"Skylar Vance, that's the name Xenia goes by under the radar," Ottavio revealed, finally delivering a much-needed breakthrough after newly five long months. But damn, Skylar sounded intriguing and perhaps even formidable. Vance, on the other hand, left me with some reservations. This was undeniably good news, yet the lingering "but" left me curious about what else Ottavio had to share.
"What else?" My eyes dropped to the gravels under my sole.
"It is linked to a pen name; X.T.B. I think that stands for—"
"Xenia Thompson Butler. Clever girl. So she's got a way with words?" Not surprised, really. She had that writer's touch, that way of articulating thoughts. If only she hadn't slipped away from me, I could've discovered more about her, beyond what we cautiously disclosed months ago. "Where's she been hiding?"
"Sicily, as we already knew. And hey, Xenia hasn't just been evading you, she's plotting against you. There's this publishing company, Bright Bird. She's been collaborating with them for months, writing a book about the TIF"
"What?" My mind exploded, anger surging through me. Immediately, I felt like I was losing control.
"The luncheon is next week — where they release this dreadful book. I'm currently in Sicily. If you want a ticket to this event, I can get you one."
Ottavio's words weren't registering in my head as my mind was preoccupied with something else. It was foolish what she had done, to write a book on the TIF and go ahead to publish it. She knew better. I had taught her better.
Whatever she was planning to do with this story was none of my business. The only thing I cared about now was to stop any copy of it from selling, by any means necessary. We were losing the game in Bologna already, she couldn't destroy Sicily for us too.
I sidled into my car after the driver held the door open for me. "I don't want tickets, Ottavio. What I want are; the date of this fucking luncheon, the address of the publishing company, and Xenia's home address. She's not selling a copy of that book, not while I live. You can be sure of that."
I hung up.
The driver shut the car door. He went to the front and then shifted his position in his seat to take charge of the wheels. Just as the car began to accelerate, I reached into my pocket and dug out the cord I'd strangled my father with. Anxiety coursed through me as I felt the lingering pain in my palms from tugging the item. Heart racing with a thundering beat, I replayed the events, trying to come to terms with what I had just done.
No man, regardless of how ruthless he may be, would have the courage to confront the reality of having killed his own father, even if his father was considered worthless.
God, I could feel the weight of it all; his groans, his unspoken words, his struggles — weighing heavily on my chest. Every passing moment felt like an eternity, every thought felt like a punishment. As realization was coming to dance in front of my gaze, my stomach was sinking into a pit of despair.
The hum of the engine and the motion of the car only served to amplify this state I was tumbling into, making it hard to focus on anything but the thoughts of my father's body stiff on the floor, after I'd murdered him in cold blood.
"Take the left turn," I told my driver because I wasn't really ready to go home. I wanted to ride around town until guilt departed from me and I had enough balls to look at my mother. He may have been a bad man, he certainly wasn't a bad husband. Although he may not have been a good father to me, Bianca, Emilia, and Gina had a different experience and could not say the same.
The emotions were different than I'd expected. I had thought relief would wash me, and that I'd be graced with the same pleasure I'd experienced once his breathing ceased, but I was wrong. I only felt sick to my stomach and really wanted to throw up.
Another ball of realization crashed in and eventually conjured a pang of guilt.
He was dead. Pietro De Rossi had died by his son's hands.
Indeed an unforgettable history.
$$$
I'd been sitting in silence for the past two hours, staring out into the evening from my moving car. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what my whole life looked like from then. In a strange way, I felt numb, but also exhilarated. I was not sure if I was horrified or satisfied, or perhaps some twisted combination of both.
The long ride eventually came to an end when I saw the gates to the estate. After ordering Max to deliver Rossi's head to those that wanted it hours ago, I expected a chaotic welcome that I was unprepared for. I sprinted through the forecourt and up to my quarters like a thief in the night—too much of a coward to even face the people I'd promised to serve my father's head. Though, it was only now that my thoughts had started to come back to something more bitter and less fearful. I had to leave Bologna tonight.
Ottavio had already sent the coordinates to Xenia's location, and though I knew, later, we'd have to discuss his efficacy in founding her, my priority was to get to her as soon as possible. I had to make sure that luncheon didn't happen. I had to see her.
My inauguration was in two weeks so I had plenty of time to do all of that and come back here to claim what was mine: the throne.
More visions of Pietro haunted me the moment I unlocked my safe to access cash. Those of Xenia flooded my all too mighty psyche. My head would burn tonight if I kept up with these thoughts.
I took a swig from my hip flask, draining the last drop before refilling it with the whiskey on the nightstand. With the flask now tucked safely in my pocket, I made my way over to the drawer.
As I grabbed my pistol, I made sure to take extra magazines for it. At the moment, it was impossible to predict whether I would need to shoot someone in Sicily. It'd been over four long months, God knew what kind of people Xenia had been gallivanting with. For her to even forestall the idea of selling out the TIF, someone powerful had to be backing her up. If I didn't go prepared, I could find myself at the edge of a marketing disaster.
Gun, bullets, cash, clothes—I was ready.
I revisited Ottavio's message and placed a call to Max. We would be departing together. I preferred Ottavio to stay behind; I trusted him more than any other soul in the TIF. He would be the one to keep me informed about family matters until my return for the impending inauguration. If I failed to quell this threat in Sicily, the family would crumble.
Three weighty knocks echoed on my door. Before I could inquire who it was, the door swung open. My mother and the girls filled the doorway, their expressions unfamiliar to me.
Well, except for Emilia. Deciphering her expression now seemed like a dreadful mistake because it was evident she nurtured a strong desire to break my jaw.
"How could you?" My mother entered first. She tore me a slap on my left cheek and I staggered sideways from the impact. She had never...ever lay hands on me before now.
I swallowed back my words as they weren't pretty, and I planted a stern gaze on her frown. Tears lingered in her eyes, if it weren't for my position as the culprit in this, I should've been able to reach for her cheeks and clean it all. "There was no way out of it."
"He was your father! What do you mean no way—"
"He was a monster, Mother. The Family wanted proof of his death. I wanted proof of—"
She groaned, frustration tearing through every note she spat. "We're your family. Do you not understand that?"
I stopped to think for a second before I opened my mouth again. "The orders of the TIF come before the needs of the family."
"You disgrace me, Romano," Bianca's voice broke through, her words heavy with both anger and sorrow. "Every day, you spoke of his horrors, yet I see him mirrored in you. You're a reflection of him. The issue isn't merely that he violated a man's daughter or compelled you to kill Vilma... hell, you're not that selfless. It's your ego, your superiority complex, understanding just how much of him you embody—that led you to this. You're nothing but an embarrassment."
Bracing myself for more painful words, I turned away, stumbling back and facing the large mirror in my room. I examined every feature on my body. I resembled him greatly. What I couldn't discern was if I acted like him.
Emilia, usually on my side, expressed her disappointment. "You assured me you wouldn't serve his head. You pledged not to go through with it." I observed her shaking her head in disbelief. "Romano, this isn't you. You wouldn't kill your father, let alone present his head to the family as proof of loyalty."
"People change!" I retorted, a living testament to that truth. They needed to acknowledge it. "Just as he wasn't the man you once married, I am not the son you once knew." Change was inevitable. It was the most certain thing in life. "Pietro was a terrible man; even the heavens are relieved that I took the initiative to remove him from his comfort."
Gina's words stabbed the air, her accusation sharp. "You're a terrible man," she muttered with a touch of scorn. "You didn't even let him make amends."
The Rossi I knew never admitted to mistakes. If others saw him through my eyes, they'd see there was more to him than meets the eye.
My mother fixed a hard gaze on me, teeth clenched. "This will haunt him for life, mark my words. He took his father's life and stepped into the role of the devil. Diablo."
Their icy words hit me hard, but I couldn't show weakness. Snatching my box, I stormed out before they could unleash more judgments. I wasn't my father, and no matter what they thought, I was determined to prove I could be a better man than he ever was."
Leaving the mansion, guilt overwhelmed me for not offering a reasonable explanation. But in reality, there was no reasonable explanation for why a man could murder his father. Pietro had to die, that was the simple truth. All I cared about now was leaving, and so I continued down the path towards the airport with Max and my driver.
Upon arrival, we swiftly made our way to our private hangar. Settling into the plush leather seats on the jet, I felt a mix of emotions, leaning towards sixty percent excitement and forty percent anger.
Excitement because I had found her.
Anger, well, you could pretty much guess why.
The jet ascended higher into the sky, and my thoughts wandered to the plans I had made. How I wanted to meet her and what I intended to do during this time.
I wasn't the only problem Xenia had. The TIF consisted of more than just Ottavio and I that didn't want her dead. There were men who would put a hit on her if their vices were exposed. Rules existed amongst us, and within those rules was a particular one regarding coercers. Specifically, anyone or group attempting to expose the secrecy of our organization—the penalty was death...on fucking sight.
Xenia was in no way prepared for what lay ahead. Even with a bulletproof vest, machine guns, and ten bodyguards, she was like dead meat.
Once news spread among every associate and member of the TIF scattered across Italy about Xenia's actions, not even the Don could command them to stop. A true Don would only order her extermination.
Did I have the guts to issue that order?
The answer was a simple no, so I'd opt for the easy way. Find her, uncover the person supporting her, eliminate them, and manipulate Xenia into divulging her secrets. I recognized the importance of keeping control over her, and I'd ensure just that.
"Where are we going first?" Max's question siphoned me out of my dreadful thoughts. I adjusted in my seat and checked the time.
Sicily awaited us before dawn. My body coiled with tension at the prospect.
"Her house," I breathed out, each word handled with caution to avoid jinxing myself.
Damn, the reality of finding her hadn't sunk in. It seemed surreal, trailing Xenia as if she were a formidable protagonist from an American TV show or the Angelina Jolie of Britain. She had seriously messed up. I had expected better from her.
As the jet began to descend, I peered out the window, watching the world below grow larger and more distinct. The sound of the engines gradually faded as we landed and taxied to a stop on the runway. After the others had exited the plane, a brief moment passed before I collected my belongings and descended to meet a prearranged driver.
He guided me to the awaiting car, and soon, I found myself in the back seat, observing the cityscape through tinted windows. The driver skillfully maneuvered through busy streets, following the directions on my phone. An hour later, we reached our destination and parked discreetly across the designated street.
I remained motionless in the car, observing the passersby and the flow of traffic, eagerly anticipating any indication from her apartment in the building complex that might suggest that she was still awake. Anxiety encroached as I waited for the signal that would allow me to proceed without caution.
No fucking sign.
When I put my fingers on the door handle to open up, a sleek automobile zoomed into the street and park just in front of the complex. I stopped to watch, not wanting to run into someone that might be of help to Xenia. There'd be no discretion if the whole neighborhood knew a man posed the butterfly a threat.
The windows of my car were tinted, so at least the intensity of my vision should have dimmed a great deal, considering it wasn't fully morning yet, but I was as quick as a beat in recognizing the woman that exited this strange car.
Red hair, pale skin, full lips, defined curves.
It was Xenia.
Stumbling over the place like a woman on a high, she eventually got caught by another female with wavy hair, who then waved at whoever it was in the owners corner.
My eyes narrowed to damn slits when Xenia smiled back at the passenger of this car, and my face somehow contorted into a mask of fury. Nostrils flared, I took a deep breath and felt my chest heaving with threats of a tormenting rage.
Though my body remained still, save for the occasional twitch of my fingers, the tension in the air around me was raw. It was as if a storm was brewing from the inside, gathering strength with each passing moment, with each glance I spared in that direction.
It was a man of great power that had given her a lift. Heaven only knew if he was the same man helping her get back at the TIF for what it had done to her.
My jaw clenched again, a small but telling detail that betrayed the depth of my emotion. Even a blind man could see that I was fighting to keep my temper in check, despite it being a battle that threatened to consume me in no time.
Max, guided by his better judgment, maintained a hushed silence, careful not to provoke me with unwarranted assumptions. I sensed his unspoken accusation: traitor.
After an exhaustive four months of searching for Xenia Thompson, I had found her. Fuck. I had found her in the act of violating my most sacred law. The boldness of her actions had a profound impact on my emotions. The thought of seeing her in that dress that was so revealing it left little to the imagination—it made me apprehensive, it made my body simmer with anger. The thought of seeing her climb out of a man's car reorganized my blood into a seething liquid.
I didn't linger to witness how she received assistance from the woman upstairs. I promptly instructed the driver to wait, urged Max to stay vigilant, and stepped out of the car. My destination was the one place I had prayed fervently to reach in the last four months – Xenia's fucking doorstep.