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“When I was going behind Pavone’s back, and he had no idea,” she whispers. “When…” She falters, then continues unsteadily, “When he was screaming.”
I nod and carefully place a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you want to keep feeling that? After you’ve had a taste for power, are you going to be satisfied living on the run, cowering at every shadow?”
She tenses up, and for a moment, I’m afraid she’s going to tighten her grip on the gun. I can see the anguish in her expression, as she slowly shakes her head. “But what’s the alternative?” she asks quietly, giving a half-hysterical laugh. “The three of you?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Kiss me. Kiss Angelo, kiss Santino. The four of us, we’ll have an empire.”
Something flickers in her eyes. “The four of us?” If I didn’t already have her full attention, I have it now.
For the first time since she pointed the gun at me, her eyes flicker to Angelo and Santino before coming back to rest on my face.
“The four of us,” I repeat. I lean forward, the gun digging into my chest harder. “What’ll it be, love?”
A full body shudder runs through her, and she withdraws the gun, letting her hand rest by her side instead of pulling the trigger on me. She doesn’t give up the gun, though, which is something I’m keenly aware of.
Something eases in my chest, and I realize I had half-expected her to just shoot me and be done with it. After all of her vitriol and pain, perhaps I would have even deserved it.
“Okay,” she says, barely audibly. Her breathing is uneven, her shoulders tight, and she abruptly loops the arm not holding the gun around my waist, pulling me in tighter. She kisses me hard, letting out a sigh against my lips when she draws back slightly. “I should’ve let him bleed out.”
“So he could see us like this?” I ask as I—somewhat cautiously—place a hand on her waist. She doesn’t flinch away from my touch.
Lucia nods. “Would’ve been the biggest ‘fuck you’ I could’ve given him. Shooting him was a mercy.”
Angelo suddenly laughs. “I think cutting off his balls was a pretty bigfuck you. Speaking of, do Saint and I get a kiss?”
Her attention snaps to them, and she briefly tenses, almost as though she’d forgotten they were there. “Should’ve cut off his cock and shoved it down his throat,” she mutters.
“Give her one taste of violence, and she suddenly goes wild,” Angelo drawls. He extends a hand in our direction. “C’mere, Princess. I will definitely cut off somebody’s dick for you in the future.”
Santino makes a disgusted face, but Lucia snorts in amusement. With one last glance at me, she steps out of my embrace and toward Angelo. Her dress trails through the blood, leaving behind bloody smears on the tile.
“He didn’t apologize,” Lucia says when she’s in front of Angelo. “You owe me thirty grand.”
Angelo beams widely. “Guess I do.” Heedless of the gun she is still holding, Angelo brings his hands up to Lucia’s chest and deliberately presses them against the white fabric. When he pulls his hands away, a set of ruddy, red handprints are left behind, just underneath her breasts.
She looks down, shaking her head. “I guess this is better than you throwing body parts at me,” she grumbles, but she leans in and kisses him. It isn’t short or sweet, and Angelo flings his arm around her and pulls her in tight as he keeps her insistently pressed against him. For a long moment, they kiss, before she squirms back a little. Breathless, she tells him, “Saint’s turn.”
Angelo reluctantly releases her, wiping his hands clean on her dress with a smirk.
“I know what’s been on those hands,” she says, her lip curling in disgust.
“I’ll wash them,” he promises. “And we’ll get that dress off you before long anyway.”
“Oh, will you?” Lucia challenges him, but she smirks at him right before Santino steps in and grabs her away from Angelo.
He kisses her enthusiastically, a little more mindful of the gun than Angelo had been as he gently takes her wrist and holds it away from him just a bit.
It seems none of us dare to try to take it away from her, but she doesn’t seem inclined to shoot us, either.
“What did you think of the recording?” Santino asks when she pulls away. He smiles shyly at her.
“Truly inspired,” she tells him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d never have guessed that he didn’t really say those things. I’m impressed, Saint,” she says, brushing at his hair with the hand not holding the gun.
He lights up like a puppy. “I told you you’d like your gift,” he says, his smile turning into a full-on grin. “It took more time than cutting roses or buying jewelry,” he adds haughtily.
“Oh, fuck you,” Angelo says, but he smirks. “Next time you can cut off somebody’s balls.”
Santino pales and quickly shakes his head. “No thanks.”
