47. Saint
Saint
F rom nine years old until this moment, I thought I knew my anger well.
The burning hot sensation in my veins.
The ticks. The blackout rage. Need for destruction.
Turns out they’re nothing compared to the hellfire burning a home inside my chest as I run down the steps to catch up to Hendrix.
“Saint! What the heck is going on?!” Theory screams from a floor above me as she tries to keep up.
I’d give her an answer if I actually fucking had one.
What I do know, is whoever the motherfucker was who ruined my chance to come clean to Hendrix the right way is about to live out an even worse nightmare than I am right now.
Father. Wife. Aunt. Security. Fucking Darla.
Nobody is safe from the hell I’m bringing.
“Jimi!” I yell for her the hundredth time, looking over the side of the spiral staircase.
Still no sign of her.
My feet touch down at the foyer, where I find my dad mid attempt to console Hendrix’s mom, and go absolutely out of my mind at the sight.
I charge over and rip him away from her mid hug, dragging him by the collar to slam into the nearest wall. “What the fuck did you do?!”
My father doesn’t even bother putting up a struggle, instead, he deflates. “It wasn’t us, son. Trust me. We didn’t want Hendrix to find out this way.”
“Fuck you.” I tighten my grip on his silk robe. “Fuck your wife. Your sister-in-law. Your fucking secrets. I didn’t want this shit either. I didn’t want to lie to Hendrix.”
“You’re right, and that’s why none of this is your fault. It’s on us.”
“Who told her?” My voice grinds like stone.
“Saint, p-please get off him!” Theory screeches right before a large shadow eclipses behind me.
“Ahhhh. This must- eh be the famous Saint Lavell,” a guy with a deep accent says from right behind me. “I’ve been just as eager to meet- eh you.”
I don’t need to look to know who the motherfucker is, or to get the answer to my question.
The hellfire reaches my mind, putting me in no condition to think through what I do next—which is tackle the piece of Italian shit to the floor.
I’ve seen some of the pictures my father pulled of the Salvini family from the internet, so I knew Dante was big.
But not big enough to put up the kind of fight he is now.
I get one hit in before he’s on top of me with a hand around my throat.
“I choose to come in without my men, Saint Lavell, you know why?”
“I don’t give a fuck. I’ll kill all of you for what you did to Hendrix.”
He presses down, seconds from cracking my Adam’s apple. “Careful…” He pulls a pistol from his suit jacket, pressing it to my forehead. “My english…it may be broken, but I promise my gun is not.”
“Mr. Salvini! Please!” my father begs at our side, alongside Theory and June. “My son loves Hendrix very much, so I can promise he will threaten you again.”
Doubt that’ll stop a mafia boss from killing me, Pops. But thanks.
“Mmmmm…” Dante thins his eyes on me, easing up on my throat slightly. “Is what your father say true, Saint Lavell? Will you threaten a man like me, who can take your life with a single pull of a trigger, for my niece Caterina?”
“It’s Hendrix.” I grunt. “And I would do even worse for her. So when you pull that trigger, motherfucker, you better make sure you finish the job.”
This seems to please Dante in some way, because he releases his hold on my throat, but it takes a few seconds of a stare down for him to remove the gun.
“ Va bene…” He tucks the weapon back in his jacket and climbs off me, then regards my father. “For my niece sake, Mr. Lavell, I let your boy live.” He eyes June, then my father again. “But mak- eh no mistake, I will change my mind if you get- eh in my way again.”
“Dante, please!” June runs over to him, and it enrages me to see how comfortable enough she is to squeeze his hand.
Not because of loyalty to my dad, but to Hendrix.
It may not have been romantic, but June obviously had some sort of relationship with this guy for a long time.
I can tell more and more as I listen to her talk so freely in conversation with him. Starting with how she’s honoring Hendrix’s request for her to give her space.
How angry she is at him for what he told Hendrix.
How she won’t let him see her.
Yadda, fucking yadda.
A bullshit saga, one I only continue listening to because of what she said about giving Hendrix space.
Not sure how they managed that conversation so quickly, or with June not leaving it with a shiner, but she’s probably right. So, I’ll allow my Jimi Hendrix two more minutes of solitude before I hunt her ass down and force her to hear me out.
“I sorry, fiore .” Dante sucks air through his teeth. “But I watch my niece grow up from the shadows long enough. Now go, and you find her, so me and her talk alone.”
The gun to my head must’ve done something, because the mention of Dante asking June to find Hendrix puts out the hellfire immediately, replacing it with an intense panic choking me harder than his hand did thirty seconds ago.
“What do you mean, find her ?” I jump to my feet. “Didn’t she come down here?”
Confusion lines all three of their faces, but step-mommy speaks first. “No, Saint, we figured she was with you.”
“You just finished saying you were honoring her request for space.”
“Yes… with you .”
Son of a fucking bitch.
This is what I get for smoking a blunt before I sleep.
And sleeping naked.
“She was with me.” I grit through my teeth. “But after finding out I knew the truth too she ran out of the room.”
My father’s eyes pierce Theory, and hers widen in defense. “W-well, I didn’t see her, I w-was sleeping.”
“So you’re telling me none of you have seen her since she came to find me?” When I’m met with nothing but shaking heads, my insides start to heat again. “Is there any way she got out of the mansion?”
“Absolutely not, son. Ever since Theory’s stunt the night of Archer Beaumont’s party, I made sure it’s sneak out proof.” My father pins Theory with a glare. “Right, baby girl?”
“Of c-course!” Theory bursts. “Of course there’s no w-way to sneak out.”
“She must be hiding then,” June suggests.
I may have a post high-slash-panic-slash-raging excuse not to be thinking clearly, but it’s obvious how tone deaf she is when it comes to her daughter.
Hendrix doesn’t hide.
She fights.
And if she doesn’t win the fight, she runs until she can get even.
Frantic conversation takes off between my dad, June, and Theory, mostly about places she could hide and who will look where.
As for me, I know better, and surprisingly, even this motherfucker Dante does too. Because the moment after we share a similar look, he’s on his phone, and I’m already reaching for mine.
“Why, why, why?!” June cries in the back of my Rover over the steady siren blaring from her phone. “Why would Hendrix turn on the panic mode?”
“Juniper, for fucks sake! Pull your shit together!” The sister screams even louder, snatching the phone out of June’s hand and tossing it to my dad next to me in the passenger seat.
“Vic, you give me my phone back right this second!”
“Juniper, honey,” my father responds tightly when he kills the alarm, “like I said fifteen times already, refusing to turn off the alarm will not change the fact Hendrix locked herself in her provisional.”
“What if she’s hurt?! Her phone is still tracking at the school.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” the sister responds a bit calmer. “She probably just needs a damn minute away from all of us.”
“You were sleeping, Poppy! You didn’t see how this went down! I’ve never seen Hendrix so heartbroken before.”
“Can you blame her, June? I mean, c’mon. The kid just found out she’s been lied to about who she is her entire life, by every single person in this car who claims to love her.”
“You know why I did it!”
“Of course I fucking do! I was there! I helped you raise her!”
“I never should’ve walked into that damn bar. Never. This is all my fault. I fell for a monster and now my kid is suffering for it.”
“You didn’t know he was a monster, June. You were a kid yourself.”
“I knew he had issues! And was the head of a mafia family! That should’ve been enough.” She scoffs. “But no…I had to get blinded by his charm, his beautiful eyes, sweet nothings. Luca hid it so well, Poppy, and by the time I saw the monster behind the mask, it was already too late. I’d fallen.”
My knuckles tighten around the steering wheel as I listen to June go on about Hendrix’s dad and how they met, the story sounding eerily familiar to another one I know but refuse to try and compare.
I can’t…not if I want to stand a chance at keeping my shit together.
“And can you imagine if Luca found out Hendrix didn’t really die?”
Well, that’s a pretty important bean my dad must’ve forgotten to spill from his can.
In between swerving lanes I side eye him, and he does the same back, but a lot less lethal and a lot more guilty.
“We don’t need to imagine…because Dante made sure he didn’t,” Poppy continues to reassure her sister.
“And I made sure to screw everything up…”
“You were doing what you thought was best to protect her.”
“Or what I thought was best not to lose her.”
“We couldn’t have Hendrix growing up associated with that family and you know it. Hell, even Dante knew it. It’s why he agreed to keep your secret about Hendrix from his brother.” The sister pauses, then mumbles, “Besides the fact he was secretly in love with you.”
My dad shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and if I had to guess, it’s because this bean was never spilled from his wife’s can.
Not that his wife is in any shape to realize her mistake.
“You’re not going to lose her, June,” Poppy insists when she realizes her initial point was shit.
“I’m afraid I already did.”
There’s a hopelessness in June’s voice, not far from the one in my head I’ve been trying to ignore since Hendrix locked herself in the bathroom.
If I’m going to feel bad for this woman about anything…it’s that.