Page 105 of Venomous Desires

But not yet.

I had some things to sort for now.

My little bird wasn’t the only one I wanted to destroy.

There were two motherfuckers I desperately wanted to rip apart.

My phone rang. My eyes darted to the table, and a frown etched itself deep into my face. Why the fuck was he calling me? I tilted my head, hoping the numbers on the screen would disappear, but they didn’t. Instead, a text followed: Pick up the damn phone, you bastard.

I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Look who’s calling me a bastard. With a roll of my eyes, I finally answered. “Ciao.”

“Did you kill Maroni?” My jaw ticked as his sharp voice was followed by a defeated sigh. I smiled.

“Nice to hear from you too, Padre,” I leaned back in my chair, talking in the same accent I picked up from my father. “I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

“Don’t play games with me, Judas,” he snapped for the first time since I could recall, and I realise I had truly fucked up. “Did. You. Kill. Maroni?”

I let out a mock sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Why do you always assume the worst? Maybe I just wanted to chat,catch up, you know? Like normal families do.”

“You’re not normal, and we’re not normal,” he shot back, and I heard someone snicker from behind. “Answer the fucking question.”

“Fine, fine,” I drawled, looking at the ceiling. “Maroni… Maroni… Oh right, the guy who thought he could cheat us and get away with it. Yeah, I took care of him. He’s… let’s just say he’s not going to be a problem anymore.”

A heavy silence hung, and I could almost hear him grinding his teeth on the other end.

My father had always been a pacifist. But a psycho at that, a trait I got from him. The pacifist would rather use his blade to talk and not the tongue. I had seen him with blood cover his body and not his.

“Why didn’t you inform me?” he sighed, and I could imagine a look of defeat on his face. My father loved his family, me included, but the thing was, I didn’t need love. What I needed was chaos, and I couldn’t thrive in chaos in Italy, where my family lived.

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “Didn’t think you’d care, old man. Figured you had better things to do than worry about one insignificant cockroach.”

“You’re reckless,” he hissed. “You have no idea what you’ve set in motion.”

Was I reckless in killing Maroni? Yes. Would that be a problem? Definitely. Did I regret it? Fuck no.

“Oh, spare me the lecture,” I shot back. “You wanted Maroni dead, and now he’s dead. Isn’t that what you wanted? Or are you mad because I didn’t ask for your permission first?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Ragazzo,” he warned. “I told you to stay put and not put yourself in danger. Your mother has been worried sick ever since she heard the news.”

Mother. Ah, I almost forgot about her. Always the one to fretover every little thing, but never the one to pick up the phone and call me herself. She’d rather stew in her worry, whispering her fears to my father, hoping he could somehow rein me in. She thought I was the unhinged one, the loose cannon in the family. But really, had she ever taken a good look at her husbands?

“She’s always worried,” I said dismissively. “It’s kind of her thing, isn’t it? Worrying about things she has no control over.”

“Watch your mouth,” he snapped, and I rolled my eyes. “She’s your mother, and she cares about you.”

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “Cares about me? Is that what you call it? She’s too scared to call me herself. Always hiding behind you, pretending she’s the saint and I’m the devil. But we both know the truth, don’t we, old man? You’ve got more demons in your closet than I do.”

“That’s enough,” he growled. “This isn’t a joke, Judas. You’re on a path that leads to destruction.”

I rolled my eyes, leaning back in my chair. “Destruction, huh? Sounds like a family tradition. You’ve walked that path your whole life, and now you expect me to play the good son and avoid it? Please.”

“There’s still time to change,” he pressed, and I could hear the desperation creeping into his tone. “You don’t have to be like me. You don’t have to make the same mistakes.”

“Maybe I don’t have to,” I gritted. “But I want to. I’m not running from this, Padre. I’m running toward it. Embracing it. It’s in my blood, just like it’s in yours.”

A heavy silence fell between us, and I could picture him on the other end, struggling with the reality that his son was every bit as twisted as he was, maybe even more so.

“Your mother—” he started again, but I cut him off, my patience thinning.