25. When Devils Fall
WHEN DEVILS FALL
Mere days before his twelfth birthday, a young and boyish Alessandro was shipped off, unwillingly, from the sand, sun, and sea of Palermo to a posh Roman Catholic boarding school in dreary, gray London. The St. Francis School was an all-boys school. Its dark, solemn halls were filled to the brim with the spawn of rich, powerful families from all over the Europe.
His father's decision to send him away had come swiftly and without warning. It was meant to be a punishment. Vincenzo Vitale had no use for four sons. Not when he only wanted one successor. Only the strongest needed to survive. The weaker ones would only become a burden on his empire. Alessandro's father claimed that Renata was a weakening influence, turning their youngest son too soft. In his eyes, Alessandro was too much of a mammone to ever be an effective capo . Mama's boy .
Vincenzo intended to separate Alessandro from his mother until he reached adulthood. Alessandro had cried like a little bitch as his father's men tore him away from a weeping Renata and shoved him onto the next flight to Heathrow Airport.
In less than twenty-four hours, Alessandro was delivered to a large Gothic-looking building wrapped in wrought iron fencing. He barely spoke a word of English. Right away, Alessandro's classmates started giving him hell for his clumsy words, mocking his thick accent and confused, distressed responses. They also made fun of his eyes, hurling all sorts of insults in his direction.
Freak of nature .
Bloody mutant .
Devil eyes .
The bullying didn't last long, though. Alessandro soon used his fists to put an end to their harassment and then buried himself in books to study the English language. His ego drove him to show the other boys that he wasn't inferior. One day soon, he intended to speak their language better than Shakespeare himself.
Decades later, Alessandro still prided himself on his English, and, of course, his beloved and most beautiful madrelingua . Mother tongue. No matter the language, though, he grew confident in his ability to toy with words and twist them to his advantage.
Alessandro used words to create a new persona for himself. He used words to hide his true intentions from allies and enemies. His words made him seem charismatic. Irresistible and magnetic. Women threw themselves at him. His words also made him seem temperamental. Utterly vain. Men believed him to be a non-threatening fool.
Over the years, Alessandro's whoring and partying cemented his reputation as the prodigal son. Except for the fact that he didn't feel terribly repentant. He only wished to distance himself from his father. When Vincenzo ordered him to start behaving like a proper Vitale and start contributing to the family business, Alessandro rebelled even more. In time, his unruly behavior became an extension of his father's reputation, it pissed off Vincenzo, which, of course, pleased Alessandro greatly.
Many things in life often went to shit, but words never failed him. They helped him evade almost every opponent and circumvent each obstacle that stood in his path. For a while, he was almost untouchable. But, then, he married her, and Alessandro no longer felt like he was in control. His new wife was, indeed, a fucking formidable foe. The fact that she was such a competent bitch made her both annoying as fuck and fuckable as hell. There were moments when Alessandro couldn't decide whether he wished to strangle her. Or fall to his knees to worship her.
Their fight from moments ago had been beyond explosive.
We are all ruled by money and power. There is no such thing as a noble cause.
Truly incendiary.
Maybe not for men like you.
Toxic.
You are married to a man like me.
It didn't take long for Alessandro to realize that he'd married a woman who knew how to wield words like knives.
Then you'll be my burden to carry.
He was fucked. Never had anyone been able to cut him in such a debilitating manner. Alessandro was too proud to admit it out loud, but her words had maimed him deeply. Like an injured animal, he retreated from the she-devil's presence to lick his wounds.
Out of sight, out of mind, no?
He stepped in the shower to clear his head. However, even while the hot, soothing water sprayed over him, he didn't feel better. If anything, his traitorous mind kept replicating thoughts he didn't wish to dwell on. Back then, Alessandro believed he'd stumbled on an angelo . He then started calling her cuore mio without even realizing it. Something had shifted in his heart, stirrings that were too potent to examine up close, so he hid his feelings behind sweet nothings and hard fuckings and more words, words, words.
Everything between them felt like a lie, though. There were so many secrets within secrets. In truth, he'd married a diavola who brought him nothing but headaches and heartaches and the bluest of balls. Yet, their marriage wasn't the reason why he was fucked.
No, Alessandro knew he was in deep shit because, despite his wife's cruelty, despite her stubbornness, despite her infuriating attitude, he sensed truth in her words. She wasn't entirely wrong. He was a burden. He'd always been his father's burden. That was no secret to anyone in their cosca .
Alessandro hadn't been able to choose his famiglia. In this, he was innocent. But he'd also done nothing to better himself or his circumstances when opportunities arose. At eighteen, he'd taken Mauricio's life over his own. Throughout his twenties, he'd indulged in his father's money and power without doing anything to deserve it.
Think of the men you've destroyed through addiction and financial ruin.
He'd never considered such a sin in the past. Hell, he'd never viewed himself as any better or worse than the legal but corrupt institutions that participated in the same greedy, violent activities as the mafia.
The way his world operated might not be so different from governments and corporations, but his wife wasn't wrong, either. At the end of the day, they were all deadly contributors to the game of corruption. They'd done far more harm than good to society. In hindsight, he didn't feel innocent at all.
Dio , what kind of man was he becoming?
Guilt flared in Alessandro.
What kind of man did he want to become?
Alessandro turned off the water and stepped out of the stall. His jaw grew tight and tense. Anger coursed through him. He was upset. He resented his wife for pointing out the worst in him. For making him see what he'd been ignoring for the longest time. He felt like a useless, selfish asshole.
Steam clouded the mirror in the bathroom, but Alessandro could still make out his reflection in the foggy glass. The man staring back at him wasn't worthy of respect.
In a few years' time, would he turn into his father?
Disgust soured his throat. Something drastic needed to be done. A revolution needed to be born. The only question was— how?
Alessandro didn't know yet, but he intended to find the answer.
His sanity depended on it.
The heart-stopping crack of the gunshot nearly brought Alessandro to his knees. Immediately, his eyes searched the room for his wife. Frantically and desperately. Hadn't she been conversing with Mariposa a minute ago? Elyse was nowhere in sight.
Fuck!
He should've never left her side. Monte and Luca were already on the move. Alessandro's entire being seized up with terror, his heart practically leapt out of his chest, but he willed himself to run toward the sound at full speed. The gunshot had come from the veranda outside. His mind spiraled toward the worst-case scenario.
No, no, no, she couldn't be—
He couldn't bring himself to entertain the possibility of losing her. He simply couldn't imagine a world without his beautiful, stubborn, maddening, green-eyed diavola . She was his better half. In her own cruel, sadistic way, she was never afraid to challenge him. Or force him question everything. She pushed him to strive for the light even in darkness.
Suddenly, nothing else mattered.
Fuck their fight. Fuck her viperous accusations. Fuck the hurt she'd caused him. Fuck the fact that she was planning to leave in a year or two. He no longer cared about any of it. All that mattered was finding her and making sure she was alright.Alessandro prayed with all his might. Caro Dio, per favore lasciala essere viva. Dear God, please let her be alive.
God, it seemed, heard him.
His prayer was answered when he saw his wife running toward him. Gun in hand and blood on her shoulder. He didn't know whether to celebrate or weep from the onslaught of emotions that wracked through him.
Cara was screaming like a banshee behind his wife. He put two and two together. The Berlusconis were going to die. He'd make sure of it.
Alessandro felt so relieved and outraged that he could barely speak, "You are alive. I-I thought..."
His wife's attention drifted away from him for a moment as she gaped at the wound on her shoulder. Elyse muttered, " Mierda ."
Alessandro tried to stay calm even though all he wanted to do was throw his wife over his shoulder and haul her away, far, far away, from this dark, dangerous world of theirs.
He demanded, "How badly are you hurt?"
She was bleeding because he had failed to protect her. He blamed himself entirely.
Elyse assured him, "Don't worry. The bullet only grazed me."
Her reply sounded far too nonchalant for his liking. She could've died. He could've lost her. Dio , if fate had ripped her from him tonight—
Alessandro realized, then, with a slight shiver that he wouldn't hesitate to rain hellfire down on the world for stealing away his angelo . She was turning him into a fucking villain. He hadn't realized the depth of his emotions until now. It troubled him. Alessandro had never felt this way about anyone before, and he didn't want to put himself in such a vulnerable position.
His father had always warned him to never let a woman come before cosca . No mother, wife, or daughter was worth a mafioso's bottom line. This advice had been the only thing Alessandro and his father saw eye to eye on.
Yet, at this very moment, Alessandro found himself disagreeing violently with his father's credo . Creed. It was madness. Stupidity. There was no question in his mind. He would choose Elyse over cosca .
In a heartbeat.
Fucking hell. What was this woman doing to him? His thoughts became a mess. He struggled to bring himself back to the present. All eyes were on him. There was a room full of enemies and allies waiting for him to react and lead and address this catastrophe. Alessandro didn't want to do shit. All he wanted was to get his wife home, see to her wound, and make sure that no one would ever be able to hurt her again.
Resolve hardened within him. He needed to make an example out of Cara. He'd use his words to let the others think that Elyse meant nothing to him. This way, they'd be less likely to target her in the future. Alessandro refused to let anyone touch the woman he loved—
Loved?
Instantly, Alessandro shoved away the word as though it had singed his brain. A mere slip of the subconscious tongue. He tried not t panic. He wasn't in love . He couldn't be in love. Vitale men couldn't afford to fall in love, let alone the one who was set to be capo .
He was simply attached to his wife.
Sì, sì, sì. A mere attachment. Not love. Not love at all. A grimace settled over Alessandro's mouth. Cazzo .
Now if only he believed it, too.