Page 101 of Captured Fantasy

I punched the steering wheel in a burst of frustration. “Then give me a solution or I’m going to knock her up or run off with her. I won’t fucking do this anymore, Lucien, I’m done. Fucking done.”

There was a long silence.

“Meet me in the field on the other side of the river, where we execute traitors. Don’t tell anyone you’re coming,” he said flatly. “Be there at sunrise, at six. Bring a six cylinder revolver and one bullet.”

The phone went dead and I sat there, not moving, my knuckles white around it. My stomach tightened, my chest constricting until my breath was caught between my ribs. My eyes focused on the street ahead and unfocused until everything around me was a blur. My jaw clenched and I tasted blood from the side of my tongue.

I knew exactly what Lucien intended.

There was a variation of Russian Roulette that we occasionally used as a method of torture. Have two men face each other, each with a gun with six cylinders, but only one bullet. The first man would put the revolver to the second man’s head and pull the trigger and then they would switch places and go again. Each man taking a turn, spinning the wheel, trying his luck. Until one man caved or was shot from close range. A one in six chance.

Nine times out of ten, someone broke down before either man died.

I wanted to believe that Lucien wouldn’t let Federico put a bullet in my head for Lorenza Russo, but I’d known him for too long. That was exactly what he intended to do.

I was ready for it. I’d vowed to settle this once and for all. I was going to fucking show up and see this through.

The night was quiet. I went back to my condo and took a long shower. There was a bottle of expensive Japanese whiskey I’d been hoarding, waiting for the right time to drink it. I broke the seal and poured a glass. I sat back on the bed and looked up at the painting above me.

I’d traced that body with my hands, my fingers, my tongue, my eyes, and my lips. I’d felt the softness of her skin, the muscles and hard bone beneath it. I’d pressed my face into her throat and breathed in her scent, I’d licked the sweat from her breasts, I’d pushed my tongue into her core and drank in her essence.

I’d borne witness to her tears, her arousal, her pain, her quiet, and her fury.

There was no tomorrow if I walked away from her now. Any more than there was if I was shot to death by Federico at dawn. If I didn’t have her as my wife, I would live the rest of my life a hollow shell of the man I could have been.

Embittered, regretful.

I sat there, my back to the wall, and stared into the dark. The painting of her body, her spine arced and her breasts naked, shimmered like an apparition before my eyes. The minutes dragged into hours, my body aching from sitting perfectly still. At five in the morning, the faintest tinge of light staining the horizon over the river, I got to my feet.

My body was calm, but my pulse pounded at the base of my throat. With steady fingers I dressed in a black t-shirt, pants, and my motorcycle jacket. I went to my safe and took out my revolver, spinning the cylinder to check it was empty. I took out a single bullet and brought it to the kitchen, taking out my switchblade. With careful strokes I carved his name into it.

It had warmed up during the night and the chilly morning smelled faintly of spring. Would this be the last chance I had to smell the free air and see the sun creep over the river? The thought battered about in my head as I pulled the car out and headed to the outskirts of the city.

When I arrived, I was sweating, the front of my shirt stuck to my skin. Lucien’s Tesla was parked on the near side of the bridge, but it was deserted when I walked by it. The pistol felt heavy in my thigh holster. As I stepped up onto the bridge, I looked down at the water running below me.

If I died here today, what would happen to me? Would I simply cease to be? Would Federico marry Lorenza as was his right? Would she sleep in his bed, bear his children, and be his wife while I lay beneath the ground outside St. Mark’s Chapel?

No, if there was any justice in the world, I would shoot Federico dead and take Enza as mine.

I crested the hill overlooking the field and saw Lucien standing there with Federico at his side. Waiting. My stomach tightened again and a wave of sickness washed over me. I tightened my jaw, burying my fear so deep all I could feel was aching numbness in my stomach. As I descended to them, Ahmed appeared from the woods with a leather bag over his shoulder.

“Good morning,” said Lucien smoothly as I approached.

I nodded, my gaze locking on Federico. With the sun still hidden behind the trees, I could see the faintest traces of his breath. Hanging hot in the air before his lips. The vein running over his temple pounded and as he dragged his eyes up, I caught a flash of fear in them.

Good. Let him be the coward. I was willing to put everything on the line if it meant Enza was mine.

“Pistol,” Ahmed said, gesturing to my thigh.

I unfastened it, passing it and the bullet over to him. Federico followed suit, handing over his gun and standing back with his arms crossed. We stood in silence as Ahmed crouched down with his back to us, blocking our view. I heard him disassemble the guns. Presumably checking them to make sure they only had a single bullet in them.

Lucien stepped up between us. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “Neither of you are willing to back off?”

Federico’s gaze narrowed and I met it. My God, there was nothing in his dark stare but hatred and a deep, deep jealousy. A shiver moved up my spine and the image of my dead body flashed through my brain, freezing me to the spot.

“He’s trying to take what belongs to me,” said Federico.

“Enza never belonged to you,” I said swiftly.

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