Page 32 of Vicious Intentions
“What I should have done a long time ago,” I growl. “I’m putting you in your place,pezzo di merda.”
My father’s eyes stretch wider, as if they were about to burst from his skull. I wish I could take pleasure in his fear and savor it. But my mother’s scrambled murmurs from across the room and my little brother’s soft sobs keep me from doing so.
“You will never touch her again,” I threaten. “You won’t even so much as look at her. Your time tormenting her is over. Do you understand me?”
“She is my wife, and I can do with her as I please,” he has the gall to say.
“She is your pawn,” I snap. “Not your wife. You married her to legitimize us, but that is the last use you’ll ever have for her. She is done obeying your commands. Done enduring your touch.She is done.” My voice lowers to a menacing octave. “And so am I.”
“And who are you to order me?”
I press the blade harder into his skin and watch his blood flow down the blade, dripping onto the plush cream carpet below.
“Have you forgotten, Father?” I whisper. “I am your heir apparent.”
“Heirs can die,” he seethes.
“So can their progenitors.” I smile sinisterly. “If I fall, then Niccolò and Raffaele must fall too. That would raise too many questions. Questions you won’t want to answer. Besides, what would become of your legacy if we die? You won’t have one. No one will remember the Donato name if that happens.” I lean closer. “And that is something you don’t want, is it?”
Power and greed are most men’s Achilles’ heel. However, my bastard of a father has always been ruled by his need for legacy. That’s his weakness. The name he wishes to leave behind for all to worship and adore.
“This is my home,” he snarls.
“Not anymore. I have a new home in mind for you. You will never set foot here again.” He reads the threat in my eyes and pales.
“People will talk. If they don’t see me—”
“Let them,” I cut him off. “Or would you prefer I kill you here and now?” My voice doesn’t waver. “Believe me when I say I’m more than ready to cut your life short right where you stand.”
“You can’t kill me,” he spits. “I amCapo dei Capiof theCosa Nostra.”
“You’re trash,” I snarl. “Human filth.” My knife presses closer. “You lost the right to call yourselfCapo dei Capithe moment you bent the knee to the Romanos.”
The reminder of the death of his firstborn has him staring at me in contempt.
“Youshould have been the one they killed,” he froths at the mouth. “All of you.” His eyes dart behind me, toward Niccolò and Raffaele. “You’re the ones who should have died that day.”
“The only one living on borrowed time is you, old man.”
My father reads the threat in my eyes again, loud and clear. He sees death waiting for him at my hands. No one but me will kill him. I don’t care what code I’ll end up breaking because of it. He will die by my hand and only my hand. But not today. Not yet.
I release him so abruptly that he stumbles forward, crashing to his knees.
“I’ll kill you for this,” he threatens, the words barely audible, like the coward he is.
I kick him hard in his ribs, sending him sprawling onto his back, then drop my knee onto his throat. He gasps for air, eyes bulging with panic. I lean down and whisper, “No, you won’t. Do you know why I’m certain you won’t kill me,Father?” I press harder when I spit out the word. “Because you’re too much of a coward to do it yourself. And as it seems, you no longer hold enough sway to manipulate anyone into doing your dirty work for you.” His breathing turns frantic at the remark. “Does that shock you, old man?” I taunt. “That you have more enemies than friends? That thefamigliais no longer interested in your rule, much less your orders?”
“Lies!” he spits out. “Lies! I am the boss! They must follow me! Obey me!”
“On paper perhaps,” I scoff. “Nothing more. You are just a reminder of how theCosa Nostrafell. No one cares whether you live or die. Like me, they want you gone.” My voice drops. “And I’m more than happy to oblige them.”
With that threat still hanging in the air, I release him and straighten. My father scrambles backward, fear etched plainly across his face.
“Then why not kill me now?” he demands. “If all you say is true, then why not kill me now?”
“Because you’re still of use to me. That’s the only reason you’ll leave this house on your own two feet and not in a body bag.” I then meet his beady gaze without blinking. “But tread carefully, Don Carlo. The moment you no longer fit my plans, your time will end.”
My father finally sees it—the promise of vengeance. Everything he did to me. To my brothers. To my mother. He understands that whatever life he has left is because I allow it.
