L'Angelo della Morte | A Mafia Romance

♛20 ⥄ ❝ Guardiano dell'Inferno ❞

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Bleed with me this time.

~ Isak Danielson

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I watched my feet drag the water back and forth. I was clutching the pool edge with enough force that I was sure it'd leave marks on my palms.

The only sounds came from the pool, the nearby crickets, and the distant thunder promising an oncoming storm. But I didn't care. The storm could come. No external storm could hold a candle to the one raging inside of me.

A cold breeze tore through the large, white t-shirt I was wearing, but I couldn't even muster a shiver. I had been cold for days. This was the fourth night in a row I'd woken up in a cold sweat, clutching the sheets for dear life. It had taken me almost an hour to catch my breath, and when I finally did, I was lightheaded and weak.

It had been three in the morning and I'd stumbled downstairs and sat by the pool since.

The only thing that kept me going – the only thing that kept me from letting myself die of starvation or thirst – was Vittorio's promise. I didn't doubt him. I knew he had the skill to carry it out. But I wanted to be there. I wanted to look into Livio's eyes when he drew his final breath.

I closed my eyes tight. How many people? My mind replayed every one of them from Vittorio killing Kaleb, a friend of his, to the mothers, fathers, children, and siblings that died in the explosion Livio had put us through. But the one that replayed the most, the one that flashed across the backs of my eyelids when I closed my eyes, was Selena.

She hadn't died by hanging. She hadn't even died from the stab wound. Romeo had brought her body to a pathologist that did work for Vincenzo. Cause of death: internal bleeding. They had beaten her badly and she'd succumbed to her injuries before they ever stabbed or hung her.

I looked down at the crumpled, bloodied paper in my hand.

Come home, sweetheart.

~ Yours always, Livio.

I gritted my teeth and curled my fingers into a fist around it before chucking it. It flew only a few feet and landed pathetically on top of the water.

More than ever, I wanted to get moving on the plan. I wanted him dead. I wanted him dead fast. The impatience was like water slowly brewing to a boil inside of me, and eventually, it'd boil over.

"Can't sleep?"

I didn't have to look to know it was Romeo. Mere seconds later, he plopped down at my side. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye; he was leaning back on his outstretched arms, he was shirtless, tattoos and muscles on full display, and his curly hair was loose and disheveled atop his head.

When I didn't respond, he pressed again. "Why are you up this late?"

I huffed. "I could ask you the same."

His deep chuckle momentarily warmed something inside of me. For the past few days, Romeo had been the only person that didn't meet me with pity. He didn't look at me like I was broken. He didn't try to fix it. He just existed near me, and somehow that felt more helpful.

I could barely turn a corner in the not-so-safe house without getting wrapped in a hug or receiving condolences. But the first time Romeo saw me after he returned from the pathologist, he'd offered me a bagel and told me that a rerun of Friends was on TV.