Page 5 of Bianchi

The sound of the rain and the city beyond the window are like a lullaby to my exhausted mind. My eyes flutter shut and my breath becomes labored as I try and fail to fight against the fatigue.

He stands, cracking his knuckles as he moves around the room and behind me. When I open my eyes again, I stare ahead at the inky black sky, trying my hardest to switch off my body's awareness of him.

I shuffle back in the chair, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention at his proximity behind me. His thick fingers take hold of my nose, cutting off my air supply as he forces my head back so my gaze connects to his.

This is it.

My heart beats an erratic rhythm in my chest and my pulse pounds in my ears. Digging my fingers into the armrest, I force the panic flooding me to subside. His grip slips slightly from the slick sweat forming on my face. My mouth fights against the tape, the sting of my skin being pulled doing nothing to dim the smile that’s forming on my lips. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for the longest time. My lungs burn. The natural instinct to fight wages an internal war with my mind's desire to give in.

His voice is gruff, something akin to admiration shining in his eyes as he asks, “You want to die, don’t you, cucciola?”

If only you knew.

I drink in his reaction to what he’s doing to me. Full lips lift at the corner, his strong jaw clenching and grinding in a hypnotic dance. Now that he’s closer, I’m drawn to the darkest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m starting to realize this isn’t a mobster. He’s definitely in the mafia, but everything about him screams power and control.

Has he had to do this often?

It doesn’t matter. There’s too much noise in my head, and I close my eyes in an attempt to shut him out. Like coming home, I sink back into the darkness that twists and turns as it envelops me. Nothing matters now.

I’ll see you soon, Mama.

My chest loosens, and I drift into a cloud of relief. A curtain of peacefulness descends on me and then… he releases me. Instinctively, I inhale a desperate breath. My lungs scream as I suck in heavy breaths through my nose, my eyes darting open and searching for him. Demands I know I have no right to make are at the forefront of my mind: Finish me, dammit.

The pad of his thumb strokes over the apple of my cheek in a move that seems far too tender for a man like him. Yet, I watch, intrigued, as he lifts it to his mouth, sucking on the flesh. There’s something almost possessive about the act and it has a pool of warmth flooding my core.

My brow furrows, unsure of what to make of him or my reaction. Forcing my gaze away, I curse myself when I register the wetness on my cheek. Great. No doubt he’s taken my tears as a sign of weakness.

“Costa women don’t show weakness; unless it can be used as a strength.” My mom's words ring in my ears, and I set my shoulders back, determination stiffening my spine.

He stands tall, moving to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “My name is Romeo Bianchi, and I am the head of The Sicilian Mafia. Your father has committed a crime against mia famiglia and he must pay.”

Chapter 4

Aurora

Shifting my attention away from Romeo Bianchi—head of the fucking mafia—I fight against the rising tide of emotions threatening to suffocate me. The weight of my circumstance sits squarely on my chest; heavy and painful. He doesn’t say a word, the only sounds around us that of the storm outside and the creaking of the old building.

My eyes flutter closed and I huff out a bewildered laugh. I’m going to die because of the actions of a man I haven’t seen or spoken to in over ten years. My last words to Francesco Costa—my father—were screamed with all the hatred, sadness, and anger I couldn’t hide as he walked away from me. I told him that he was dead to me, and if he left, I didn’t want to see him again. Despite my threats, he went without so much as a backward glance. Without an ounce of remorse.

There is no hope of him coming to my rescue.

Romeo clears his throat and my eyes pop open. My executioner moves into my line of sight, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. Following the motion, my focus lands on the black gloves adorning his hands.

“Perhaps you need a reminder of the gravity of the situation you’re in, Aurora, because I don’t think you get what my presence here means.”

Oh, believe me, I do.

I tighten my fists and hold his intense stare, ignoring the way my muscles tense and a thread of trepidation weaves its way through my body with each passing second. I work like crazy to keep it hidden from him. Showing any weakness will only mean he’s won.

He takes a step forward, followed by another, until his legs are less than an inch away from me. I keep my attention on that tiny gap. In my periphery, I see him lift a gloved hand, and I brace for the impact. He’s probably frustrated, angry even, by my lack of fear.

But instead of hitting me, he peels away the tape. Air hisses through my clenched teeth at the sharp sting left behind. He meticulously folds the strip before dropping it on the windowsill. “Do you understand the predicament your father has put you in, cucciola?”

I nod. Even with my limited knowledge of what my father was involved in and who this man is, it’s easy enough to grasp. And yet I can’t seem to make myself care. My shoulders slump and my breathing evens out. I welcome the numbness that’s invading my body, pulling it into my embrace until I feel nothing but peace.

Will the sun still shine when I’m gone?

Of course, I know it will. Even if it hasn’t made an appearance for me since the day my mom died. Darkness has been the only thing I’ve known for twelve long years. It’s probably why nobody will notice when I’ve gone.

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