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CHAPTER 7 – MARCO
“Who the fuck orderedSantino’s crew to come out?” Alessandro roars when we arrive at my house.
“Just wanted to make sure that anything that needs to be cleaned or covered is done before the cops come,” Rocco, our security chief, says.
I don’t have time for bullshit talk. I have to see this with my own eyes. I jog up the steps and into my mansion past the security and clean-up men.
At the top of the stairs, I head past my bedroom and to the end of the hallway to the second master suite. I don’t want to fucking open these doors and see bullshit waiting for me. This has got to be a cruel joke.
Pushing the doors open, I stagger into the doorway as my eyes rest on her beautiful body lying on the bed as if she’s sleeping peacefully. That’s what this has to be. She’s asleep.
I rush to the bed, grabbing her. My fingers fly over her feeling for a pulse, but I don’t find one.
I feel Alessandro’s hands pulling at me, but my mind is still whirling. My heart is breaking, but I have to figure out how to handle this situation before it runs me. How deep does this fucking betrayal go?
“She’s gone, Marco.”
His words break the dam on the last bit of control that I thought I had. Fire rushes from somewhere deep within, tearing at my belly and heart and unleashing from my throat in a vicious roar.
I didn’t hate her. I hated what she did to me and who she became. Who she made me become.
“Marco, come on,” Alessandro pleads, trying to pull me again. I release her body and turn around. I’m surrounded by blackness.
My brother’s arms pull me close, but I feel nothing.
“Stay with me, Marco. Don’t lose it now.”
I know it’s Alessandro, but I recognize nothing he’s saying.
“Let me go.” The voice coming from me doesn’t sound like mine.
“Come on, Marco. We’re going to handle it our way.”
“Alessandro. Fucking. Let. Me. Go.”
His arms fall away from me, and I rush from the room, heading straight to my artillery room.
I’ve turned this room into my personal arsenal in times of war. Walls of bulletproof cases hold all types of guns, knives, and bombs. I grab a couple of handguns and a shotgun.
“Marco, what’re you doing? Marco, who are you going to shoot?”
“Everybody.”
“You know who did this?” Alessandro asks.
