Chapter Eleven #4
“Art is my enemy.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince anymore. Because if Art indeed is my enemy, the only thing he’s actually guilty of is driving me fucking crazy. He drenched me in all his insanity, his brilliant spirit, and those quirky idiosyncrasies of his.
“My family…”
“We are, Luca. We are your family.” Marco curses, sounding exasperated.
“You can have both, you know?” Fly states softly. “Don’t need to choose your vendetta over Art or vice versa. He’d never make you.”
I know he wouldn’t. He never even asked me to spare him. Never reminded me that he wasn’t responsible for my parents’ deaths. Not once. He cried for them and apologized. I didn’t tell him, but I’ve never felt as emotionally attuned as I did in that moment with him.
“I’ll ask you the same question I asked Marco regarding Fly. Do you need him?” Seb asks me with his no-bullshit, let’s-get-down-to-it tone.
I try to convey what I feel with my gaze and my voice. “I hate him.” The words are the same as I uttered before, but the meaning behind them is a different story.
He nods. “You have my blessing.”
I do?
“Great. We need to help Art, and if you won’t do it, I will,” Fly declares, pointing his thumb against his chest while giving each of us a hard look.
I grit my teeth. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to do just that.
“Butterfly…” Marco tries to placate him, squeezing his arms.
“No! I…” he stops, looking overwhelmed by his emotions. “Art came to save me, now it’s my turn.”
“He left on his own will,” Seb reminds him, since that’s exactly what he wanted, for Art to go back to his family, leaving a fucking note, behind. I want to spank him until he begs for forgiveness.
“The rumors you spread about him having cold feet. You think his family will welcome him with open arms?” Fly hisses. “How about Coretti?”
“Fuck.” He’s right. Jack Enzino must be pissed.
I never felt this level of dread. Life is a continuous fight, it leaves bruises, it creates hollow feelings, gives cold shivers.
It never lets me rest for long. Every time I’ve been hurt, I got a scar from it, every mistake a lesson to remember, but I’ve never felt this kind of intense apprehension.
The profound fear of losing something again.
It’s a thousand times worse than any physical pain I’ve endured without even a drop of visible blood.
“If we interfere, it will mean war,” Marco says with a stony expression.
“We’re already at war,” Seb interjects. “I’ve been preparing for this for years. Art didn’t have such a big part in my plan, but the plan has changed.”
“Are you going to try to bribe him too?” Fly raises a brow at him, reminding Seb of when he offered him money in exchange for leaving Marco.
“He wouldn’t take the money. All Art wants is his freedom,” I hear myself say.
Freedom to be cuffed to my bed again, until he learns I own him, every little piece of that brat, every insane shade and feisty comeback.
How he whimpers when he’s tired. His uncontrollable appetite.
His irritating sarcasm. The slutty face he makes when I grind my cock into him.
His eyes filling with pain when he talks about his past. I’ve been torn between my vendetta and my loyalty toward my family almost all my life. And now Art is added to the mix.
“He’ll get his freedom. We just need to wait,” Seb announces.
“For what?” I rumble. “Enlighten me.”
“To be sure father and son are in the same place.”
“Why?” Fly asks.
“One could escape after we off the other,” Marco explains.
“I’ve waited long enough.” I’m at the end of my wits.
“We gotchu, bro. Just trust us.” Marco’s hand falls on my shoulder, and I snap my teeth at him—just like Art would. Because the neurolinguistic crap still works.
Art never patted me on the shoulder, and yet he made me lighter with just a few words—and some dicking.
“How about that Rami guy in Art’s note? Can he help?” Marco suddenly asks.
“Ramiel Master is a fucking hacker. He confirmed Mario killed Doppi’s son. He sent to Art’s phone an incriminating video of him dragging the corpse to the park,” I tell him. Not that I care about any video since I’m going to kill Mario anyway.
“I’ve worked with Rami before. He’s very skilled. He thinks Mario is responsible for fifteen of the police’s open cases,” Seb states.
I feel a blazing fury inside me that I can barely contain. How many more families did he destroy? “How many more lives did that sick bastard take?”
“You need to get Art away from him. How do we know when Jack and Mario Enzino will be together?” Fly looks deeply worried. It doesn’t help the anguish inside my gut, but it enforces my determination.
“The wedding,” Marco says.
“It’s too far away.” I shake my head.
“No. I got a text a few minutes ago. It was moved to the day after tomorrow,” Seb interjects.
A text. From one of his informants?
“Moved?” Is it because Art is with them?
“So, let’s go stop the fucking funeral-for-two.” Marco’s words earn him a slap on the arm from Fly.
“Don’t say that!”
“I didn’t mean it literally, though we will give some extra work to the mortuary.” He sounds eager.
“Rather than charging in like a bulldozer, we need an alternative plan,” Seb states.
“How about calling in a favor?” Marco smirks.
Seb’s eyes narrow at him. “Raymond Turi is waiting for my call.”
“The mayor’s assistant?” Fly asks, confused.
As we start to put down the details, my hand moves down to my chest, but I can’t feel the Saint pendant around my neck. The necklace is still broken. It’s all the same. I’m not the one who needs protection. Those fucking Enzinos are.
Apart from Art. He’ll be paying for it in a whole different way. Oh, he will.