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We both sit down on opposite sides of my desk, and he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
“You can’t smoke in here,” I say as I pull a cigar out of my desk and light it up.
He sighs to himself in frustration, but we quickly move on to the topic at hand.
“Okay, so what I’ve been meaning to tell you is that there’s a guy on the guest list who looks almost exactly like you. He’s a little bit leaner, not quite as muscular, but I think you could pull it off if you chose to go in his place,” he says, taking the folder from me and finding the file he’s typed up on this mystery guest.
I go over the details of this person’s relationship with the hosts of the wedding, and I’m pleased to see that he’s more or less only invited for the optics. He’s not a major part of their criminal enterprise, so it’ll be easy to sneak into the wedding as his doppelganger.
In the photos that Charlie has provided, his buildisleaner than mine is, but I’m prepared to lose some of my muscle in order to play the role. If this I what I need to do to avenge Enzo, I’ll do it. I’d do anything for him, and I know he’d do the same for me in a heartbeat.
“So, what do you think?” Charlie continues in suspense.
“I think this whole mission is going to be the easiest we’ve ever had. You’ve done incredible work, Charlie,” I reply, leafing through the contents of the file again.
“So, have you been able to get involved with the catering company?” I ask, trying to mentally place the rest of my men in the most strategic way possible.
“Yeah, I called the company and pretended to be a third party who was going to help their staffing situation. I guess they fired a bunch of people recently, so they weren’t about to turn me down. This whole thing is looking to be working out for you pretty fucking well, Marcello,” he replies.
I smile to myself, considering how many factors had to fall perfectly into place for all of this to occur. Of course, I would prefer that Enzo was free at a moment’s notice, but this is the best I’ve got for now.
I’m going to make sure that this bastard pays his weight in blood for what he’s done.
“I’m thinking I’ll have you, Tommaso, and Leo infiltrate the catering staff. You’re all pretty generic-looking, so nobody will suspect you. You can also pull off the struggling low-wage worker look better than I can,” I joke.
“Ha, yeah, of course,” he replies with a hint of bitterness.
“I’m going to put Tommaso in charge of arming everyone. He’ll get an idea of what the staff’s uniforms look like so that you’re all able to conceal your weapons. I’m thinking we’ll do something close to the body. You think you can manage that?” I ask, puffing on my cigar and leaning back in my chair.
Charlie nods, his eyes serious and focused. “Of course, I’d never want to be unprepared for a shootout at a place like this. Everyone there is going to be armed to the teeth.”
He’s not wrong. The thought of every person at this wedding being strapped is a little bit absurd to me, though I know it’s more than likely. I’d hate to be caught at a place like that without a weapon, even if I were invited as an esteemed guest.
“We’re going to get revenge for what Franco did to Enzo. That’s the only objective. Everything else is just for fun,” I say, staring out the window as my thoughts become clouded. I’m blinded by the myriad possibilities of this little war I’ve waged, and I’d give anything for it to be over.
ChapterTwenty-Two
JUNE
Idon’t think Marcello intended to wake me up when he left the room, but I was completely conscious as soon as he shined the light from his phone on me. A chill ran over my body as I felt his eyes scanning me, undressing me bit by bit until he’d taken in enough of me to move on with his day.
I also noticed right away that he’d not only left the door unlocked but also slightly open. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? Marcello is obsessed with security. He has a wall built around his house, for Christ’s sake.
Even still, I’m curious.
Checking the lock has become a habit of mine every morning that Marcello has slept next to me. I’ve spent so much time lying awake next to him as he drifts to sleep in a haze of bourbon. I contemplate how much effort it would take to strangle him to death with my bare hands, but I’m always too scared to even try.
I regret all of the time I ever spent dreaming about this man and all of the ways I wanted him in my life. I feel like a fool now, knowing what I know about him and how cruel he can be. The fact that he was able to hook me so easily all those years ago is just a testament to how dangerous of a person he is. He could tell me he loved me, and despite the warning signs and red flags, I would do anything to make myself believe it.
My fear is crippling me, and soon it could kill me if Marcello decides that he no longer wants me around. For all I know, he’s a ticking time bomb that would toss me into a ditch as soon as he feels like I’m not worth the effort anymore. I mean, his moods have been so hard to predict that I might as well spin a wheel of emotions to find out what I’ll be dealing with all day.
On the days when he’s feeling sweet, he’ll cuddle up to me before he gets out of bed for the day. These mornings are the hardest because everything in me is screaming for more. My whole body feels like it’s floating when I feel his arms wrap around me, especially when he rests them on my hips. Sometimes, I’ll inch myself just a little bit closer to him to feel his hard cock press against me.
During the harder days, he’s intentionally loud in the morning. I think he might secretly enjoy startling me from my sleep, especially when it’s still pitch black in the bedroom. Sometimes, I’ll wake up to the sound of him slamming the door closed after he’d been quiet enough not to disturb me before.
Pretending to be asleep as he stepped out the door this morning felt like one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. For a split second, I wondered if his failure to latch the door was a result of a hangover or even residual drunkenness. If that were the case, how much more leverage would I have against him if I tried to beat him over the head with a brass lamp?
The thought flashed through my mind, but it terrified me too much for me to let it stick. That kind of action would take a form of bravery that I haven’t been able to find within myself, no matter how hard I look. The best I’ve got is this shaking, stammering fear that reminds me of an animal caught in a trap. I’d chew my own leg off if I were in such a situation, but how much different is this new life of mine, really?
