Page 31 of Married to the Mafia Devil

TWELVE

Matteo

“You’re dead,” I say as I reach into the bush and grab hold of him, dragging him out. Before he can shout, I get a hand over his mouth, dragging him away from the windows of the hotel. I don’t stop until we’re both hidden from view.

“I... I was just—“ he stammers, but the potential lies dies on his lips under my gaze.

“Did I not make myself clear?” My grip on his collar is ironclad, my question non-negotiable. “You leave or you die. What part of that didn’t you understand?”

“It's Petrovitch,” he chokes out, fear rendering him compliant. “I’ve got no choice. He has to know how to crack that file. I promised I’d find out. If I go back with nothing, he’ll kill me.”

“You’re wrong. You did have a choice. You just don’t anymore. Did you think I’d just casually mention how to decrypt that file in light conversation?”

“He just wants this deal to go through. Please, help me out. I’m dead if I go back with nothing.”

I reach into his jacket, finding his gun. “And what were you going to with this? Force it out of me?”

“Nothing. It’s for protection, that’s all.”

The realization hits me in a moment. My only weakness. “You were going to hold her hostage, weren’t you?” I grip him so tightly he starts to gasp, his face turning blue. “I should have killed you the moment I saw you.”

She’s making me soften. This is the consequence. She almost got hurt. Again.

“Please,” he gasps. “I won’t tell him anything. Just don’t kill me.”

The thought of her being dragged into the murky waters of my world ignites a protective fury within me.

“You're right. You won’t tell him anything.” With a swift motion, I toss him over the edge of the cliff. His body tumbles, his scream swallowed by the roar of the waves as he disappears into the ocean far below.

The sea's perpetual churn is indifferent to what just happened. I stand for a moment longer, staring down into the depths. Is that what I should have done to Emma’s father? It’s what the old me would have done. No second chances. The rule my father lived by.

“Everything all right?” I hear behind me. I turn to find Emma standing there, arms folded across her chest. “Did I do something wrong?” she asks. “You just walked off while we were talking. I wasn’t sure why.”

“Why do you care so much about your father?” I ask, unable to mask the incredulity in my voice. “He's an alcoholic who abandoned you, left you to pick up the pieces. Cared only for his own skin.” The words are harsh, but the question is genuine. From my vantage point, her loyalty seems like a chain, binding her to a man unworthy of her sacrifice. “Why do you give a shit whether I kill him or not?”

She stares at me like she’s no idea who I am. “He’s damaged, same as me. Same as you. Same as everyone. He broke when Mom died but he’s still my father.” There's no anger in her eyes, just a depth of understanding and a weariness that comes from having defended this point more times than she cares to count. “He loved my mother. Her dying, it destroyed him. He's not the same man he was, and who would be after that? Were you the same after your parents died?”

I think of the drinking, the locking myself away. I shake my head, saying nothing.

“He made mistakes.” A faint, sad smile touches her lips. “Would you kill me if I made a mistake?”

The comparison takes me aback, the hypothetical hitting closer to home than I'd like to admit. “No,” I say, the answer immediate and unwavering. “Of course not.”

“Then why should I give up on him?” she counters softly, her gaze holding mine, a mirror reflecting back my own broken edges and the darkness I've navigated in the name of loyalty and love. “It’s what scares me the most about falling for you. If you died, it would break me.”

“I don’t intend to die.”

“You don’t always get to decide when it happens, trust me. Mom’s was a drawn-out, painful death. She fought bravely, but it broke something in him. In all of us, really. My sister was hit worst. She was closest to her.”

A shadow passes over her face, a cloud dimming the brightness of her eyes momentarily. “Amelia went for these long walks at night when she couldn’t sleep. She was attacked by this Russian guy. Vlad Gregorivitch.

“Say that name again.”

“Vladimir Gregorivitch. You know him?”

“Petrovitch’s second in command. A real slimy motherfucker. Got judges and cops all over the city. That brothel I rescued you from, Flesh? He persuaded Petrovitch to open it. If you want a blade that sliced the rift open between Petrovitch and my father, that’s him. I’ve never been able to kill him, only ever appears in public, surrounded by people. Knows there’s safety in numbers. What did he do to her?”

He tried to drag her into a car. Said he was taking her to a brothel. He never said why in court but we could guess. They found him not guilty. He walked even with video footage of him doing it.”

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