21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
CRUE
E very organization, both in the corporate world and this dark one I dwell in, descends into disarray after a change of management. New leaders, with their radical ideas on how to make an operation run smoother, create tension. I wonder if that’s why the place has been so empty, lately. There are still Napoli men here and there, but nowhere near as many as before.
I wonder if Tomas’s coup d’état scared the others off, or if they’re sharing some mass grave in the middle of nowhere.
But the chaos also opens up many windows of opportunity. Tomas is short-staffed, on the verge of a mental breakdown, and trying to find reason in the lies Matteo told him. He is primed for a pruning.
Tomas sits upon his empty throne as I walk into the office; a surface-value king wearing a crown of shit. Matteo’s in front of him this time, his ass planted on the edge of the desk, his hands resting over a single knee. He is judge and jury, and his verdict and sentence are already flickering in his eyes.
Mark is standing by the display cabinet, hands clasped in front of his groin, very elegant, very military — an executioner sharpening the ax that is his mind.
“This is fucking biblical.” Cool, calm confidence carries my words over the silence. “Very scary. Very intimidating.”
“Don’t be cute, Crue. This is serious.” The executioner extends a threat.
“Okay then. You know what I’m going to ask, so why don’t we cut to the chase.” I glance over at Matteo.
“Fiametta has gone missing. Do you have any idea what may have happened to her?” The judge demands his answer.
“Why would I?”
Of course, I know where she is. She and Simone were rather obvious in their escape. I watched her window at first, until the pair decided it was time to leave through it. Then, I watched from the trees as they navigated my old route through the garden, and over the fence in a distant corner that hasn’t seen any love in decades.
The devious little minx must have stalked me somewhere along the way.
A truly thrilling thought.
“Where the fuck is she?” Tomas belts out at the top of his lungs.
“Who?” I face the balding bastard. No more staring contests with Matteo. It’s a stalemate, and I’m sure we both agree on that.
“Crue, I’m going to shoot you. In the fucking face. Enough dicking around,” Matteo says. I notice no change in tone from his previous question, as well as no flaring nostrils or bulging eyes. He is not threatening or aggressive, he speaks matter-of-factly. To the point.
It’s the reason I used to like him.
“I don’t know where she is.”
She is in a log cabin, outside the city, that’s owned by Simone’s family. It’s nestled on a peninsula, surrounded on all sides by the lake that reflected last night’s moon. The entrance is guarded by trees, which obscure the narrow dirt road that leads to it, and they shroud the wooden cabin in their tall fingered grasp. It’s almost a perfect hideaway, but these men aren’t fools, and Simone will be one of the first people they look into.
“It’s rather odd that we had our discussion, and not a day later she’s gone.” Matteo scans my face. He searches for a break in my composure or a sign that I’m lying. He won’t find it. The concept of right and wrong has no bearing on how I act. Lies are just another truth with obscured details.
“Why would I come back here, if I wanted to run away with her?” My gaze shifts to the false king, with his red face and bruised neck. Mark did a number on him last night. “I’d put my money on this being Tomas’s doing.”
Big balls , as Lorenzo liked to say. Shifting the blame to one of the three gunning for my head.
“You would?” Matteo asks.
I nod.
“How come?”
“He has a way of repulsing Fiametta. What, with his multiple rape attempts.” Matteo’s neck twists in Tomas’s direction so quickly, he risks giving himself whiplash. “Oh, and he killed her dad. Seems like a more compelling reason to run, don’t you think?”
“Stupid son of a bitch,” Mark grumbles from the far side of the room, shaking his head. I look at him to see who he’s talking to. It’s Tomas “You told me last night was a one-time thing.”
“It was,” Tomas splutters. “All the other times I was drunk. They don’t count.”
Airtight alibi .
What a vile little creature. He feels no remorse and does not care about the pain he’s caused so many times. Could the same be said about me?
No. I only kill people.
“You’re lucky we need you.” Mark crosses his arms over his chest.
I still want to know why. Then again, maybe I don’t. Matteo’s made every effort to hide his reasons for wanting me to join him. There’s a non-zero chance Tomas and I are being lumped into the same deal in his head.
Now that’s a fate I couldn’t endure.
“There we have it. It wasn’t his fault.” Matteo shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “I suppose I must apologize, Crue. Here I thought you betrayed us, so soon after I believed we were rebuilding a new foundation.”
“No need,” I say. “I’m glad you called me.”
“You are?” Matteo’s brows lift with piqued interest.
“I’ve made my decision.”
“Then out with it, boy. Don’t keep us waiting,” he’s practically salivating.
“I’m going to do it,” I say.
It means many things in this context. For a start, it means killing Tomas before the sun comes up. It also refers to Mark, my closest friend and bitter-sweet betrayer. It means running away with Fiametta, if the God’s give me grace enough to survive this ordeal.
But nowhere in my world does it mean what Matteo thinks it means. He launches himself off the edge of the table and rushes over to me with his hand extended. It squeezes mine firmly. Inside I am shaking violently, the same way I was last night when I saw Tomas thrusting himself on Fiametta
“This is tremendous news,” Matteo says. “Absolutely astonishing. I thought for certain you’d whisked her away and that you had planned some great triple homicide to take place in this room.”
He laughs, while I kick myself that I hadn’t considered doing it here, all at once. I could have neatly finished this bad business and moved on with my life.
“I’d never do it here. I wouldn’t want Fiametta to mistake your blood for her dad’s.” I speak the truth, but get only confused stares from all three, and then Mark forces out a laugh.
“You’re still shit at telling jokes, Crue,” he says.
“Yes, you really are,” Matteo agrees, looking at me with the same disgust so many have before, while they waited for their end in my kill chamber. They shot me looks that were weary, apprehensive, and disgusted.
The kind of looks that make my skin crawl in the best possible way.
Don’t forget this feeling. It’s coming back sooner than you’d think .
“We must have a drink. Toast the good news,” Matteo shifts gears and I don’t blame him. Mark starts pouring and then hands the glasses around. We clink glasses, but no one speaks. I see only bright smiles from Mark and Matteo, but Tomas remains a grumbling, grumpy mess.
After our drink, the conversation dies down, circling into small talk, and it makes Matteo uneasy.
“Well, I’d best be going,” he says abruptly, and starts for the door.
“Same,” Mark says. He pats me on the shoulder as he walks by, saying. “Welcome aboard, brother.”
I hate it when he says that.
Then there are two. Tomas and me.
False king and wicked avenger.
“I’ll be off, too,” I say. I’ll make it look that way anyway, before I circle back around and sneak into Fiametta’s window.
“No, wait,” Tomas waves a hand, gesturing I come closer.
Oh my. Maybe I won’t have to circle back after all.
“I know we’ve kicked things off on the wrong foot, but let’s move past it. What do you say?”
I don’t say anything.
“Fine,” Tomas clears his throat. “I want you to find Fiametta and bring her home.”
“Why would I do that?” I raise a brow, before wrapping both my arms behind my back and slowly walking toward his desk.
“Unless you’ve forgotten, we’ve given you a lot of mon—”
“Lorenzo gave me a lot of money,” I cut him off. Details are important, especially in this game of life and death.
“Which he took from—”
“That doesn’t matter. The old king is dead, long live the king.” No justification will make me work for Tomas. I refuse from a moral standpoint, but more than that, I don’t want to give him hope before I do what I must.
I stop in front of him. While trying to remain inconspicuous, I remove a syringe full of my chemical concoction from one of the back pockets of my pants. I flick the lid off with my thumb, and it makes no sound as it hits the carpet floor.
“Listen, fucker,” Tomas smashes his hands into the desk and then launches himself forward, bringing his face so close to mine I can smell his stale, smoke-laden breath. “If you want to be a part of this, you’d better start showing me some respect.”
“Big mistake,” I say, stabbing the needle into his neck.
He doesn’t manage to get another sound out, before he falls headfirst onto the table.