Page 51 of Bittersweet Endings
Rocco was losing his cool and Marco looked two seconds away from killing us all.
“I did.” Octavia stepped closer. “And now. We’re done. You can go.”
The clear dismissal was like a bullet to Carmine’s chest. He rocked back. Marco opened the door, telling me to fuck off. But I wasn’t leaving my brother.
“We’ll never be done, Octavia.” Carmine grinned. And it was interesting that she didn’t react negatively to his pet name but looked affronted when he used her real name. “You belong to me.”
“Not anymore.” She glanced at Marco.
“We both know your little brother doesn’t want to know all theintimatedetails.” Carmine ignored Rocco’s cursing, as the glorified bodyguard tried to step between them. “Every. Inch. You took. Like a. Good. Girl.”
Fucker had a death wish. But I guess when you loved someone, you didn’t care much about life or death.
Bored with the conversation, I struck out fast. My elbow landed in the youngest Agostino’s rib—I’d assumed he’d go down quickly. Instead, he moved at the last second to avoid a full blow before countering with a fast raise of his gun. I shoved hiswrist into the air. He fired once and chaos ensued. More men entered the room, and my gaze flicked to the side. Where Rocco and Carmine were throwing fists. My brother could handle his own, but my concern rose when I saw him trying to get the girl.
Marco and I were somewhat evenly matched, but he gave as good as I delivered. We grappled for a few minutes before an uppercut to his chin sent him falling onto his back, his brain rattled. I loomed over him, and he fought hard as I tried gaining control of the gun.
“Fuck.” Rocco flew across the room, colliding head-first with the wall, and then he was out cold.
“What’re you doing, little doll?”
Even though I could hear him, my focus wasn’t on my brother, but on the barrel of the gun that was at a ninety-degree angle, ready to kill the youngest son of my enemy.
“Enough, Matteo. Let him go,” Octavia demanded.
I was going to ignore her. Until I noticed her posture in her heels and designer dress. And that she was aiming a gun to the back of Carmine’s head. His arms raised as he watched me for a moment. My beloved brother, the strength of our family was gone. In his place was a madman, driven by lust.
“Now, now, little doll,” he mocked her. “Let’s not be hasty here. We all know you’re shaking in that slutty dress.”
She smacked him upside the back of his head, but he barely moved.
With my attention elsewhere, Marco moved and the gun slid across the floor, out of reach. His face was mottled with bruises, but he was smiling. Blood coating his teeth. “Let’s go, motherfucker.”
“Marco, enough. Matteo, get off him,” Octavia commanded.
I slowly stood with my hands raised above my head, and that was when I saw just how lost my brother was.
If I believed in the concept, Carmine’s obsession could be a sign of love. In reality, whatever it was, was unraveling him. His fixation was something much darker, something that went beyond typical romantic longing. Stalking, especially to the extent Carmine was doing it, was almost always linked to deeper issues. And if I had to guess, those issues were thanks to JP.
My big brother hadn’t been diagnosed—nor tested—with anything, but it was obvious he was slipping. His focus on her was consuming him, changing him. The man I once knew, strong and composed, had become increasingly erratic. And instead of feeling motivated or fulfilled, he was frustrated, and it was only getting worse.
The more he clung to theideaof her, the more he fell apart. His obsession was pulling him in directions that were damaging. His loss of control was hard to watch. I was unsure how I was supposed to help him when he couldn’t see past his obsession and just claim her.
And my brother was beyond obsessed.
“I’m fine,” Octavia told her bodyguard, and Rocco rose to his full height, his attention on her again. “Do me a favor and clear the room.”
“Good seeing you, little doll,” Carmine grunted.
“Not you. You. Stay,” she was quick to tell him.
The intrigue on his face wasn’t good for any of us. My brother wasn’t a man easily defeated—in fact, he never had been. But it was difficult to win a game you were unequipped to play. We didn’t have a healthy association with love in our family. In fact, outside of the love and dedication we had for each other, we’d never seen a healthy relationship. And ours was a bond built from birth. Later forged through pain and suffering as we fought to protect each other.
“No,” I barked, and Octavia turned to look at me. “No, we’re leaving. Now.” My fingertips grazed the gun at my back.
The pinched face of an angry woman wouldn’t normally concern me. Octavia wasn’t just some angry woman, though. Her predisposition for pulling a crazy stunt had my hair raised.
“You’re not—” Marco went to step towards me, and I drew my weapon.
