Page 66 of Primo DeLuca

Her silence answered before she did.

“Yes. But, if you know anything about Primo, it doesn’t matter who you send, he’ll find a way to end them.”

“Why would you hire men if you knew he would kill them?”

This shit wasn’t making one bit of sense.

“I had to make it look like I was in danger and needed him. Besides, I told the leader of the little crew I hired, whose dead now of course, to tell the rest of his men that it was a pretty black woman named Nevah who hired them. Primo caught the last two members a few days ago and if he tortures them like I know he will, they’ll cracked, and guess who they are going to say hired them.”

“No,” I choked out. This bitch was stone crazy. She was going to put all this shit on me. My eyes darted around like marbles in my head while my brain worked overtime to first get out of this mess and second, find a way to prove to Primo that I didn't do any of this.

“Are you connected to the Vittorio family?” I finally asked her, remembering what Primo said about the Vittorio family possibly working with a DeLuca to kill him.

She released a low chuckle.

“Yes. I had to prove to them that I wasn’t afraid to kill Primo. They hired contract killers. I had no idea the crazy fucks would hire a whole army. It didn’t matter though, I expected Primo to kill everyone they sent after him. I wasn’t too worried about him dying.”

So, she was the reason for all these problems, deaths, and a potential war. All of this to win the heart of a man who didn’t want her. What if he had died because of her? He still could die because of her. I closed my eyes and squeezed them into tight, trembling knots.

All the death and destruction I had witnessed in my younger years resurfaced and reminded me who I was. The memories of the time I’d had to take a life flared like fireworks in my brain and ignited my courage.

Leandra was gun brave. The false courage from holding that weapon kept her talking about the features she hated about me. While she was talking herself through the reasons why Primo wanted me, I was thinking up a way out of this position.

If she could manipulate another mob family to do her dirty work, this crazy ass bitch likely had Primo thinking I hired people to kill him. Why did she still feel threatened by me? The shit made no sense. She made no sense. No wonder Primo didn’t want her.

I let my head fall to my chest before jerking it up and spun to get my hands under that gun. As suicidal as the move was, it worked. The gun went skyward, but she managed to hang on to it.

My little distraction gave me time to send another fist hard against her wrist, knocking the gun from her shaky grip. It flew to the left before gravity sucked it down to the marble floor with a hard, skittering thud.

Leandra stood in shock for a second before lunging for the weapon. I swiveled, fanning my leg out until the side of my foot connected and swept the weapon out of her reach.

Her tense jaw and set gaze met mine before her fist came at my head and missed. She was too slow, and I’d fought enough in the streets to know how to dodge a fist.

I drew my right leg up and into my body and kicked out. The stomping impact collided with her pelvic area and forced her to release a loud swish of air before she stumbled back.

“You fucking bitch!” she screamed, holding her midsection and blowing out winded breaths. Based on the enraged glare glistening in her eyes, her anger had reached its boiling point, and she ran, charging towards me, releasing some sort of death cry.

My firm knee was waiting for her crazy ass and connected with her stomach so hard, the big gust of wind and spittle she released blasted against the side of my face. She was on the defense now. I remained relentless in my attack as she fought desperately to stop the blows I delivered to her head and shoulders.

I wasn’t a hair-pulling, face scratching fighter. Instead, I learned from street brawlers to make every effort to hit them where it would hurt most. Take out their vision and their ability to breathe properly, and everything else they knew would be less effective.

Every once in a while, one of her wild punches and kicks connected with different parts of my body, but I didn’t care. My adrenaline dulled the pain of her attack which allowed me to rain down punches on her.

She clawed until she got a good grip on my shirt and jerked, taking me down to the floor with her. Our bodies collided with the hard marble, her falling and landing on her ass, and my hip hitting the floor while the top half of me fell across her heaving chest.

We tussled, lobbing curse words, punches, and kicks for dominance. During our back-and-forth dance, she managed to climb atop me. I heaved and yelled to conjure up the strength needed to twist my body and lift, flipping and mounting her.

The gun came into view like a twinkling diamond in the sun, and she scrambled for it with me riding her back. The harsh pulls I gave her hair made her head jerk back viciously. Every attempt was meant to rip pieces of hair from her skull.

There was no calling each other bitches. Our shouts were primal and all about survival. This was a fight to the death. One of us was dying in this hotel room tonight.

I gasped, choking on the sharp breaths I was too winded to properly take. I poured all my strength into getting her bucking body under control while she continued reaching and dragging me along to get to the gun.

My flailing hands ended up wrapped around something hard and thick. I dragged the heavy item closer before lifting it and crashing it down over the top of her head. The blow slowed her down but didn’t stop her, so I continued to crash what I discovered was the wooden bottom of one of the lamps into the side of her head.

Repeatedly, the loud thumps from the lamp base connecting with her head, vibrated into my hand, and echoed through my body. An unnatural crack registered before her skull caved. Blood coated the base, glistening like dark oil and making my hands slippery. I sent the lamp down a few more times, not stopping until she ceased all movement.

A loud breath of relief made a whistling sound when it flew from my mouth, thankful that she had stopped fighting. I rolled onto my back and remained that way beside her motionless body with my gaze pinned on the ceiling.

I breathed a loud chest-lifting cadence of huffs and puffs. A reluctant turn of my head put me face to face with her. The horrific sight spiked my already elevated heart rate. Wide, empty brown eyes met mine. Blood had splattered her makeup-smeared tan skin. Her mouth sat fixed and open, revealing her teeth painted pink and red with blood.

The natural rise and fall of her chest had frozen in its final moment. The emptiness that surrounded her sent an unnatural wave of knowing into me that caused my body to shiver. The blood pooling around her head and the sunken area at the top of her skull, indicated that I had cracked her cranium.

Leandra, a woman I saw sitting with Primo and spied on from the restaurant’s restroom. Now, she was dead. The hand I was dealt this night was a losing one, almost mirroring how I’d had to fight off my husband all those years ago.

On the one hand, it was either her or me. On the other hand, the crazy bitch was a DeLuca. The worst possible hand would be Primo believing I hired assassins to kill him. He had revealed to me parts of his family history, including Leandra’s identity. I also knew from common sense that killing a DeLuca came with a hefty price, like death.

I survived this crazy, scorned woman, but how was I going to survive the whole family when they came for me? How was I going to get myself out of this shit? I was still unsure how far her plot to make me out to be the bad guy had gone. Did Primo think Leandra the victim and me the facilitator of all this shit?

I believed Primo cared about me, but would it be enough if he believe I was involved in taking the life of multiple DeLucas and planning his assassination?

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