I become? I don’t even know why; I barely know her. But ever since I touched her, I haven’t been able to think straight.
Hours. It’s only been a few hours. I’m being pathetic. Maybe creepy or even childish. Maybe all of it.
Fuck it. I want more.
I go back to my place to grab some essentials—mostly my guns and knives—and leave for good.
I’m surprised that Alaric hadn’t gone to burn my apartment to the ground since I’m dead now.
I’m almost hurt, as if he didn’t want to deal with me anymore.
I know that eventually he’ll send his loyal rats to burn all proof that Adam Manson ever existed.
Maybe I need to change my name … Or just my last name, since I already told her my name. Back to my old tricks.
I wouldn’t want them getting in my way if they ever track me down. Besides, the only person who knows I’m alive is Michael, and I know he won’t say a word about it. I shouldn’t trust him … but I do anyway.
I need to do something with the bike, too. There’s no way I’m ditching this baby; she’s coming with me.
Once I’ve got everything sorted and left my old life behind, I ride back to her place to pretend I’m the hero she needs.
I pull up to the big iron gate and take off my helmet so they can see who it is. The gate swings open, and I ride straight into that massive, fancy garden. It’s pretty simple, just some square and round bushes, but the place goes on forever.
Upon arriving at the front entrance, that Wes guy is there, waiting.
“Well, well … look who came crawling back to be someone’s pet.” He sneers, wearing that stupid grin.
“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were jealous, Wesley,” I mock, pulling off my gloves with my teeth.
“It’s Wes,” he corrects solemnly.
“I’m sure it is.”
I start to walk past him, but he stops me with a hand to my chest.
“If you ever try to mock me, I will bury you alive,” he hisses.
I look down on his hand. “Touchy, aren’t we?”
“Did you hear me?”
I pinch his wrist like it’s something gross and pull it off me. “Don’t worry, I won’t steal your spot by the door. Now, do me a favor and lead me to your boss like a good boy.”
He lets out a sinister chuckle as his eyes meet mine. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Let’s see how far they stretch when I pull them out.”
“Ouch. Sadistic and loyal.” I suck in a breath through clenched teeth. “Such a dangerous combination.”
His golden eyes linger on me for a while longer, trying to intimidate me. “Got caught in a cat fight?” He nods sharply.
“Something like that. I hope you were vaccinated against rabies.”
Brutally, he grabs my shirt and pulls me closer. “You fucking—”
“Ah-ah, where are your manners? You’re acting almost like an animal.”
After some seconds of intense death stare and a lot of jaw flexing, he lets go of me and walks into the mansion.
I straighten my amused expression to look more deadly and serious, and follow him.
Fuck, she’s there already, looking at me with those bright eyes that smile more than her lips ever could. Are they red? Was she crying?
Well, if she was, it’s probably because of me. Or at least, on some level.
We arrive outside his office, and Wes knocks on the door twice. He doesn’t wait for an answer and opens it. I guess everyone knows I came.
The room is pretty much as I expected it: heavy furniture, VIP carpets, huge tomes of encyclopedias that I’m sure no one has ever touched, bulked men in suits lining up the walls, and him.
This fucker is sitting behind his desk, smoking his cigar, pretending to be God.
Weird why he needs a cane; he’s not that old.
“So it’s true. You’re back,” he says, exhaling the smoke and narrowing his eyes.
“It’d be rude to deprive you of my existence,” I quip and look at Wes. “And I’m not rude like some others.”
He doesn’t react; he doesn’t even look at me, but annoying him has already become my new favorite hobby.
“You know why you’re here.” Fabio speaks again, putting the cigar out on the glass ashtray on the heavy, walnut desk. “My daughter asked for you. She needs to have you.”
“The same daughter you shot last night just to get under my skin, right? Now what? You want to play Daddy Cool?”
Slowly, he stands up, takes his cane, and walks closer to me. “What’s your name?”
My eyes dart around, looking at the others. No one is looking towards me or him. They look straight into nothing, like well-trained soldiers.
“Adam.”
“Here are some things you should know about me, Adam,” he says, leaning against the desk, folding his hands right in front of him.
“I own Italy. Every street, every judge, every cop you think can protect you. The whole system bends to my name. But one country isn’t enough.
Power like mine spreads, city by city, continent by continent. ”
“Sounds almost eerie,” I mock with a fake smile.
“My daughter is the one thing that must stay untouched and alive. No matter the cost.”
“Then why did you shoot her?”
He smiles wickedly, the corner of his eyes creasing just a little bit. “Nosey, aren’t you?”
I rub my chin. “Funny how you act like you’re protecting her, when you’re the one who dragged her into all this to begin with.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“I brought her what she wanted. I brought her the new guinea pig she asked for.”
“Let me get this straight … You shot her to persuade me to work for you?”
He arches a brow. “Look how it worked.”
My jaw flexes as a sense of fury spreads through my veins. He’s such a manipulative bastard.
“Why me?”
“Ah, what can I say?” He spreads his arms, smiling brightly. “You seem tough enough to keep her alive and stupid enough to play the hero.”
That fucking term again. Why does everyone think I’m a fucking hero?
“You know shit about me,” I hiss, staring down at him.
“It’s never too late.” He extends his hand. “I am Fabio Calvano.”
I glance at his soft, polished hand. It’s the kind of hand that’s never thrown a punch, never gripped anything but a trigger and a glass of imported scotch. He’s never had to fight for shit. He just pulls a trigger from behind tinted glass and lets his crew mop up the mess. All shine, no spine.
I should just kill him now and be done with it.
“You forget too easily, Fabio Calvano. I just told you my name.”
He doesn’t move, still waiting for a handshake. “What about your last name?”
“M …” I stutter, trying to hold it back. Fuck, I didn’t think of an alias. “Mitchell.”
“Are you a stutterer?” Wes asks, crossing his arms.
“Weird, I just got a chill down my spine. Do you have a window open?” I jeer.
He turns my chin with the end of his cane, forcing me to look at him.
“Welcome aboard, Adam Mitchell.” He lets go of my face, leaves the cane right next to him, and intertwines his fingers. “Your task is simple. Keep my daughter alive. Don’t let anyone touch her. Including you.”
My brows rise. “Touch her, as in …?”
He nods with a smile. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Adam Mitchell.” He pushes forward from the desk and looks at me in the eyes. “If any man touches my daughter, death follows.”
“A bit possessive, aren’t we?”
He pauses for a few seconds before he clicks his tongue. He takes out his gun and leaves it carefully on the desk. “Your job is very specific, and having an opinion isn’t it.”
“Okay, let me get this straight, because clearly my brain and Italian aren’t on speaking terms.” I cross my arms. “A man touches her—he dies.”
He scrunches his face, irony running through every expression. “Not quite right.”
“Then please, do explain.”
“A man touches her—she dies.”
My head drops forward in disbelief. “You’d kill your own daughter?”
He makes his way to that oh-so-relaxing black leather throne of his.
“As I mentioned, your job is not to ask questions, Mitchell.”
I already hate this name.
“What I do know about you is that you’re such a noble man and a big, bad monster who’ll stop at nothing to protect my precious little princess. Because of course, you’d never let an innocent girl die … right?”
“No point to mention you’re a fucking sick man,” I mock, trying to play it cool.
In fact, I am not.
He takes a seat, letting out a soft groan. Despite the cane, he doesn’t have a limp. Seems like someone enjoys the drama.
“Yet you’re still in. Do we have a deal, Adam Mitchell?” he asks, extending his hand again.
I’m no saint. Hell, I’m not even innocent, to be frank. But wanting to kill your own fucking child while calling yourself sane is a whole new level of messed up. And no, not in some twisted, “deep down I can forgive you” kind of way. It’s just plain unforgivably psychotic.
This little reunion really proves that dragging my sorry ass back here and giving up everything was the right choice. I’m not here to play hero or save some hot damsel in distress. I want to be the monster that tears this sick bastard apart.
I take his hand in a firm handshake and lean in, locking eyes with him, steady and unblinking.
“Deal. I will protect your daughter with everything I’ve got. And if anyone even brushes a finger against her, I’ll make them beg for an ending I won’t give.”
He remains still, but I’m sure he took the hint.
Oh, how easy it would be for me to snap his neck right now. It’d save me my precious time and spare a few innocent bastards from suffering. But if I kill him now, I go down with him. And then who’s left to protect her?
“Good,” he growls. “Because they’re coming for her.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Mind your business, Mitchel.” He pulls back, takes out a new cigar, and lights it up. “Wes used to be her personal bodyguard. Now he’s your right-hand man.”
A slow, wicked smile creeps across my face as I turn to look at Wes. “And just like that, my day got better.”
“What?” Wes growls. “Some random asshole shows up and I get demoted? Just like that?”
I shake my head, biting my lower lip. “This is gonna be so much fun,” I say, savoring every word and every fucked-up expression on his stupid face.
The others try to remain calm and hold back their amusement. I’m sure it’s not just me who enjoys the show more than I should.
“You are my boss!” he shouts at Calvano. “I was Isabella’s personal bodyguard!”
Fabio takes a drag of his cigar. “Is that an objection I hear?”
Wes’s jaw locks tightly, trying to choke down his voice and humiliation. “… No.”
“Great.”
I clap my hands once. “Chop-chop! Go make me a coffee like the obedient little star you are.”
“Piss off.”
“I’ll enjoy this job more than I thought.”
They say when we make plans, God laughs. I used to think that was just poetic nonsense. Until last night.
Things don’t always go the way we planned.
And yet, here I am in the lion’s den, playing the fucking knight instead of purging this goddamn society of filth. But last night, I did a lot of thinking and realized that killing this bastard will be a better favor to the world.
So, I’ll stay, I’ll obey, and when the right time comes, I’ll kill him with my own hands.