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.
