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They own the guards, the other employees, and probably even have the warden in their back pocket. And judges, so many judges that it would be hard to find even one willing to convict a Larussio of squat.
I’m pulled from my thoughts as there’s a knock on the door. The guard hands me a catering bag with three sandwiches in it. He grins. “Hungry?”
I smirk. “One for each of us. Lorenzo may be hungry when he returns,” I tell him, handing him a wrapped package. “This one is for you. I didn’t know what you liked, so I just ordered us all the same.”
“Thank you,” he says, taking it from my hand and heading back to his place by the elevator before I close the door behind him.
I return to the counter, eating and scrolling through more of the photos, and then hit the keyboard. My fingers begin flying across the keypad, not really writing the article, just letting all the thoughts, emotions, images, and events of the day spill onto the document. The blank white page quickly turns black. It’s emotionally cleansing, and before I know it I’ve written ten pages before I’m ready to write the article that I’ve been asked to create.
This one’s going to my special my-eyes-only folder where most of my emotional ramblings dwell. I hit the save button and start Dominic and Emelia’s article anew, focusing on their love, couching it with little hints of question, little crumbs that make the reader ask the questions that leave them with no certain answers, just leading them to more questions about the forbidden lovers and the fact that they were allowed to attend.
When I’m done, the work is good. Yet, my stomach still churns with the emotional brutality of it all. I wonder what Lorenzo and his family will plan next for the De Rosas and know in my heart it will not be as bloodless and far more brutal than today. Because the Larussios will not rest until Alena’s abduction is avenged.
Chapter19
Lorenzo
I spotSalvatore in the private club having a drink at our table. I stop by the bar and grab a drink, taking a long draw from the aged scotch before approaching him. I’ve been on plenty of assignments, by far, worse than today. This was a simple fuck you show to let old man De Rosa know we had the upper hand. To make him sweat a little bit as he anticipates exactly what we plan to do to him next.
But this time wasn’t easy. I shouldn’t have let Isabella go along. I should have stuck to my original decision, a mantra that our family lives by. Protect the women and children from all the business bullshit, all the violence and things that have to be done in the name of saving face for the family and maintaining power.
I draw another long pull from my drink before reaching the table, trying not to think about the waves of fear rolling off Isabella as she watched the funeral play out. She saw every detail of De Rosa’s pain, his checked rage, and she felt down-to-the-second angst, not knowing whether Dominic and Emelia were coming out alive or whether they would end up dead at the feet of our enemy.
Not easy for me to watch as one of the men responsible for its planning. I knew every fucking precaution taken, knew that each one of our sharpshooters had De Rosa and his men in their crosshairs, ready to pull that fucking trigger in a nanosecond. Trained for that shit. But even after I showed her they were there, her heart didn’t stop racing. The little pulse on the side of her neck continued to beat erratically as she watched the story play out.
And now she has to write about the whole sordid affair. And that’s on me. No one else but me and my fucking strategies. I’d give a whole hell of a lot in return to walk back my decision about allowing Isabella to attend.
I slide into the chair across from Salvatore, who’s talking on his cell, and place my drink on the table. I can’t undo taking her to the funeral, but I can decide she doesn’t have to write that fucking piece. She’s probably sitting up there churning with all the emotion that whole fucked up thing evokes, and I am the one responsible for her pain.
Even I can barely stomach a man having to watch the man who killed his wife and youngest son waltzing into the event with the man’s estranged daughter on his arm. It must have fucking killed him inside. And that’s what was intended. The minute Emelia insisted upon going, we used it to our advantage.
Isabella reveals the stories behind the stories for a living, peeling the layers of lies and deceit that people share. By now her eyes must be wide open. She must be able to see what a monster I truly am, and after the next part of our revenge, she will see what a monster does when his cousin is kidnapped.
Because we have not gotten even on that score by a long shot...
I take another draw of my scotch, and Salvatore’s eyebrows knit as he looks at my almost downed glass. He disconnects his call and takes a small pull of his own. “What’s the matter, Lorenzo?”
“I shouldn’t have let Izzy come with us. The funeral, seeing what we do to people, you know, the emotional twist. That shit scared the hell out of her.”
He looks at me as though I’ve grown two heads. “I’m not following you. Anyone watching should have been on edge. I was.”
I shake my head. I haven’t figured it all out myself. and I’m far from the point of being able to explain it to anyone else, but there’s a sick, twisted feeling swirling around in my gut every time I think of the look on her face as she watched the scenario that I helped orchestrate play out.
“Just have her write the story, and then for the next story she can just stay home. Simple. Finite,” Salvatore says, seemingly distracted and anxious to get onto something else.
“She’s not going to be present for anything else. That’s for damn sure,” I tell him, purposely not responding to his comment about her writing this story. I can barely stand the fact that she’s writing it to begin with, and I may just tear the fucking thing up the way I feel.
“Sergio’s bothering the ladies again. Dominic usually keeps him under his wing, but this whole Emelia thing has been a mind twist for him,” he says.
I nod, swallowing back the last of my scotch. “I’ll go. I found him down in the playrooms the last time. He was annoying the ladies with his stories of that damn motorcycle of his.”
He rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Lorenzo. I need to go see Alena. She’s giving me grief too. Tells me she’s not a little girl anymore, and that I can’t keep her locked up like a child.” He shakes his head. “She doesn’t realize how dangerous the De Rosas are. Even after they took her, I get this constant pushback. They would do anything to get their hands back on her, but I can’t seem to get that through her head.”
“Go talk with Alena, calm her down. I’ll go deal with Sergio,” I tell him, standing and tossing some bills on the table before heading to the lower level of The Larussio.
The large, muscled guards stand outside the double doors at the entrance to the sex club for the elite. “Is Sergio in there?” I ask.
The man on the left opens one of the doors for me to enter through. He shakes his head and gives me a look. “He went in hours ago and hasn’t come out.”
