Page 30 of Ruined

14

Being part of Angelo’s inner circle means being put to work. He takes good care of his tools, but he makes sure to use them too. I always knew this was not a vacation. I have been rehabilitated by the monster, trained to respond to him as I have never responded to any other.

Angelo calls me to his office one afternoon. I always feel slight trepidation when he does that, even though I know I haven’t done anything wrong. His rules are very clear and for the most part following them is very easy.

I am dressed as he likes me dressed, wearing a pantsuit of sorts, a blazer and black pants made to move in. Underneath, I am wearing a white blouse. I almost look sophisticated, but for the boots that rise to my knees. Those are just bad ass as hell. I feel hot, and sexy, and dangerous. My hair is still short, slicked over into a cross between a schoolboy cut and a pixie style. I’m wearing red lipstick, because it makes me feel feminine. Sometimes I fear losing my femininity and fading into the masculinity of this world and these men.

Angelo is dressed in traditional business style as always. It looks incredibly good on him, and I feel myself swoon when his dark eyes fall on me. The corner of his lips twists slightly upon beholding me. He seems pleased, and that makes me pleased with myself too. Being reacted to favorably by such a powerful, dangerous man is a rush.

“You’ve proven yourself, Riley. And that means it is time you took on more responsibility. I want you to go with Bobby on a job today. There’s a meeting I intend to deputize the two of you to deal with. Here’s a brief. Read it and burn it.”

He hands me a sheet of paper with handwritten instructions on it. There’re details on people present, and what Angelo wants from them. It’s basically a collection mission. They owe him money, or favors, or in some cases, items. He is very clear that we are to go there and ensure we collect what can be collected and ensure that everybody else is prepared to deliver.

It’s an intimidation job, in other words, and I don’t know if I am cut out for it, but I agree immediately because this is my first chance to prove myself to Angelo.

Angelo slides a gun and holster across the table to me. There’s a brief flash of memory from when I slid my gun and holster across the table, surrendering it to my boss at the agency. It’s like time is unwinding, reversing. Things that went wrong are being made right by Angelo Vitali.

“Thanks, boss,” I say. “I won’t let you down.”

Bobby is waiting for me at the front door. He’s wearing a suit with shades that he lowers as I approach. He looks hot as hell, especially given I know the hard abs rippling beneath that tightly fitted shirt.

“You ready, kid?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m ready.”

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Our destination is a multi-level restaurant slash hotel in the city, a place where you can hire out an entire room to yourself. Sort of like a conference center, but less lame.

We’re going all the way up to the sixth floor, to one of the specially reserved rooms. The brochure says they’re soundproofed for sensitive corporate meetings. All I know is that means nobody will hear them scream.

Bobby throws the door open. I shut it again, because I want the soundproofing to work. Then, side by side, we stride into the meeting. Action music plays in the background of my mind, something intense with a heavy bass line.

From the moment we enter the room, we are in total control. I’m almost certain these guys weren’t planning to deal with the likes of us today. I jump up on the table, standing over what amounts to my prey. It’s a power move, and it makes me feel powerful.

“Who the fuck are youse?”

I briefly consider the fact that it would be so much easier if we had some kind of badge or broach denoting the fact that we’re working for Angelo. Maybe a big V or something. It would really save the stupid questions.

“We’re here to collect, gentlemen,” I announce. “Angelo Vitali does not like to be kept waiting.”

They look at one another. They’re generic-looking business criminal guys, mostly forties and older. I don’t know who they are specifically any more than Angelo has described them. I wonder how he knew how they’d all be here. The man’s intel is far more accurate than anything the Feds ever had.

“He sends bitches now? I thought he was a fa…”

The man who had the audacity to form those words experiences the unique but short-lived sensation of a bullet ripping through his frontal lobe. His brains ruin his neighbor’s suit.

Bobby has shot him point-blank for daring to disrespect me. That’s a super fucking romantic gesture for him. I feel myself swooning just a little. I only have the chance to swoon for a second, because Bobby’s violent act has set off a chain of violent actions that immediately begin to overtake the whole plan.

Angelo prefers subtle manipulation in almost all of his dealings. This is not subtle. Bobby and I have been deployed as two bulls in a china shop.

Bullets start flying in the wake of Bobby’s insta-murder. Everybody pulls their weapons. We are given no choice but to shoot before they do. Six people die before a single shot can hit us, their bullets misaligned from their targets as we dodge and weave and put lethal lead inside each and every one of them. Before I know it, we are surrounded by very messy, very dead bodies.

It takes a second to work out that it is actually over. I look over at Bobby for direction. He has a spray of blood across his pale face, crimson red bright against the paleness of his skin and the wide depth of his eyes. His pupils are dilated with pleasure and excitement.

I suspect that I look the same has he does. I catch sight of myself in one of the gilt-edged mirrors surrounding the table and discover that I am correct. Bobby is a mess, but so am I. I wear the warm sanguine wash of our defeated enemies. My eyes are wild and excited, almost as though I have taken something. But there are no drugs in my system. This is pure adrenaline from defeating those who would have killed us. I look mad. And I look hot.

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