My brows lower once more, trying to piece together what the fuck she is talking about.
“A debt? What kind of debt” I ask her, hoping that this time she answers me with something I can actually go off of.
“Life,” she says.
“Life, really? You can’t tell me anything that isn’t a Goddamn riddle?!” I shout.
“The price we pay to have life, is death. Death comes in many forms, Sienna. When death closes one door, the universe finds a way to transfer that life to open another door.”
“Gone? Rose, what happened to him, please?” I ask, this time begging. I feel a stabbing pain in my heart, I can’t handle losing him.
“Sienna, please, go. I’ve said too much. If I say any more, he will come after all of us, too.”
“Who will come after us?”
My mind begins racing. Who is this ‘he’ she fears so much? Is it the man I saw across the street from the tattoo shop? What are the chances that I see this creepy guy watching us, and then, Leo, my Leo, is gone.
“Who, Rose?” I plead once more.
“Muerte.”
Death.
Chapter7
Carmine
October 30th, Devil’s Night
It's going on one week since I spoke to Sienna on the phone and her silky voice still echoes in my ear. Just one more day,mi reina. Just one more fucking day.
I have gawked at the calendar like a predator hungry for its prey, counting down the days until I can give into these primal urges that flood the depths of my depraved soul. I feel like I have been locked in a prison of predetermination, stuck waiting, but all that is about to change.
Tomorrow, I will finally have the daughter of my father’s deceased enemy shimmying her voluptuous hips and naturally sun-kissed skin into Marked Inc. I become giddy just thinking about the look on my father’s face when he sees her, a Ricci, in the building. And not just any Ricci, but Sienna Ricci. The one my father deemed off-limits for a man like me, which only makes my craving for her more intense.
Telling me that I can’t have something only makes me want it more. And when it comes to her, I will stop at nothing until I mark every inch of her as mine.
I have a to-do list a mile long, preparing for her arrival as well as the gala tomorrow evening. I already resent that my first order of business for today is carving out time for an impromptu meeting with Christian, but it’s of the utmost importance that this ship run smoothly, and I trust no one other than myself to make sure it does.
Oh, Christian. Our in-house mad scientist. Well, he is not actually a scientist, but he is mad. He was once renowned in his field but now he is a necessary evil in my field, which is all about nipping and tucking the truth.
I am getting tired of having to constantly reprimand him for his incompetence. He was Father and Enzo’s hire before I took over Marked Inc., and despite my better judgment, I kept him around a lot longer than I wanted to. Although his role in the company has become crucial, he forgets that the margin for error is practically non-existent. Or it should be, at least. What Christian brings to table is only valuable if done properly, and since he seems to not be getting the message, I have decided to pay him a little in-person visit today in his office
I stand outside the elevator doors awaiting its arrival. Peering over my shoulder, I look back at Lizzie’s desk, relieved it is empty. There is something off with how she has been acting lately. The rational part of my psyche wants to chalk it up to her being pissed off about Sienna’s arrival tomorrow. However, the irrational part of me, the part that often takes over my mind, indulging my impulsivity, suspects she is up to something more devious.
My attention is brought back to the steel doors as the bell chimes, just as the elevator doors glide open. Relief once again washes over me when I see no one other than my reflection from the mirrored walls of the elevator as I walk inside.
I lift my hand to the control panel, tapping the cold brass button to bring me to Christian’s floor. As I walk to the back wall of the elevator, I am forced to stare at the image of myself that glares back at me in the reflective wall. The little bit of skin exposed from my pinstriped jacket and black button-up shirt is covered in a mural of ink, making it difficult to see where my skin begins and ends.
As I approach the wall of mirrors, I notice the patch of hair I keep longer in the middle is beginning to fall in front of my face. I keep the sides buzzed but the longer section centered on my head always has a way of escaping. I was in a rush this morning and didn’t have enough time to tame it properly. I expel saliva into the palm of my hand, to keep my hair in place.
The man that stares back at me is someone I hardly recognize. I swore I would never become what my father is, yet here I am, arguably worse. I look nothing like him, but whenever I glance at my dark—almost black—irises it’s clear to see that the darkness I have succumbed to has always been my home.
At least the sins my father commits are because he doesn’t know any better. He is too foolish to know what the right thing is and how to do it. But me? Well, I have been choosing to do what I know is destructive simply because doing right never gave me anything but heartache and grief. Every day I choose to veer off the right path. I consciously choose to engage in wrongdoings because it distracts me from the wrongs that have been committed against me.
Once I reach Christian’s office floor, I am met with the distinct smell of rubbing alcohol as the doors open. Given the alterations Christian performs for our clients, it is imperative that his working environment be as sterile as possible. Though, the harsh smell of cleanliness is abrasive when it greets my nostrils.
I already had a look at Christian’s agenda for the day and there were no clients that needed any procedures or consultations this morning. So, I expect him to be prepping for the few afternoon clients I know he does have.
