39. Carina
CHAPTER 39
Carina
C haos ensues within the church.
Petrified screams of bloody horror echo against the walls. Sacred stained glass breaks and shatters before us.
Bodies drop to the floor in a heap surrounded by crimson pools.
Countless Made Men and their trophy wives run with fear fueling them to the exit.
A bloodbath of grand affair is happening and yet Constantine’s lips are still devouring my own. He dominates my mouth. Sensually. Carnally. Ferociously.
And I ache to feel his lips exploring every inch of my skin. Paying special attention to the specific areas that leave me breathless and pleading.
Suddenly this dress feels suffocating. I’m desperate for him to rid me of it and replace it with his flesh upon my own.
Breaking the kiss we breathe heavily in one another’s mouths. Unspoken lust speaking all through the pants of air we’re releasing.
His grip on my chin is bruising but I relish the slight bite of pain. As more gunfire sounds out he places a much softer kiss on my bruised lips. I moan and I can feel his smile.
Eyes mesmerized and burning with desire he says, “Blood shouldn’t look this good on you, amore mia .”
I take in account my wedding dress that now holds splashes of red. Along with the bare skin of my arms with flecks of blood reminiscent of freckles.
He tantalizingly swipes the blood that has painted my décolletage. “You wear the blood of our enemies beautifully.”
The blood within me burns with wild passion. His dark praises sing to me.
“So do you.” My thumb comes to wipe the splash of blood that adorns his cheek.
The moment is severed between us a bullet whizzes past Constantine’s head. The intended bullet lands in the cross right behind him. With a strong hold he hooks me in by the waist and whisks us away from the altar. Urging me to crouch we trample through the throng of dead bodies and dodge the continuous shots.
“Carina! Constantine!” We hear our names being projected across the church. Giving a quick glance I see Rico signaling for us to come his way for safety. He has his gun drawn, blood decorating his face and suit, and the ever so familiar vacant look in his eyes.
He fires three more shots as Constantine safely steers us in his direction. The weight of my dress feels grand. As soon as I can I’m tearing the bottom half to be more accommodating during this massacre.
“Your getaway car is secured and ready,” Rico informs us as he empties his chamber and reloads within seconds and not looking. His tactical skills with the gun remind me of Gino with his knives.
“Eccellente,” Constantine thanks him. We follow Rico’s lead as he travels to the back end of the church, us in tow.
Constantine is sure to keep me protected from any wild shot of a bullet, serving as my very own bullet proof vest.
Once we reach the exit and I feel the air hit my face I allow myself to let out a breath of relief. We have made it out of the massacre unscathed. Now we must return home without a hitch. If everything goes according to plan Gino will have Luca, and Tao will have Savio tied and ready for the beginning to their ends.
It’s twisted and sick how much I’m anticipating their screams.
Our getaway car opens and I expect to see Pietro with his signature playful grin but I don’t see Pietro.
“Giuseppe,” I breathe his name stunned.
I feel Constantine’s hand press firmly and assuringly at my lower back.
I stare at the man who is my papa and has most certainly seen better days. It’s only been less than a week since I saw him last, casted him aside. And in that week he appears worse for wear. Based on the circles under his eyes and the gauntness of his cheeks he hasn’t slept or eaten much.
My heart flares. I work against a swallow that wants to break free into a sob.
Cautiously he takes a step towards me. And when I don’t retreat it propels him to take another.
“I know you wish to not see me. I accept that,” he begins and I hear the sorrow in his tone. It matches the anguish in his eyes. “But I will not stand by a second longer without protecting you the way a papa should protect his daughter.” He works a rough swallow. “So, I ask you, Carina Donati, will you allow me to help protect you? My daughter. My only child.”
I’ve wrestled with myself long enough. My heart has forgiven him. We are both only victims of Savio’s cruelty. And we will be victims no longer.
“I forgive-”
It all happens in a blur. I see the moment his eyes widen with panic and terror before he forcefully shoves me to the ground.
The asphalt tears into my skin. I wince from the sudden impact but don’t feel the sting of the tiny abrasions.
I do, however, see the pool of crimson before me. It spreads, touching the ends of my dress. Soaking in the black fabric.
But it’s not mine.
Uncaring of the imminent danger I’m in, my eyes follow who the blood belongs to. The alarmingly large amount of blood.
My mouth pulls open in a silent scream as my heart twists with the deepest agony. I rapidly blink my eyes. Each time in hopes that when they open what I’m seeing is not true. And yet I’m witnessing the greatest horror with every blink. A snapshot of my very own horror movie.
I crawl towards him. Hands covered in blood. His blood. And I can’t force myself to look at them.
Tears hold themselves at bay in the rims of my eyes before they fall unbidden.
My hands tremble as they reach out to frame his face. His now slacken and lifeless face.
“Giuseppe.” My voice cracks. My hands tenderly hold his face. “Please,” I beg of him in a tortured whisper, “don’t do this to me. You can’t die on me. Not you. Papa, please. I haven’t told you I forgive you. I haven’t told you how much I love you. Please. Please don’t do this to me.” I rest my forehead on his.
And as I silently beg and plead for his life I know he’s no longer here.
He resides with mamma now. An angel amongst the skies. Two kind souls tortured by the hands of the same man.
“Carina, amore,” I hear Constantine call to me. But when his call doesn’t register I feel him come behind me to rest on his haunches. He places a comforting yet firm hand on my shoulder. Slowly, I cover his hand with my own. He grasps my fingers and I squeeze as tightly as I can. Maybe if I squeeze hard enough I can steal his strength. “We have to go.”
I manage to choke out, “He doesn’t deserve to be left here.”
His lips press softly to the crown of my head. “I know. I’ll have one of Tao’s men bring him to a safe area of rest. But I can’t allow you to stay here for a second longer. I’m not losing you.”
The raw vulnerability in his voice seeps through the fog of agony. Turning, I throw myself in his arms, burying my head in the crook of his neck. I inhale deeply, hoping his cinnamon musky scent will center me. And although I still feel heartbroken and heavy, just being in his arms is enough to keep me from becoming devoid of emotion.
Another kiss is planted on the crown of my head. I reluctantly remove myself from him. As much as I want to fall in his arms and never let go I need to prove not only to myself, but to the men of this dark world we live in that I am resilient.
And so I push myself up with my chin held high and my shoulders square. I don on the mask of a woman who all should fear. I allow the flames of fury to breathe within me. With vengeance in my blood I dare anyone to cross me.
I stare down the man responsible for killing my papa. A common soldier of Luca’s who is only another pawn in this game of chess we’re playing.
But it doesn’t matter who he is. Inconsequential or one of influence. He’s going to die before he can blink.
Without thought I pull the gun from the holster inside of Constantine’s suit jacket. Unlocking the safety I fire three quick rounds. The soldier falls to his knees howling with pain.
But it’s not enough.
I charge towards him. In tow behind me is my husband and Rico firing rounds of their own to protect me.
The soldier goes to pick up his gun but I fire another round. His hand is rendered useless now. He clutches what’s remaining of it. I can only count two fingers that are salvageable.
Fear swallows his eyes whole. And I revel in it. Before I can hear his pleadings I unload the rest of the gun in his head. I keep firing until all I hear are empty clicks.
It still isn’t enough.
The tendrils of darkness that have always clung to me have latched themselves.
With a fierce and sick brutality I crouch down over the dead soldier and repeatedly slam the gun on his head. Blood splatters. Pieces of flesh tear and break off. Bones crunch with each blow. By the time my arms have gone tired his face has become one with the road.
Breathing raggedly I rise up feeling no remorse but no better than I had before.
Papa is still dead.
This blood thirst will end when I have Luca’s and Savio’s head. Until then every Made Man I see from the Fiore Famiglia, every woman who decorates their arm, is as good as fucking dead.
Papa and Luca wanted a pawn. Constantine has made me a queen.
What I really am beneath it all is something much more sinister.
I am what I was always afraid to be.
But I no longer feel shame.
Because being a villain will finally give me what I’ve always been searching for; peace.
What beautiful irony.