Dark Redeemer by Raven Scott

2

Massimo

She’s the daughter of Giovanni Amato. My sworn enemy.

One of the most beautiful young women I’ve ever met. Even though she’s dressed demurely, in loose-fitting blue jeans and a pink turtleneck blouse, with her hair neatly pinned into a bun, she still has an incredible presence about her. Almost all the men around her, though they are her bodyguards, seem to be doing their best not to stare at her, their expressions wrinkled in concentration as they search for something—anything—to look at. When they see me and Luigi, their eyes latch on to us, seemingly relieved for something to glare at and distract them. Once again a part of me is worried I’ll be recognized, but I ignore it.

Angela…

I can’t break my own gaze from her, and watch as she enters a black SUV. She looks so innocent. So naive and pure. Untouched by all the dark things in this world. I want to possess everything about her. Mind. Body. Soul. I want to break her so that she never looks at another man again, and screams my name all night long.

I notice she seems sad—she keeps her eyes lowered as she enters the SUV. She never looks up, not anymore. All the times I’ve been here in my disguise, she’s never met my eyes, always staring at the ground.

Probably a good thing.

She’s the only one who would recognize me, even with a beard.

I kissed her once, the same night her father ordered my death. The one kiss that shook our world.

She’s so damn near, yet also so far. Distant. Untouchable.

I’m going to kill her father someday and make her mine. I swear I will.

But not today.

I stare, transfixed, even after the door shuts behind her, and all I can see is a small portion of her face through the window. She looks up then, but it’s not to meet my gaze. Instead, she’s staring upward. I follow her eyes, and see a passing jet. I return my attention to her, and wonder what she’s thinking. Perhaps she’s dreaming of escaping her life by flying away?

Luigi’s voice brings me back to reality. “Probably shouldn’t be looking at the daughter of one of the biggest mafia dons in Palermo like that in front of all her bodyguards.”

I blink, and when I realize the glowers of her guards have grown darker, I avert my gaze. I unconsciously scratch my beard, if only to confirm to myself that it’s still there, hiding my face.

Some of the men join her in the SUV, while the remainder stay behind and mostly disperse. As it drives away, I can’t help but feel she’s little better than Allegro, held in a stall all day and released only on formal occasions so that she can be pranced about in front of her father’s friends before he returns her to her gilded cage. I daydream of swooping in and stealing her with guns blazing, and shooting her father for what he did to me before I leave.

I still haven’t figured out how to stop the rest of the Amato family from hunting me down for the rest of my days for doing it. I’ll probably have to kill all her brothers, too. So be it.

I climb into the car to drive Luigi back home.

* * *

I takethe ferry back to the island of Ustica and return to the villa I share with my brothers and my sister. It’s hidden from the road behind a tall wooden fence that reaches a little over seven feet from the ground. I drive through the automatic gates, which lock behind me, sealing the place off.

My brothers, my sister and I worked for years to scrape together enough money to put a down payment on this place. We’re still paying off the mortgage. Even though it’s on Ustica, and not the mainland, it’s expensive as hell. Not surprising, considering the villa is a massive affair, with a four-thousand-square-foot mansion, a two-thousand-square-foot guest house, an inner courtyard with a fountain, and a vine-trellised path leading down to the beach, where the waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea lap against the sand. Rock formations on either side separate us from the neighboring lands, giving us a private beach. We have a speedboat there, anchored at a dock. Our little getaway boat, as we like to call it. We’re also in the process of building a stable—we soon plan to possess our own collection of well-cared for, if illegal, race horses.

I sigh as I exit my car and walk toward the main entrance. We thought we could run away from our checkered pasts in Palermo by buying this place. But we couldn’t. We only got in deeper: we have to work harder than ever. And since most of our clientele live in the city we were born in, we go back to the mainland almost daily.

My brother Roberto fist-bumps me on the way out. He’s carrying the keys to the speedboat, along with a suitcase.

“Where you headed?” I ask him.

“Palermo,” he says. “Got a delivery.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I say with a wink.

He smiles, darting toward the back. Before vanishing around the corner, he says: “Oh, Matteo’s looking for you.”

I find my brother Matteo in the family room, seated on the couch, with a laptop on the coffee table in front of him. Like all of us, he’s got a muscular build from years of training in the gym and boxing ring, and looks a little out of place typing on a computer. But all things technological are his specialty. He glances up when I enter, and his long, dark curls tumble about his face.

“Got trouble with Santo again,” Matteo says.

I feel a rising surge of anger. “What now?”

“He’s decided to have a little chat with the police,” Matteo finishes.

I stare at him a moment. “Anyone already in our pocket?”

Matteo shakes his head. “No. The cops called earlier, looking for you. I told them you weren’t home. They want you to drop by the station.”

Fuck.

“What do you want to do?” Matteo presses.

I glance at the Rolex watch on my wrist. “And I was just starting to grow attached to it.”

“I meant with Santo?” Matteo asks.

I purse my lips. “It seems we’re not getting through to him.”

“No,” Matteo agrees. He pauses, then: “I’ll take the boat with Roberto to the mainland and discharge him from the hospital. We’ll give him a little shake from the rooftop. He pisses his pants, agrees to throw the next race and keep quiet, we both go home happy.”

I nod. “Seems fair. I’ll handle the police.”

I call Roberto and tell him to turn the speedboat around.

“Can’t wait until we own our own horses, and a racetrack,” Matteo says when I hang up. “Then we can have our own races, and vet our own jockeys like the other big families.”

I nod. “Be patient, brother. One day we’ll own this whole island.”

* * *

I leave the police station,my wrist fifteen thousand Euros lighter. Detective Lombardo, the man in charge of the case, agreed to dismiss Santo’s claims as baseless in exchange for the watch. Santo would receive a disappointing call from the detective later, either before or after Matteo dangled him from the hospital rooftop. Santo, seeing how futile his resistance really was, along with the consequences of said resistance, would fall into line. They always did.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I slide it out and glance at the caller. When I see it’s Matteo, I accept.

“How did it go?” I ask, eager to get this one behind me.

“We dropped him.” Matteo’s voice comes in shocked gasps.

I pause, feeling my heart sink to my stomach. “What are you talking about? Speak to me man, what did you do?”

“We fucking dropped him!” Matteo repeats over the line. “He fell! He’s dead.”