AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Bending, she picked up the knife, moving almost on auto-pilot, her thoughts scattered in the wake of the tsunami inside her body, her emotions jumbled into an unrecognizable mess, her body trembling like a stray leaf in the storm. Walking forward, she dropped the bloody knife into the trash can, gazing as the red swirled and seeped into the white paper around it, seeping into it, scarring it, changing it.
As she felt the wind blowing across her exposed skin, across her frayed nerves, across her clothed flesh, Morana felt herself be filled.
But it wasn't with s
atisfaction.
It was anything but satisfaction.
Dante Maroni: Let’s meet at Cyanide tonight. 8 PM. I’ll wait for you in the VIP lounge.
Cyanide happened to be the most popular, most nocturnal nightclub in the city. It also happened to belong to the Outfit.
Morana had never been to a nightclub.
She remembered seeing one for the first time on TV when she’d been 12. The hypnotic lights, the gyrating bodies, the loud music – all a setup in the backdrop of the mating dance of the two leads, as they'd flirted with their eyes from across the club before dirty dancing on the floor, surrounded by bodies, so close she'd wanted to bash their heads together just to make them kiss. It had been an enlightening experience. An experience she'd known was not something meant for her.
Even as a child, she'd already known not to wish for things she couldn't have. Back then she'd been scared – of her father, of his enemies, of herself. She’d been terrified of all the things she knew she’d want if she stepped out of her bubble. Nightclubs had terrified her too. The news and reports of girls being exposed to spiked alcohols and date rape drugs had only made her more cautious.
More than a decade, and there she was, standing in front of her mirror at her dressing table. She studied her reflection for a long minute. With her dyed chestnut locks tumbling free around her face in soft waves, she finished putting her clear contacts in.
She had a pretty face, nothing that anybody would write sonnets about, but pleasing to look at. Slightly rounded, with average-sized lips she’d painted a dark red, a straight albeit short nose she had pierced once upon a time, and clear hazel eyes with flecks of green.
Her frame was short, on the smaller side, with decent breasts, a good ass, and a stubborn little love handle around her tummy she couldn’t get rid of. Smoothening the crease of her emerald green dress that bunched under her boobs and fell to her knees, she tilted her head to the side, wondering if she resembled her mother. Aside from her original hair color, she really couldn’t see him in her.
The dress itself was something she'd never worn before. It had been a birthday gift she'd bought for herself, not really knowing when, if ever, she would wear it. Tonight seemed perfect for the occasion.
The soft fabric of the strapless dress clung to her torso, shaping her breasts perfectly, the material cinching together tightly right under them, before flaring out in shades of shadowed green, the waves of the skirt stopping just above the knee in an uneven hem. The back was deep but simple, and black block heels adorned her feet. She had never dressed like this. But then, she'd never really been to a club either.
She read the message on the phone again, checking the time.
Cyanide was an Outfit club in her father’s city. She didn’t get it.
Her side and the Outfit had apparently been allies once, long ago, from what people said. But something had changed, and the enmity had been born. And even though now the two sides hated each other with ferocity, they both had businesses in each other's territory, and it was a silent understanding that while the businesses wouldn't be harmed, any hint of hostility would take all bets off.
She was surprised to be invited, to say the least. She'd half expected another abandoned construction site with a bunch of eagles flying overhead. But that was apparently the location for murderous meetings. She supposed she should be relieved.
While the little girl inside her bubbled with excitement, the woman she'd become stayed wary. It was a public place, where she doubted anyone would try anything, but it was still their club.
Turning away from her reflection, she picked up her black clutch – which held a small Beretta – and her phone, and walked out of her room, closing the door behind her. Heading down the stairs, Morana felt her palms sweat slightly as nervousness assaulted her, her wing of the house empty except for a few guards here and there. Useless guards, given how easily they'd been thwarted two nights ago.
Shaking her head before she could let herself go down that road, she exited the house and headed for her car standing in the drive, the lawns beyond it shrouded in darkness, as her phone rang.
It was her father.
"Take the guards," his curt, clipped command came over the phone as soon as she picked up.
She stiffened, stopping in her tracks, her eyes swinging up towards the other wing where she knew his study was. No 'where are you going' or 'when will you be back' or 'be careful'.
"No," she replied in the same flat voice she'd been using with him for years, stopping the twinge before it could pinch. She disconnected the call before he could say anything, not that he would have, and walked briskly to her car. No. Her father didn't discuss and argue matters. He simply decided. Which meant she was going to have a tail.
Getting behind the wheel, she started the ignition and turned out of the drive, her darling baby purring under her control as she steered the car out from the gigantic gates. Leaving the house behind, her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Just as she'd suspected, she saw a black muscle vehicle pull out behind her.
Something akin to exasperation filled her veins. She'd been doing this for years, refusing protection and ditching the guards. She was an expert by now, and yet her father never stopped trying to get her under his watch.
Switching lanes expertly as soon as she hit the traffic, Morana pressed the accelerator to the floor and felt the speed crawl over her as she zipped past other vehicles. Bikes and cars honked around her, the cool conditioned air in the car keeping the sweat from beading on her skin even as a shot of adrenaline filled her. She knew her father's men would try to catch up. She also knew they would fail, because catching Morana Vitalio when she didn't want to be caught was something a very rare few could do.
And that was also a reason why she hated him.
