22. Virgilio
Chapter Twenty-Two
VIRGILIO
W hoever believes that truth brings freedom is fucking delusional.
Now that I have let the truth out, I cannot fucking find any.
I feel agitated. I’m composed, no doubt, but I feel like I need new skin because the one I have covering me is itchy. I can’t feel my pulse.
You are Dante, Dante Messina, and we are both the legitimate heirs to the Messina Cosa Nostra Clan.
The flint in his eyes came first, followed by the ferocious vibration of his head as if he could not process all the information at once and then the gripping of his hair.
I fucking should have held my tongue. I should have found a fucking soft landing or allowed him to come around to the truth gradually, as the doctors had suggested it would perhaps happen, even though it was nearly impossible because of the severity of his brain damage. But Dante’s nightmares proved the doctors wrong.
I stare in frustration at the ceiling of my office, my index fingers constantly tapping on each other.
I grit, needing something to exert the force inside of me. Any fucking thing at all would do at this fucking point. I stand and start to pace in the darkness, hitting my toes against the foot of my desk but using the pain as a welcomed distraction.
I was living through a haze at some point in my life, constantly wanting to stay high and continuously running away from the nightmares and the voices. Getting high was a way of slowing me down. It closes me in and shuts everything else out.
I could think. I could bear the weight of what I had to fucking do for myself and my family. But I was a ghost. I was too fucking numb, and I knew I needed to stop. I was fading, I couldn’t eat, and even now, it’s still a problem.
But at least I get to unleash my frustration on the punching bag. I get to burn myself out until I can’t feel my bones.
Dante will come around. He needs time to process what he just heard.
He stomped out of my office, and I went after him but retreated when I saw he hadn’t left my apartment. Instead, he went to his bedroom just down the hall—the one for emergencies like this one.
He wasn’t mad at me. He was just confused, and all I was left with was the talons of guilt sinking into my heart. We both have had it worse and hopefully, I will make it better for every one of us in the end.
Our father deserves to die. And soon enough, I will pump a bullet into his skull. Not just one. Many. One for every misery we have ever endured. When I’m done, he will be made entirely of bullets.
I stop pacing and stomp out of my office barefoot, needing a walk around the estate, especially on the pathway in the backyard. The sharp pinch of the twigs under my feet grounds me, and it will work magic on my agitation.
It will help me think of what to fucking do next.
“Come in,” Carmine enters his brother Flavio’s card room using his thumb on the biometric authentication door.
Flavio is the Boss of the Russo clan and one of the most feared men alive.
I do not fear him. I do not fear anyone. I do not I feel alive.
Life must be working fucking double shifts to make sure I go back to being with the dead where I originally belong.
I step into the high-ceilinged room. It’s like an alcove. A dark one. Not even the grandiose chandelier can do much to bring light to the thick darkness in the space. The walls are dark grey, the sofas are black, and so are the curtains, while the armchairs around a mahogany table are red.
As every corner and hallway in this estate, a fleet of loyal soldiers in black uniforms are lining around the room with their weapons bared.
I’m not bothered by any of that in the slightest.
I can say I have been through hell and back.
Several times since she went missing.
I’m now counting my life from when I lost her and it’s been four years of hell. And as if life needed to show me how worse it can get, I had to endure a fire burn just to change my fucking identity and keep my mother and brother safe.
I might have physically healed from the burn, but I can never heal from the fire still burning in my heart, scalding everything in its path.
I hate life.
I hate my fucking life.
“Ettore,” Flavio thunders with his thick voice and puffs smoke out of his mouth in perfect rings, then twists the cigar between his fingers, waiting for Carmine to lead me to him.
I hate that name.
Carmine marches in front of me to Flavio and I fall in step behind him.
They have a striking resemblance but Flavio has an air of darkness surrounding him.
“I will cut to the chase,” Flavio throws a leg over the other. “You have been loyal to the Russo clan and I reward loyalty, Ettore.”
I’m not sure if he is expecting me to say anything, but I’ve got nothing left in me to say. Not to him or anyone at this point in my life.
Flavio narrows his brows at me, “Come, have this.” He picks up the glass of whatever is on the table beside his seat and stretches it out to me.
Out of courtesy and maybe only because Carmine nudges me with his elbow, I close the distance and accept the drink.
I down it at a gulp, regretting it instantly but concealing my regret. The drink is stronger than any liquor I know and it glides down my chest burn its way into my gut.
“You like Grappa? Strong stuff,” Flavio draws his cigar, holds my gaze for a while, then puffs. He exhales as if bored by his game of intimidation. It’s no fun playing chase when the prey isn’t running. “You will start as a lieutenant and in two years, you will be captain, while Cesare will start as a soldier and be lieutenant in three.”
Again, I’m not sure what to say so I nod, accepting my new life.
“That’s all,” Flavio dismisses me with his hand and I’m about to turn and leave when Carmine throws an arm over my shoulder and squeezes gently on the side of my body with burn marks.
“You are forgetting your manners. Pay your respect to the boss,” he says it in a way that makes it appear I’m just being a silly twenty-year-old boy and not like he knows I’m brooding over this arrangement.
I clear my throat, thinking with fury of my father, the bastard that I will rip open with my bare hands when the time comes, then turn chivalrously to Flavio.
He holds out his hand with the signet ring on his pinky. He doesn’t hold it up so I have to bow fully if I’m to kiss it. I take his hand and bow to kiss the ring.
He is the boss and I respect that. I will always respect that.
I will play my part in this game.
He has done nothing but give me a shot at life and I will make the most of it.
“Sir, we've gathered the information you requested about Valerie Moore's sales,” Xander corners me as soon as I step out of my office, almost bumping into me.
It takes me a minute to lock in and narrow my mind back to consciousness so that I can see he is handing me a folder.
“What did you find?” My voice is spongy and bristling as I take it and pull out a laminated file.
“Something interesting,” he answers a little too late because I’m already scanning through the content on the file.
There is not much written on it, so it’s easy to focus on the figures, which are the most important part.
"Four hundred and ninety-eight thousand pieces sold?” And like that, calm washes through me, “Valerie is only two thousand short of the goal.”
“Yes, Boss,” Xander dips his chin.
“Where is she?”
“Under the staircase,” he knows who as his job is to keep an eye on her when I’m busy.
“That will be all, thank you,” I dismiss him, and he tips his head with his usual salute before leaving.
I place one hand on my waist as I jostle at the implications and consider what might happen if anything should go wrong because of my interference.
I know that if Valerie's collection reaches the sales target, it could provide Zoe with the financial backing she needs for her debut.
However, I also know I must proceed carefully. My involvement must remain discreet to avoid suspicion. I already know I will buy the remaining pieces. I just need the right time to dive in. To dive in unnoticed.
That is a problem to think about later. For now, I should go find her and share the good news with her. I barrel down the hallway.
And there she is, in a copper maxi skirt and cream sweater, using the sunlight from that angle to work on the fabrics spread on the floor.
Everything is everywhere: cutouts, pins, chalk, measuring tape, scissors, and the rest of what she needs. Her sketchbook is flipped open to one of the designs, and the book with my measurements is on the other side.
She has a measuring tape around her neck and chalk in one hand as she flops between my measurement and the material on the floor.
She is in her zone, focused to the point of not seeing my shadow hovering beside her. She is humming, too, something from one of her classical music playlists. I should get her headphones to help make her work fluid.
“Zoe.”
She freezes as she is about to cut a line drawn on the fabric and stares up at me. She blinks, a little startled, but then she goes back to a simple, void expression as if she is mad at me about something.
“Master Ettore,” She chews the insides of her mouth, “You need something?”
I nod, and huff, obviously not feeling welcome, and for good reason. I did hurt her feelings. Again. After having fucked her silly. But at least I let her go to Valerie; it should be worth something in her book.
“Are you mad at me?”
She looks up from the fabric and shakes her head with so much force I fear for her neck.
“I can never be mad at you,” she gets fidgety and I see that it’s far from what I was thinking. She is resigned, not mad.
“I have some news that might interest you,” I dive into it, needing to impress her and remove the veil of resignation.
It’s confusing.
I want to be close to her. I want her to see me as myself. But I know I shouldn’t be close to her. I know that in order to protect her, she must not know me as me.
“Cesare told me everything about your conversation with Valerie today, and... Valerie's collection, the one inspired by your story, has already sold four hundred and ninety-eight thousand pieces,” I pause, waiting for something. I don’t get it so I continue. “She's only two thousand short of reaching her goal.”
Now her eyes spread open, the most beautiful and unique shades of blue engrossed in the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen.
I shake my head slightly, muting the thought.
“That's amazing!” She yelps, standing and almost swinging around in delirium. “We have to go back to the fabric store and tell her. Maybe there's something we can do to help.”
This thing she is doing, this way she is feeling, that glow in her eye, the smile line on the curve of her lips, the eagerness in her voice, the way her body seems to be on high alert from the news—I can almost hear her heart beating from where I stand—all of it is infectious. It can make me burn the world to the ground for her.
“Have to?” I clip, holding onto my composure so she doesn’t see me salivating at her excitement.
"Uhm, actually, I forgot the buttons, so... We really do need to go back,” she clears her throat, fidgeting with the chalk in her hand.
I cock my head, “Buttons?”
“I did,” she mutters. “I was distracted, and I forgot.” She drops her eyes to her feet and pouts.
“She is coming here instead.” It’s too risky having her out twice a day, and besides, it will be better to meet with Valerie here than anywhere else.
“Xander,” I know he is lurking around, “Extend an invitation to Valerie and make sure she accepts.”
“Yes, Boss,” his voice resounds from somewhere around us.
“Eyes on me, Zoe,” I crane her curious gaze back to me, “Valerie will be here tomorrow so you can get your… buttons.”
She nods.
For someone who is trying to act nonchalant and hide how excited she is, she is nodding so hard that her head might fall off.
Buttons, my ass.