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She blinks rapidly, then turns, grabs her dress off the floor. She holds it in from of her as she walks to the exit.
Antonio glances over at me, his forehead furrowed. I glance away, head to the bar at the far end. I pour myself a glass of MacAllan’s twenty-four-year-old. Only the best for the Capo, of course. Sometimes my fucking title is something of a joke.
Why the hell had I returned from LA? Why had I taken my place in Cosa Nostra? Especially since its power is waning. Challenged as we are by the power ofThe Kane Firm, a rival faction, which is growing in influence every day.
It’s why my father had called me back, to join the fold, and help combat their growing influence. And I… I had returned from LA—I touch the scar on my throat—despite what he had done to me… Or maybe, it was because of what he’d done to me, I had come right back… To prove a point. To show him that I am more powerful than him.
That I could do what he couldn’t—unite the five families and lead them against our enemies. Consolidate my position and overthrow him to become the new Don.
And I have made progress since my return. I am close to finalizing a deal with the rest of the five families. My brothers had each completed their education and joined in theaffari di famiglia,as well. That had strengthened my position considerably. All I need is one last, powerful push… One last strike that will show the rest of Cosa Nostra that I am ready. I need… One last power play…
And I need her. That’s assuming she is even real… She can’t be, though. She’s a figment of my overwrought imagination. Perhaps the stress of trying to stay one-up on my father is getting to me. I need an escape valve, for sure, and if it isn’t going to be sex then… It will have to be some other form of physical exercise.
I brush the knife in its sheath at my side, then head for the door.
Antonio straightens to attention. "Boss," he mutters, "you’re leaving already?"
"I’m in the mood for some training."
"Training?" He scowls, "You mean fighting?"
"Semantics," I drawl. "It’s training to stay alive, after all."
"It’s dangerous, Boss." He rubs his chin. "Maybe I should come with you?"
"I can take care of myself." I stab my thumb over my shoulder, "Thesestronzoswill need your help in getting home in one piece."
He hesitates, "It’s not safe for you to be out on your own."
I draw myself up to my full height, "You saying I can’t defend myself?"
"No, Boss," he holds up his hands, "all I am saying is that, in case you need back up—"
"I won’t." I pat his shoulder. "You stay with them; I’ll see you at home."
I open the door and stalk out. Down the corridor, taking the steps two at a time, past the crowded dance floor and out the back door. I walk up the alley, turn onto the main road, deserted at this time of the night. I head toward the gym where I normally work out, and practice my MMA techniques, using my knife with my sparring partner. The cool air clears my head and I draw in lungfuls of it. I keep a steady pace, as I walk the few blocks to the gym.
I turn down a road, when the hair on back of my neck rises. I hear footsteps behind me, pause, glance back, but don’t see anyone. I slow down my footsteps, straining to catch any noise. An owl hoots somewhere, then a motorbike backfires a few streets away. The alarm of a police vehicle blares, then fades away. Silence descends, and I stroll forward. All of my senses go on high alert as I approach a junction.
When the first man springs forward from the intersecting road, I don’t hesitate. He doesn't appear to be armed, but I’m not taking any chances. I pull my knife from its sheath and thrust forward. The blade pierces his stomach. I twist the blade and he screams. I pull it out and blood spurts from the wound as he bends over. I bring my elbow down on his neck and he collapses.
A second man lunges for me... No weapons either. Huh? I duck, stick out my leg. He trips, crashes to the ground. I kick him in the side, but he rolls over, jumps to his feet. I swipe my knife forward; he steps aside, grabs my arm and twists. Motherfucker! Pain slices up my arm, my grip loosens and the knife slides from my fingers and clatters to the ground. He swerves around, no doubt with the intention of throwing me over his shoulder. I grab his neck with my free hand and squeeze. For a few seconds, we are locked in position; then I bring up my knee to bury it in his side. He huffs; his grasp loosens. I pull free, swipe his legs out from under him. He hits the ground, and lays there stunned.
A third guy rushes me. He smashes his fist in my face.Figlio di puttana!The pain slices through my head and my vision flickers. I stagger back and he sinks his fist in my stomach. I grunt, then duck and head butt him. While he struggles to catch his breath, I grab him around the waist and throw him over my head.
I grab the knife from the ground and straighten, chest heaving, a headache screaming behind my eyes.
Just then, someone wraps his arm around my neck and yanks me back.Che cazzo! I try to break free, but he wraps his other arm around my neck, locking me in a chokehold. Motherfucker! His grip tightens around my neck, and specks of black dot my vision. The knife slips from my grip. What the fuck! Anger slices through me and my pulse rate ratchets up. Adrenaline laces my blood. I grab his arm, try to twist it off me, but it’s like a steel band. I bend my arm, pull it up, then bury my elbow in his middle. The breath whooshes out of him and his grip loosens. Instantly, I grab his arm from behind me, bring it over my head, then drop my weight and yank him up and over my shoulder.
Even before he hits the ground, I have snatched up my knife. I race toward him, and before he can try to sit up, I raise my leg and stomp on his stomach. A groan rips out of him. I grab his hair, raise his head, and slit his throat. Blood gushes out. He opens his mouth, stares up at me as the light goes out of his eyes. My stomach heaves; bile rushes up my throat and I quickly stand and turn away, gulping lungfuls of fresh air.
Fucking hell. Since when does the act of taking a life make me physically sick? Was it after the thirtieth? The fortieth person I killed? When had I lost count of the number of lives I’ve taken?
Feigning nonchalance, I bend over the body of my latest kill and wipe the crimson blade on his shirt. By the time I straighten, I have control of my emotions.
The sound of running footsteps reaches me. I slide my knife into its sheath, turn as Luca reaches me.
"The fuck, Mika?" He comes to a stop and takes in the fallen bodies. "What the hell happened here?"
