Page 3 of As Devils Love

“Oh shit,” Mark finally says something. I’m used to him hijacking every conversation we’re in, so I could’ve sworn he’d left the room, before Matteo and I started speaking.

“No need for forgiveness. I don’t want or expect sympathy or pity for what happened to my mom. But I will take your money and keep ticking names off your list, until thatfat sack of shit, Lorenzo Napoli—”

Feels the fear she did in her final moments surrounded by his men.I finish the sentence in my mind only.

I clear my throat and try to rid my mind of those thoughts. Emotions complicate things. That’s why I count myself one of the lucky ones, who rarely feels them.

“Yes, well, you’re going to love what I’m holding in my hands, then.” He waggles the envelope, and I walk over to take it from him.

And just like that, we’ve moved on.

“Gonna tell me who’s inside or would that ruin the fun?” Unlike the other dossiers Matteo has given me, this one is surprisingly thick. Must be someone very important to Lorenzo. The Napoli family’s balding second-in-command springs to mind, but I don’t stay on the thought long.

Matteo’s previous notes have always contained a few candid photographs, a name, and a loose schedule of the intended’s comings and goings; from the lowest member I’ve been given the pleasure of killing, right up to the made-men Mark and I are headed out to kill tonight.

What’s so different about the person waiting for me inside here?I fiddle with the envelopes unglued flap.

“Lorenzo’s daughter.” Matteo opens one of his desk’s drawers and pulls out a fat cigar. He cuts off the end and shoves it in his mouth before speaking again. “Isn’t it funny how things work out, sometimes? He killed your mother; you kill his daughter. Generational genocide.”

“I don’t think that word means what you think it does.” My bad attempt at a joke raises Matteo’s eyebrow.

He’s the one who said it’s funny. Why’s he looking at me like I’m the crazy one?

He shrugs it off and continues, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “Fiametta Napoli is his biggest weakness. She’s the Napoli family jewel.”

“Why haven’t I heard about her, then?” It’s back to straight-faced seriousness for me.

“That’s exactly why you haven’t. She’s a well-guarded treasure. Had it not been for my wife, God bless her soul, being present at Fiametta’s birth, evenIwouldn’t have known she existed.”

Would this be a better time to crack a joke? Something about how it’s only the women who suffer at the hands of their wicked men. Probably not. I’ll just keep my mouth shut.

“She’s to be your last kill, Crue, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun with her in the meantime. Taunt her, torment her; I don’t mind how you choose to do it, but I would prefer her pretty mind broken before the deed is done.”

“What the fuck? Why?” Mark asks the question I won’t with flabbergasted disbelief. I’m glad he does, because this is an odd request, even for Matteo.

“Why go on a murder spree to hurt the man who killed your mother? Why stand at Crue’s side for a fistful of dollars? Why do anything?” He scrounges around in his desk for a golden flip lighter and starts snapping the lid open and closed. “It’s about the message we send. Killing Napoli soldiers is going to rock the foundation. But force Lorenzo to watch his little angel’s descent into the murky depths of insanity, well, there’s no real coming back from that, is there?”

“Huh.” Mark utters the sound. I shift my gaze to see wicked approval in the shape of his pursed lips. “You’ve got a strange head on your shoulders. I kinda like it,” he says.

Matteo chuckles.

It’s not the time for confusion, but it permeates my brain anyway. Mark can insult the man to his face and get a laugh, whereas I get raised eyebrows and the same concerned look our enrollment officer gave me when I signed up for the military...

I must be getting worse at telling jokes.

“Now, my elite assassin, and your ever-flattering colleague, if there isn’t anything else.” He brings the lighter to the tip of hiscigar and puffs a few times until it catches. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

We do as we are told.

The Baronne guard, who brought us here, is waiting outside Matteo’s office and follows us back the way we came. His dutiful watch ends at the villa’s front door, and he slams it shut once we’re through.

“What happened to giving him hell?” I jab an elbow into Mark’s side as we descend the grandiose staircase to my Beemer. Teasing someone in a friendly manner is another trick I’ve taken years to learn. Unlike joking, I find the addition of mockery an easier concept to grasp.

Mark's disgruntled snicker reaffirms my belief that I’m getting better at it.

“Nah, man, I’m not going anywhere near that crazy piece, if I don’t have to.” He rubs down the front of his shirt where I connected with him.

Like me, Mark isn’t afraid of Matteo Baronne. Neither of us are stupid enough to believe we can go toe to toe with the criminal empire under his employ, but our fearlessness comes from years of living life on a razor’s edge. Dying is less of a worry when you’ve put yourself in front of as many bullets as we have and do - since that very first fight that left a kid brain dead.

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