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He offers a smile, nodding as if he’s considering what I’ve just said. And for the first time, I wonder if he’s thinking about it. Then I watch as satisfaction blooms on his face. He comments, “Tomorrow evening, we’ll see.”
“I guess we will.” I turn and walk away, heading back up to my bedroom. I wonder if my heart can take seeing Lance do what I’ve always known he did.
Lance
When I pull up to the house, I notice a car parked outside. Just like my mother said, Thomas is here. I don’t give a shit about killing him, not at all, but even though I managed some sleep last night; when I woke up this morning, my mind wasn’t calm.
Giuliana understands what I need to do, and even though she shouldn’t, she forgives me. I’m not sure why she doesn’t hate me for what I’m about to do, but she allows me far too much leeway. Yes, it’s her father’s doing, but I’m the one acting out his orders.
My phone rings shrilly in my pocket. Pulling it out, I slide to answer. “Arthur.”
“Lance, I trust your job will be completed today?”
“Did you know she’s dying?” I question, not wanting to have small talk with him. He doesn’t deserve it. But I need the Cavalieri because that need to exact justice is so close to my heart. It’s something that burns through me, and Arthur knows it.
“She’s not.” His voice sounds matter of fact. “I have her medical records. She may be mentally ill perhaps, but there are no signs of her dying or having any life-threatening diseases,” he informs me.
“That’s not what she said.”
“And you believe a woman who hurt you, left you to fend for yourself?” His challenge is clear. I shouldn’t be questioning him. Even though he’s never lied to me about a job, even when he doesn’t want me to know something, he usually omits it from the conversation. But I recall his blatant lie about Giuliana choosing to become a nun when in fact, she was sold to a man I despised. I’m not sure what Arthur’s end game was, but this time, I’m not trusting anyone but myself.
He may be right. My mother has lied to me all my life. Or the short time I was with her, in her care.
“She told me she’s dying, and I believe her.”
“Still the loyal son,” he utters with pride in his tone. I’m not sure why he’s so happy about this, but he sounds it. “Listen
to me, Lance. This job isn’t to see if you’re strong enough, agile enough, or to test your loyalty to me because I know where that stands.”
“Do you?” I question.
“This is to test your loyalty and love for my daughter.” He chuckles.
“I’ll always love her, and I will come back and fight for her, even if it’s the last thing I do,” I tell him easily, because it’s true.
“Good. I trust you’ll stay in the area this evening because I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.” He hangs up, leaving me confused at his insistence. I should head back tonight, but I have a feeling he’s not telling me the whole story.
Staring at the house I’m about to enter, I shove my phone into the glove box, push open the door, and exit my Jeep. With every step I make toward the small, two-bedroom home, I feel the twist in my gut. Before I reach the door, I pull out my Glock and cock it, ready to fire.
With one swift kick to the wood, it flies open, and I step inside. The asshole is shooting up, my mother beside him, already flying high on whatever she’s just shot into her veins. She doesn’t even notice me, but he does.
“Who the fuck are you?” he grits out angrily, but I don’t respond. Aiming the gun toward him, I pull the trigger, and the shot rings through the air. The moment the bullet makes an impact between his beady eyes, the fucker goes down like a lump.
“I’ve wanted someone to clean up this mess for years.” A deep baritone comes from behind me, causing me to spin on my heel. The man from last night saunters inside. He’s dressed in an expensive suit, which, by the looks of it, is brand new.
I take him in for a moment before looking into his eyes. There’s something so familiar about him. Frowning, I turn fully toward him.
“And who the fuck are you?”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he steps farther into the living room. “Vincent Knight,” he tells me, shocking me speechless. “Nice to meet you, son.” He offers a hand, which I don’t accept. This is the asshole who was here last night, but what I’m confused about is why he’s telling me he’s my father. Was the man who raised me till he shot himself in the head just another one of my mother’s many boyfriends?
“I have no father. I watched him die.”
“Oh, the poor boy who has been wounded by the memories of years past. No wonder you’re such a talented killer. Arthur’s told me all about you.” He talks as he makes his way to my mother who’s blissfully unaware of who’s in her home. Her eyes are rolling back, and I notice him pull out a small, white syringe.
“What the fuck are you doing?” My question is answered when he jabs the needle into her arm, shooting liquid into the vein.
“It’s a sedative to let her sleep. I want her awake when you pull the trigger,” he tells me, not turning to face me.
