When I look up at the apartment balcony, I half expect her to be standing there, flipping me off, but instead, the curtains are closed. I’m excited for the games to begin, because she now knows without a doubt who I really am. And after her sweet rejection, I want her even more.
I rev the bike with a smile on my face. I still consider that apartment my home, and Iwillbe welcomed back again. But for now, I go to the only place that comes to mind.
I weave in and out of the early morning traffic as the sun begins to rise on the new day, then cut the engine when I arrive at Lorenzo’s house on the water. I despise my brother, which is precisely why I always intended on breaking into his home and using it as my own. I’ll piss on every corner of the house to mark my territory, just to infuriate him.
It won't take me long to get inside. I could ask Izak to do it for me on the down low, but I want Lorenzo to know I’m here, staking my claim.
When I break in through the back door, no alarms go off, not loudly anyway. It’s only a minute after I dump my bag on the counter that my brother is calling. I smirk as I look around for cameras. He seems like the paranoid type, so I randomly wave in every direction.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Lorenzo growls as I answer the phone.
“Hey, big brother. Yeah, my current living circumstance has had a little hiccup, and since you’re not here, I thought you might need someone to maintain the garden.”
“Get the fuck out.”
I poke out my bottom lip as I round the kitchen island and check what he has in the fridge. Fucking nothing. It’s all empty. Then again, they’ve been gone for almost two months. “You wouldn’t really throw your only family out onto the street, would you?”
“You gave up the chance for me to help you when you decided to throw away your career and told me you didn’t need my money or anything else from me anymore.”
I scoff. “I never needed your money, Lorenzo, and you know it. Don’t pretend like you haven’t tried to snoop into my financial affairs.”
Silence.
“At times, I think you truly fooled yourself into believing you had a different brother than the one you were raised with. You’re a hypocrite, despising me for being the exact same type of monster you are.”
“The difference is, I can rein myself in. You’re a wild animal. Whenever you let your emotions get the best of you, it turns into a shit show and a mess that I always have to bail you out of.”
“We’re not kids anymore, Lorenzo. So I went on a few massacres. They deserved it. You call it messy. I think of it as efficient. Anyway, unless you’re going to come here and kick me out yourself, I want to get some shuteye. It’s been a very long day of beingmessy.”
I hang up on him, knowing he won’t get on a private jet just to kick me out. He’s bound by duty to remain in Italy on Luca’s behalf, unless he’s permitted or called to come back.
I walk around to each room, bored with his dull tastes. The only thing I’ve ever admired about Lorenzo is his book collection, so I head to his office. I haven’t seen any cameras yet, so perhaps he doesn’t have any inside. I bet he does in Italy, though, to protect his new woman.
I think back to Romi’s reaction when she realized the friends closest to her have left her behind. They could’ve waved a red flag in front of her to get her attention, but it wouldn't have mattered, not with the self-destructive bubble she’s been in.
I wonder what she’ll do next.
I peruse the many titles in Lorenzo’s office library. A lot of them are the same as the books my mother used to have in her library. The same library where my father would sit silently for hours as he drank away every evening, mourning her, bleeding out all over the place as he pined for her ghost to visit him.
I barely remember her, but I remember my father’s firm hand after her passing.
When I circle around the wooden desk at the end of the room, I open the top drawers curiously, snooping to see if he has anything of interest. My gaze snags on a photo that’s burnt at the edges, and when I pull it out, I can’t help but try to shove down the lump forming in my throat.
It’s a photo of me as a pre-teen, my little sister, Milia, not even five years old, and Lorenzo, who had just shot up in height in his early teens. I was only a scrawny kid then.
The absence of our mother was the first fracture of our family. Milia’s death was the final crack to break my father and ensure his pursuit to ruin us in the process, blaming us for her death.
To some degree, we were responsible. But we were also children, whom he was happily willing to put on the front lines in training for what we’d become today: servants of the Armani family.
It was my father who took this photo, and I remember how much I hated that man, even then.
I fucking hate that Lorenzo was the one to kill him instead of me.
My anger rises to the surface, a living, breathing entity. And it's especially bad when it comes to my brother and our dysfunctional family.
It’s always infuriated me the way he shuns my nature when he’s no better. He simply thinks of himself as some fucking hero because of his control. I think of it as a weakness. I was always reprimanded for being unable to stop in training, even when we were kids.
Granted, not much has changed since then. My massacres are a testament to that. But I was the product of my upbringing—the perfect weapon, no matter how much Lorenzo tried to reshape that life for me.
