Chapter 21
twenty-one
. . .
If anyone saw me rush through the estate, they would’ve assumed a live bullet was on my ass, yet I never stopped until I reached the secluded basement where no one dared to visit.
Our staff were superstitious and believed my mother’s ghost haunted this place.
Those were the stories Evelina told me she’d heard when she visited Italy.
A year after Lorenzo took her title, Mother died of a heart attack. Well, that’s what I was told. According to Lorenzo, she couldn’t handle the disgrace.
Remembering how affected I was by his disclosure, how pain filled me to core where hatred should’ve danced, I glared at the metal frame responsible for torturing me and my siblings.
Where every transgression received three days of punishment, with no food, water and just the nightmarish darkness as our companion.
My first time here, I screeched like a coward, scraping at the door until my nails bled. My second, I cried for the first two hours and by the third, I’d welcomed the darkness with open arms.
And now, that very door hid from me an impossible lie I’d believed over the last two years. A lie Lorenzo was going to explain before I sucker punched the shit out of him.
My feet heavy, I stepped forward, entered the code into the panel to the side and listened to the dense sounds of the double locks disengaging as the door slowly eased back.
A second or two passed before the lit room registered. This place should be dark, was my first thought. Mother demanded it. No matter how often we cried for her leniency, she remained steadfast in her decision for punishment.
Shaking off the once unbreakable command she’d held over me, I entered, my eyes taking in the changed room. Metal cages swapped for sparse furnishing, darkness lit by soft lighting and the odor of piss and shit now replaced by an unforgettable scent.
Mother!
“Hello, Remo,” her voice, still surprisingly firm, echoed through the room as she stepped out of the shadows.
Not one single emotion could be defined as I stared at the woman in front of me. Gone was the articulate make-up and signature clothing replaced now by stark beauty and a simple dress she would’ve never been caught dead in, let alone alive and fucking kicking.
It annoyed the crap out of me that not only was I lied to, I still felt a tremor of intimidation just by looking at her, not out of fear but by a mind awash with memories I didn’t want to recall.
Two seconds was all it took for the rug to be pulled out from under me. “How the fuck are you alive?” I bit out.
She smiled and even in the dim lighting I could make out the pure evil that once resided on those lips. “Is that any way to greet your mother?”
“What were you expecting? A kiss on the cheek? A hug? Me on my knees?” I sneered, amused she demanded familiarity.
Slowly, she shook her head, lowering her body to a couch. “Come now, boy. I deserve a whole lot more, don’t you think. I mean look at you, the beautiful Rossi underboss. Powerful. Deadly. Merciless. I made you–”
My amusement turned into a bitter laugh, fuelled by irony, echoing through the room, ripping her words to pieces.
“Made me? You give yourself far too much credit, Mother.” Another laugh slipped out, this one tasted more acidic than the first. There was no one in the world I detested more than the woman in front of me.
“Why are you here, Remo?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?” Anger shook my body.
“Still swimming with your demons, son? I can ease them for you.” Her inference made me see red.
“Fuck you.” My machete found its way into my hand so fast, it surprised me. Her raised brow, however, stopped me from using the blade, the message in her eyes clear. She wanted me to do it. I lowered my hand to my side, yet my grip on the weapon remained tight. “You were supposed to be dead.”
She uttered a soft laugh. “Yet somehow I’m not.”
Fist clenched on my free hand, I gritted my teeth, took a step toward her then stepped back. Silently, her eyes followed my movement as if waiting for me to crack.
Fuck that. “Who did you bribe to stay alive?” My words remained harsh, emotionless, not allowing her into my head.
I might be evil personified, this woman, though, she was something no creature dead or alive, was made of. Something so fucking unique, it probably defied Satan’s rules in hell. The rage I felt toward her was unmatched.
Rising, she moved closer. “I bribed no one,” she whispered, placing a hand on my chest.
Revulsion seared my skin and I swiped at the offending limb, catching her grimace with undisguised satisfaction.
She sighed, rubbing her hand. “The morning before I suffered the heart attack, a stranger visited me–”
“What stranger?”
“He wore a mask, so I couldn’t identify him.”
I frowned. “You expect me to believe that?”
Her face twisted in anger. “Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?” When I said nothing, she continued, “he mentioned some things I was a bit surprised to hear given my guarded life–”
“What things?”
Her eyes answered me, adding to the tension already riding my ass. I prayed for patience, wanting to know more.
“I asked who he was or how he knew these things, and he merely laughed. Then he stuck a needle in my neck which brought on the heart attack. I must’ve either passed out or died.
” She uttered a cryptic chuckle. “When I came to, he was straddling me and amused that he had to resuscitate me.” She paused, several emotions flitting across her face.
“I can’t decide if you’re angry, offended or embarrassed,” I mocked. “Let me guess, he called you weak?” If I knew her well, she despised the mere mention of the word since she considered herself above everyone else.
She ignored me, confirming my statement. “He called a doctor and had me checked. After the doctor left, he said I couldn’t die by his hands and that the attack was just meant to see if my heart really was made of stone,” she whispered the last part as though it burdened her shoulders.
“Whoever he is, he has my vote,” I sniggered and surprisingly she looked hurt. That gave me some satisfaction yet not enough to loosen the knot it my chest. Only her death would. “Did you not recognize his voice?”
“He sounded strange, almost robotic.”
A voice modulator. This man’s identity piqued my interest. She went back to the couch, picking up a set of knitting needles and shocking me into a silence for a bit.
Watching her work the needles, I scoffed.
Those hands killed men, robbed women of their husbands and children of their fathers, sometimes their mothers too.
What a fucking joke. “So, whose hands should you die by if not his?”
Her head snapped up, her hands stilling. “You want me dead?”
“What do you think?”
Her eyes narrowed, she gave me one of her stiff smiles. “Then what are you waiting for, Remo?” it was so causally asked, I almost threw the machete at her, putting an end to my misery.
Only, I couldn’t do it, yet. I needed answers. “Why me?”
Even in her dance with death, the woman laughed. “You weren’t special if that’s what you’re asking.”
Don’t give in, Remo, she’s fucking with your head again.
“I’m not.” I gnashed my teeth.
“What difference does dredging up the past make?”
“Always with the fucking arrogance,” I snorted. “You’re not a queen, you’re a has been and I’m going–”
“To what?” She raised a brow. “End me?” Slowly, she shook her head. “Even though I denied the thought, some part of me knew it was you, that you put him up to it?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Oh, baby.” The words vomit inducing, I clenched my jaw, waiting for an answer.
She set aside the knitting needles, stood and neared me.
“Does Lorenzo know you’ve kept me alive, fed me?
Gave me these little luxuries.” She swept her hand through the air, encompassing the room’s contents in her gesture.
My eyes drifted around, taking in the single bed, sofa, table, what looked like a miniature bookcase and an unappealing bathroom facility.
I cracked up. So hard, I had to lean back against a wall.
“You think I had a stranger visit you, kept you alive? Fed you? Furnished this place?” I laughed again then stopped abruptly, anger defacing my equilibrium to stay sane.
“What makes you think I did or I would?” I sneered, bringing the machete up and placing the blade to her throat.
She didn’t flinch and I didn’t back down.
“That broken boy who pandered to your needs ceased to exist the day I left for New York, Mother.” Heavy sarcasm laced the title.
“I wanted you dead, rotting, dying like my brother did.”
Silence followed my statement. We glared at each other like two predators squaring off. Only, where she’d once won every single battle, I’d learned to beat her at her own game.
“Mateo was a weakling,” she hissed, breaking our stare down.
Each word stirred my fury, sparking the flames bolder and brighter. “He was your fucking son, he deserved respect, a fucking funeral worthy of a Rossi,” I growled, pressing the blade into her skin, not satisfied with the trickle of blood running down her chest.
“He was a pussy, easily manipulated,” came the snide remark.
“You obnoxious fucking bitch.” Breathing hard, I spun away, my grip so tight on the blade handle, my knuckles burned. I needed to know why before I took her life, I deserved that much.
“Ironic isn’t it, that you’re about to end me where it all began.” She chuckled behind me. “Where your training began. Where you became a man–”
“Shut the fuck up,” I pivoted sharply, throwing out my arm as I did and letting it swing toward her. The machete sank into her side with a harsh squelch and a triumphant swoosh as I pulled it back.