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The way Luca is acting towards me right now uneases me, suddenly making me nauseous. What could possibly be worse than death?
Twenty
Luca
I caved. I couldn’t keep away any longer. I went to her. But now that we sit together, her on the bed, me on the floor, the awkward silence makes me wish I had left her there for a while longer. I look at the fabric burns on her wrists and feel something I have never felt before in my life. Sorry.
Nearly every week, I inflict wounds on men, some lethal, some that heal over time, but most leave a permanent reminder not to cross a Valsetti member. Never have I once felt bad about it, and I most definitely never feel sorry. It’s my duty. My job. Not Scarlet, though. As I sit here and look at the physical wounds I caused, I don’t feel the satisfaction of teaching her a lesson that I should. That I normally would.
It’s not a feeling I can easily explain, having never felt it before. It’s a deep pain in my chest that is heavy, making it hard to breathe. This is precisely why I chose a long time ago to switch off my emotions. It’s simpler that way. It’s uncomfortable and dangerous, making my life impossible.
Standing, I reach for my bedside table drawer, pulling a tube of salve. I sit on the edge of the bed, close to her. I see the confusion in her eyes when I pick up her wrist and rub the ointment into the red, irritated skin. Even with the softest of touch, she closes her eyes tightly with discomfort.
“Why do you do it?” she asks, breaking the silence.
“Do what?”
“Why do you choose to take someone's life?” She pauses for a moment before adding, “Surely there has to be another way. Death is so final. You can never take that back.”
I swallow back the guilt I shouldn’t feel, because I have killed so many men now that I am beyond redemption, beyond feeling anything other than hate.
“I do it in the name of my family. Protection, honor.”
She is quick to shoot back. “There is no honor in killing a person.”
“There is when it is your duty to your family.”
“Why you? Why not Nicolai?” she asks softly, no malice in her tone this time.
“It is his birthright as the firstborn son to be the one to take over. As the second-born son, it is my duty to protect the family in whatever means that may be. He orders. I deliver.”
“Is that supposed to justify your actions? Following your brother’s orders is not a good enough reason. It’s not your duty, nor Nicolai’s, to decide if someone lives or dies. You are not God, Luca.”
The use of my real name on her tongue sounds so formal. Anger builds deep within me. Stupid woman! She has no clue. Then again, a woman like her, I’d expect nothing less. She was brought up in a middle-class family with upper-class views on the world.
“Your words are uneducated. So, unless you know the facts, you should shut that pretty little mouth of yours.” I slam the salve on the table. Scarlet startles at the sound.
“Is that an order,” she chirps.
I step forward, backing her up against the headboard. Our moment of friendliness is well and truly over. My hands smack into the board on either side of her face, causing her to cower and suck in a sharp breath. It’s the first time she has shown me her absolute fear. Good. Then the time she spent tied up has taught her that I am not a man to test. I lean my face into hers so close she has no other option but to look at me. I back off. I have made my point.
“Not that I need to explain myself to you, but the men I kill are no saints. The world is a better place for them leaving it.”
“And me?” She swallows. “Will the world be better when you kill me?” Her eyes look away, but I see the sadness in them. As much as she welcomes death, she fears it too.
“That all depends on what you think you know and what you’ve done with that information.”
“That's a lie. At least have the decency to be honest with me. I know how this ends either way.”
Lowering one of my hands, I stroke the back of my finger over her cheek, smearing the stray tear from it. I don't know why I did it. It’s too intimate, and yet I can’t pull my hand away.
“You will be the first, you know.” I stroke her cheek again. “I’ve never killed a woman before.”
“Well, I hope I make it memorable for you.” She swallows thickly like her words have soured in her mouth.
As I tuck a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, she pulls her head away from me.
I leave her on my bed alone, fetching my whiskey and two glasses from the kitchen. When I return, I catch her wiping more tears from her face. She turns her head away like she is ashamed or embarrassed.
