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She blinks at me, her expression one of shock and confusion. “Did I know what?” She tries to wriggle free from my grasp. “Jesus, Angelo, you’re hurting me.”
Like I give a damn. She’s lucky I haven’t killed her yet. “Alfonso Fucking Ricci. You’ve been laughing at us the whole time, haven’t you?”
“Laughing at you? About what?” I have to give it to her: she seems sincerely bewildered. But I’ve seen her play innocent before, and I’m not going to fall for it again.
“Your father had my brother killed! And you fucked his killer?” I push her away, but before she can think to run, I slap her across the face. The shocked expression on her face does nothing to calm my anger. I want to hurt her. I want to destroy her.
“Ricci?” she asks. “You think I fucked him and that I knew he’d killed your brother? I don’t even know who your brother is, for fuck’s sake.”
Something in me snaps. Nico’s only been dead for seven years, and he’s already been forgotten. I can’t let this stand. Bellini murdered my brother; well, I’ll kill Lucia, and send him his daughter in pieces.
I lunge at her and wrap my hand around her delicate throat. “Shut the fuck up, whore. I know exactly what kind of a slut you are.”
Her hands come up, scrabbling at my fingers, but she can’t do anything to budge them. I hold her life in my hands, and we both know it. I stare at her, meeting her eyes, and I’m gratified by how fucking frightened she looks.
But strangling her is easy and bloodless. That’s not going to paint a satisfying picture. I’m going to give Bellini a corpse even more mangled than Nico’s. I loosen my grasp, allowing her to take a breath, then lift her up over my shoulder, just like that first day. I’m not in the mood to fondle her this time. She doesn’t get to enjoy herself.
She struggles and hits my back, trying to kick me. “Let go of me! Angelo, I didn’t fuck Ricci! I can’t stand him!”
Her struggling is useless, although I slap her ass to warn her. “We’re just going to have a nice chat outside. If you’re lucky, it’ll be short. But I don’t think you’ll be lucky.” I take her out of the guest suite, half-formed plans in my mind. I’ll pick up a knife on the way through the kitchen and cut her apart by the rose bushes. The red flowers will look wonderful against her pale, bloodied corpse.
“Angelo!” she yells, her voice going high with growing panic. “I’m sorry! I didn’t have anything to do with it, I promise!” But she’d say anything, wouldn’t she? Do anything? I don’t believe her and her lies.
I ignore her struggling and protesting. A few of the guards give me a look, but one glare from me and they’re standing at attention again. This is none of their business, and they know better than to get in my way.
I’m in the kitchen, picking a knife at random from the knife block, when Saint runs in.
“Angel! What the fuck are you doing?” he asks, getting in the way of me and the doorway that leads outside. “Put her down.”
“I’m going to kill her,” I say calmly. “Move the fuck out of the way, Saint, or you get to join her.”
He reels back like I just slapped him, and I can see the hurt in his eyes. Part of me wants to soothe him, to tell him I’d never do that to him, but I want him out of the way more than I want to pacify him. “Angel, we need her alive.”
“No, we don’t. Victor just likes to play his fucking power games, andyoujust want a nice, easy cunt. Well, guess what, Saint, there’s plenty of willing bodies for you to fuck. You don’t need this one.”
“She’s all we have as leverage against Bellini and Pavone,” Saint argues. “You can fuck her all you want, but Christ, don’t kill her.”
“I don’t want to fuck her!” I yell at him. “This fucking whore has been in bed with Nico’s killer!”
“I didn’t fuck Ricci!” Lucia screams in my ear, fighting against me again, harder now that Saint’s right there, like his presence has bolstered her willingness to struggle again.
I push the flat of the blade against her ass. “Keep struggling. I dare you.”
She goes still.
“Angel, put her the fuck down,” Saint hisses. “She’s not the one who murdered him. She doesn’t call the shots. All she did was recognize him, and weneededthat. We needed to know what he looks like!”
What he’s saying makes sense, but I don’t care. I want to hurt somebody, and Lucia’s the best target. I lower the knife and make my way to the patio door. When Saint steps in front of me, I raise the knife to his throat. “You really want to test me, Santino?”
Saint swallows hard, looking for all the world like he wants to argue with me. Then he steps aside. “You’ll regret this,” he says.
I don’t give a fuck.
The air is warm this time of day, with the sun shining strong. Good for the flowers, and good for taking a few very nice photos once I’m done. My mind has started to settle now that I’ve made up my mind. Bellini had better fucking appreciate my artistry. I wish I could see his face when he receives Lucia’s body.
I drop her next to one of my rose bushes and glare at her. Her still-wet hair is in disarray, she’s covered in water and sweat, and her breathing is ragged. There’s something enticing about the way her chest rises and falls, the absolute terror she’s wearing on her face. It’s almost a shame it has to end like this.
“I swear to you, I had nothing to do with his death,” she pants out, looking up at me with sheer desperation. “And I never touched Ricci. Not ever. Please, Angelo, I’ll tell you everything I know about him.”
