Page 37 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
Her jaw clenches, and I spot the slight tremble in her shoulders. Just when I expect her to have an outburst, there’s a knock on the door. I glance over my shoulder as Lorenzo walks in. His gaze instantly shifts from me to Gabriella on a deep frown.
“Are you okay, Miss Gabriella?” he asks in Italian as if I don’t understand him.
“She’s annoyed because I told her she needs to leave town for a while, she’s refusing because she has too much pride for her own good.”
“I am the head of this family—”
“That won’t matter when you’re dead.” I cut her off.
Lorenzo steps farther into the room until he’s shoulder to shoulder with me. “Bianchi?” he asks me.
I nod.
He inhales a deep breath, and I can tell he’s gearing himself up for a fight. “The Russian is right. You should leave town.”
Gabriella glares at him, and I can see she feels betrayed. “I thank you both for your advice. I am not going.”
I shake my head just as an exasperated sigh slips past Lorenzo’s lips. I’m not a babysitter. Adelina is smarter, braver, and more determined than her sister in every way. Gabrielle Ricci should never have inherited her father’s seat, and this here is exactly why.
“I won’t leave my sister to face him alone, and I know she won’t leave.”
I pause.
Her loyalty, I can understand, even if it is ill-conceived. It seems the Ricci sisters will either rise or fall together.
My eyes meet hers, a mutual understanding passing between us before I nod. And then I leave the room, knowing Lorenzo won’t let it drop, but he’s wasting his breath. Gabriella won’t go without Adelina, and Adelina, well…that’s a lost cause. The girl doesn’t know when to quit.
12
Adelina
“I won’t leave my sister to face him alone, and I know she won’t leave.”
My heart plummets when I hear Gabriella’s words, though she’s right, I won’t leave. She needs to though. But if Sasha and Lorenzo can’t convince her, then I stand no chance. I hurry away from the office and into the kitchen. It’s late, and the house has an eerie silence to it. I grab a bottle of wine from the fridge and pour a hefty glass, drinking half of it in only a few gulps.
The adjoined dining room sits in darkness, the enormous family table a sad reminder of distant memories, times around this table filled with laughter and love—my father, sister, Lorenzo, men that worked for my father but felt more like family when I was growing up. Now, I can’t even remember the last time I was in here. As I sit alone in the darkness, I’m reminded of the fact that I have no one to talk to. No friend to ask for advice. Perhaps Sasha is as close as it gets, and I have to kill him. I have no other choice. If I don’t, who knows what Enrique will do. No, I know what he’ll do, hit me where he thinks it will hurt most. I have nothing left at this point. Except Gabriella. I want to believe that he wouldn’t go after her for political reasons, but I know he has a loophole. She made herself vulnerable after she stole from him. Now, anything he does could be justified by the other families.
And even if I do kill Sasha, I’ll still have to go to him, a prisoner in a cage of my choosing.
I lift the glass to my lips and drain it before refilling. Closing my eyes, I hold my head in my hands, trying to think clearly. I can’t though. Tears stream down my cheeks without permission, frustration and pain blending together. I just need to take one step at a time.
I have to kill Sasha. It was always the plan. I just need more time.
I want to call Enrique, ask him what he has planned, but there’s no point. He won’t tell me, and he’ll delight in the fact that I asked. He thrives on fear and weakness. I’m left with only one logical conclusion: he’ll hurt Gabi or me. I can’t risk the former. I take a couple more gulps of my wine and put it down. I need to be sober for what comes next.
The house is dark and quiet as I make my way through it. When I pass the entrance hall, I see a couple of Lorenzo’s men lingering beyond the front door, cigarettes pressed to their lips as they laugh and chat. For a moment, I’m irritated by the fact that they’re able to do something so trivial. I’m jealous that their lives are so…simple.
When I reach the office, I knock on the door. There’s no answer, so I push it open. Old hinges squeal, and the scent of leather and antique paper greets me beneath the lingering smell of cigar smoke. There hasn’t been a cigar in here since my father died, yet the smell is embedded in the carpet, the walls, the very fabric of the room. In the darkness, the office feels almost holy, like a shrine.
