38. Bianca
Bianca
Marco’s final words ring through the empty room like a gunshot, pinning my boots to the floor long after his footsteps fade.
I stand frozen, staring at the doorway he disappeared through while my entire world bleeds out around me.
But the luxury of grief is a death sentence.
The guards are already scouring the perimeter, their activity echoing through the halls.
If I don’t shift my ass into gear, I’ll die a traitor in the eyes of the only man I love.
I wonder if death would be easier. A clean end to stop this agony from ripping me apart.
Except…Livia.
My one reason to keep going.
Move, Bianca. Fall apart later.
Clambering up the shelving unit, I balance on the very top ledge and stretch my arm toward the plaster. Heavy footsteps thunder through the corridor. Doors slam open in rapid succession as the patrol narrows the grid in my direction.
With a practiced twist of my fingers, I unclip the miniature thermite canister from the back of my watch strap.
I slap the magnetic housing directly onto the metal pipe and press the lighter to the magnesium fuse.
The compound catches with a blinding, terrifying rush of white heat.
The sudden molten glare throws a wave of intense thermal pressure that knocks me off-balance.
But it works. The heat trips the overhead sprinklers.
Groaning, I stagger to my feet. The room spins as emergency lights flash through the smoke.
Mechanical locks click open, disengaging as the fire protocol overrides the security grid.
I blindly search the ground for the book, slip it into the waistband of my pants, and rush into a hallway streaming with water.
With everything in chaos, I’m barely able to recognize the halls Marco led me down before.
Guards pass, too intent on finding the source of the fire to notice I don’t belong.
The sprinklers will remain on until the fire department arrives, adding to the pandemonium.
Between containing the blaze and securing classified Council information before the NYFD shows up, security has their hands full.
What a mess.
I stumble outside soaking wet and aching but safe. In the distance, a fire truck wails in the dark.
I’ve never been on a mission where I didn’t have an extraction plan detailed to the minute, but all of that went to hell once Marco left me.
Marco left me.
Devastation threatens to rip me back under the current of my heartbreak and drown me, but I can’t let it. Not yet.
I jog up Bay Street, slipping through the shadows along the sidewalk and testing doors of the cars parked along the street. After six or seven attempts, a red mid-nineties Mazda opens.
As the sirens grow closer, I dive into the footwell and try to steady my shaking fingers.
I yank the plastic cowling off the steering column, shattering the clips to expose the ignition bundle.
My fingernails tear into the insulation, stripping the thick red battery wire and twisting the copper flat against the yellow ignition feed.
The dashboard lights hum to life. Holding my breath, I spark the starter wire against the live connection until the engine catches with a rough, sputtering roar.
I unleash a relieved cry, sucking the cigarette-stained air a little too deeply into my lungs, but I can’t spare any time for celebration.
Flashing lights paint the buildings at the end of the block, and adrenaline floods my veins as I ease off the clutch and stomp on the gas.
The tires shriek against the asphalt, the old Mazda fishtailing wildly into the center of Bay Street as the transmission finally locks into place and launches me into the dark.
The drive home passes in a blur of denial. Marco and I were never going to work. This is for the best. I was a fool to think I could ever deserve a happy ending. The words become a mantra.
We were never going to work.
We were never going to work.
My watch ticks half past midnight when I pull up outside of the manor. The streetlight casts a golden glow over the stoop, illuminating the pile of my personal belongings strewn over the stairs and sidewalk.
What’s left of my heart fractures in my chest.
Part of me hoped he’d cool off, that he’d realize I would never be capable of killing him. Witnessing how easily he tossed me out like trash splinters me into pieces.
I grip the door handle, wishing with all my might that the door will open and let me into the place I now consider home. How can I walk away with the memory of his smile still so fresh in my mind? The sensation of his lips on mine, the warmth of a touch that only ever promised pleasure and safety?
My throat burns like I’ve swallowed glass, and I shift away from the door with stinging eyes.
We were never going to work.
I need to continue reminding myself of that, or I’ll risk collapsing inward like a dying star.
With one final glance over my shoulder, I hail a cab back to the Conti estate. My muscles feel sluggish, as if they’re struggling to wrench me from the depths of an invisible quagmire. Does everyone experience heartbreak like a type of mourning?
Only a handful of minutes later, the cab slows. I glance out the window, a chill crawling through my body. Every light in the house is on. Definitely not normal for the middle of the night.
My pulse stutters, and I order myself to calm down.
We may have botched the Library job, but they couldn’t have implicated me for it already.
Unless…
Did Marco sell me out? Lead the Council or the NYPD or both right to the front door of my family’s home? Could his hatred really run that deep?
The truth hurts too much to consider.
I climb the steps on trembling legs and squeeze the handle on the front door.
It slowly creaks open, as if I’m about to star in some horror movie.
I creep inside for the first time since Marco and I got married and am instantly reminded that part of me never really left.
That piece of me remained trapped here this entire time, awaiting the day when something would drag me inexorably back.
I’ve always associated this house with the scent of fear, that particular scent of bergamot and oud.
The crown molding, the crystal chandeliers, the Gilded Age-inspired decor, all opulent yet fragile, tell a story of a life obsessed with perfection.
The exact story that defined my whole universe until just a few months ago when Marco tore into my world like a hurricane and blew apart everything I ever thought I knew about myself.
Only, some things I could never forget.
For instance, the plastic sheeting I see stretched out across the floor of the living room is to keep Livia’s blood from soaking into the carpets or splattering the white furniture. Father only brings it out for special occasions, and tonight, despite my success with the book, is no exception.
Father waits in front of the fireplace, a drink in one hand and his eyes trained on the flames. The floorboards creak as I enter the room, but he doesn’t acknowledge me right away. Instead, he unhooks an object from his belt holster and lets it clatter onto the floor.
A knife. Or, more specifically, my knife. The ivory handle glints under the fireplace’s light.
My gut knots. No, no. no. Where did he find it? Where did it…
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. The knife must have fallen from my sheath when the thermite knocked me down. But how did it get into my father’s hands? A thought, too terrible to be true, ripples through my mind.
Zanni.
He knows the knife belongs to me, shared that he also knew how Marco used it to pleasure me in the cabin upstate.
Our careful plan to dismantle the Library security had failed on a much more spectacular level than we could have predicted.
Somehow, the Council bore witness to our intrusion, recovered the weapon, and delivered the damning proof straight into Aldo’s hands.
“I had to beg for your miserable, worthless life.” He speaks to the fire rather than me. “And after you’ve been punished to my satisfaction, they’ve instructed me to strip you of your title as capo and return you to your husband, where you’ll focus solely on your duties as a wife.”
The world implodes beneath my feet, and my heart threatens to tear itself in two. “No!” I’ve never raised my voice to him before, and the shock nearly snaps his head around. “I earned my position, and you know it.”
Aldo’s laugh is hollow. “I’ve failed both you and Livia as a father. You’ve become adults without ever properly fearing me.”
I know better than to talk back when he’s riding a dangerous high, especially one that promises bloodshed before the sun rises.
“Sit down, Bianca.” I do as I’m told, perching on the edge of a beige settee beside the fireplace.
I set the book down on the coffee table right in front of me, lining it up so that it’s directly in the center and on full display. “I got it.”
Aldo whirls and spikes his glass at my feet. It shatters, and a broken shard bounces up and slices my cheek, but I only flinch on the inside. When Aldo strides over and pinches my chin, I’m bloody but composed.
“At what cost, you stupid bitch?” He scans my features, calculating, as always, the best way to use me. “You were caught, and thanks to your recklessness, the Conti name is being dragged through the mud as we speak.” His fingers tighten until it feels like he’ll crush my jaw, but I don’t look away.
I can’t.
I won’t.
“They’ll never accept us now.” He seethes like a spoiled child, but with the threat of a grown man’s violence. “Not like they do the Argentos.”
Marco’s face materializes in my mind’s eye, and my smile twists as a bitter taste coats my tongue. “They were never going to accept us in the first place.”
Who knows if I’m talking to my father or myself, but at this point, it doesn’t really matter anymore.
Circling the settee, Father grabs my bun. His fingers scrape my scalp, forcing my head back until my throat strains from the pressure. He holds me still as two men drag Livia into the room and drop her unceremoniously onto the sheet of plastic spread across the floor.
Livia meets my eyes, and I motion with my finger by my hip, a gesture only she can see.
She returns the motion before one of the Conti guards produces Father’s cattle prod.
I freeze, instinctively bracing for what happens next.
Forty-five hundred volts of electricity.
A relatively low amount since Livvy is small, but strong enough to prove a point.
With a curt nod from our father, the man jabs the poker into her back.
Her body spasms, and her teeth clench as her eyes roll back and her limbs contract.
The volts topple her to the ground so abruptly, her skull slams against the floor.
The next two prods clamp her teeth onto her tongue, and blood spills from her lips.
The Conti guards, men who should have protected Livia, exhibit fierce glee in doling out the punishment. It’s impossible to miss how their breathing quickens or their eyes track my sister as she writhes on the floor.
The room reeks of burnt, sour flesh, and I vomit on my shoes, nearly choking as Aldo shoves me away in revulsion.
“That’s enough.” His voice is the closest Livvy and I ever get to absolution, and for the first time tonight, tears spill in ugly, wretched lines down my cheeks.
I crawl over to my sister. Dignity has a way of disappearing in this room.
I’ll find it somewhere else later, hiding from me like a wild animal does when the guns come out.
Livia is on her side, convulsing, only the whites of her eyes showing.
I press my cheek against hers and wait for her muscles to still.
“I’m here, Livvy. You’re going to be okay.
” I don’t even know if she can hear my whispered reassurances.
My heart stops until her next jagged breath starts it up again. She’s alive. Given everything that’s happened, relief doesn’t feel right, but it’s there, stealing the strength from my limbs.
“She’s not going to heal in time for the gala tonight.” One of the guards, Celesto, puts his boot into Livia’s back, rocking her onto her stomach so that she doesn’t choke on the blood in her mouth.
“Bianca will be attending in her place.” Reaching into his pocket, Aldo extracts a small bottle of hand sanitizer that he squeezes into his palm.
He nods to me. “Get this shit cleaned up and then go take a shower. I’ll send a suitable gown to your room.
You can spend the remainder of the day contemplating how much worse it can get if you fail me again, Bianca. ”
A shudder racks me, but I straighten my spine and manage a return nod. After that, Aldo and the guards leave us on the floor. I stare out the darkened window, thinking about what I’d be doing if I were back at home with Marco.
A princess is someone people are willing to die for. She’s someone worth battling dragons and scaling castle walls for.
How stupid to think that anyone, especially Marco Argento, would fight for a broken pawn like me. He was right to end things how he did. At least this way, I won’t keep deluding myself into believing there could ever be anything stronger than hate between us.