EIGHTEEN
Emily
My hair was still wet, and the only thing covering me was a towel. I sat in the middle of the bed, staring at the door. When Giorgio dragged me out of that room, he took me straight to the shower.
Maybe he wanted to bring me back to my senses, or maybe I just smelled like puke. Either way, when I still wouldn’t move, he sent one of the maids in to pull me out. She wrapped me in a towel, sat me down on the bed, and I haven’t moved since.
The door opened without a sound, only Carlo could move like that. He stepped inside, shut it behind him, and watched me. The air felt heavier the moment he walked in.
His shirt was soaked in blood. That was when I realized this wasn’t a nightmare. I hadn’t imagined it. Carlo had beaten a man to death right there, in front of everyone. With his fists alone.
I was anchored in place. My limbs refused to respond. He stared for what felt like forever, then started undressing with a calm that made my skin crawl. His movements were casual, detached, like he’d returned from a business meeting, not a killing.
Moments later, he came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but loose black pants. His skin was still damp from the shower, muscles flexing slightly with every step as he approached me. He reached out his hand, but I flinched and pulled away from him in fear
“Don’t be scared,” he said quietly. “I want to help you relax. Come here.”
I shook my head, trembling. My whole body was locked up.
“You’ve been like this for over three hours,” he went on, his voice softer now. “I’m not going to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Please… don’t touch me.” My voice barely made it out.
He dropped his hand with a sigh, and crossed the room. At the liquor cabinet, he poured a glass of scotch and brought it to me. The way he looked at me, I knew I had no real choice. I took the glass and drank it fast, the burn sliding down my throat. Then, wordlessly, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and handed it to me.
“I don’t smoke,” I whispered.
“You’re smoking this one.” His tone left no room for argument.
Reluctantly, I took a puff and immediately coughed.
“Breathe,” he said, watching me closely. “You’ll be fine.”
The smoke hit the back of my throat, bitter and strange. This wasn’t a regular cigarette. “What is this?”
“Something to help you unwind. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get you hooked. I hate junkie women. Smoke it.”
A few more puffs, and the grip in my chest slowly loosened. Warmth spread through my limbs like liquid silk. I stubbed out the cigarette, leaned back against the pillows, and let my head fall into the softness.
Carlo lay down beside me. “If I show weakness, then you fall. Every man who’s loyal to me, every underboss who stands with me, their families too. We’d all be wiped out.”
I turned my head toward him. The tension in my body eased, and my mind began to clear.“You beat that man until his face was gone. You really think that was necessary?”
“No. It wasn’t,” he replied, his gaze locked on mine. “I could’ve had one of my guys shoot him. Hell, I could’ve done it myself. But this is who I am, Emily. I enjoy fucking the people who try to fuck me over. I feed off the violence, the blood, the revenge. It’s what I do. You don’t like it? Then you’re the one who’s going to suffer.”
I couldn’t help it. A trace of defiance slipped into my voice. “If you love fighting so much, why not join the army?”
He scoffed. “And waste my life fighting for the dirty ambitions of corrupt politicians? You think I want to kill for men who steal from the poor, send soldiers to die while their kids grow up in mansions?”
He leaned closer, his eyes like knives. “Look around, Emily. Billions vote every year, hoping the next crook will ruin them a little slower than the last. Has it changed anything? No. The whole system’s rotten. Everyone’s corrupt.
I fight for my own cause. I pull the trigger for my own reasons, not for some psycho’s war. And if I kill, it’s someone who chose to step into this world. We’re born sinners in the Mafia. And we all know what that means.”
He reached for a strand of my hair, but I pulled away before he could touch me. A flicker of anger flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t say a word. He turned his back to me and lay still.
When I woke the next morning, the bed beside me was empty. Carlo was gone. A tray of breakfast sat on the table near the window. I pulled on a robe and stepped out onto the terrace. The sky was overcast, the breeze sharp against my skin.
I stared out at the hills, trying to process what he’d said. There was truth in his words, twisted and brutal, but still… truth. But nothing could justify what I saw last night. Not to me. One man crushing another to death with his bare hands, that wasn’t power. That was madness.
