The Villain Duet by Bella J.

Chapter 14

Elijah

It wasn’t the first time my mom took in a stray—a man who came packing with the promise of money to feed her drug addiction. Many had come and gone over the years, but Roland stayed, and even put a ring on Mom’s finger. My guess was the others had half a brain to realize that fucking my mother wasn’t worth the shit they had to put up with. Roland, on the other hand, was too much of an idiot to see it.

I sat at the top of the stairs watching him scratching his belly while laughing at some shit show or other on the television. My mom was in her room, covering up the bruises and getting high. Ellie was busy rummaging through the kitchen cupboards in search of something to eat. But I already knew there was nothing. The fat pig ate it all, stuffing his face like a savage, not caring that there were other hungry stomachs in the house as well.

“Ellie,” I called, and she peeked out of the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s go play cards in my room.” It was code for ‘I have food.’ If I didn’t keep my stash a secret, Roland would take it all and stuff his face, leaving nothing for us.

Ellie’s blonde ponytail bobbed as she rushed up the stairs, her eyes gleaming with excitement. I stood, and she stilled next to me, glancing up. “Oh, no. What happened to your face?”

I touched my cheek, my skin still burning. “I fell over a log in the Johnsons’ garden. That’s all.” There was no way I could tell her the bruise on my cheek was because Roland caught me taking money from his jacket pocket. I didn’t see him come from behind. I just felt the blow against the side of my face, his large hand sending my bony ass skidding across the wooden floors, hitting my head against the wall.

I wasn’t in the habit of stealing. But Ellie’s birthday was in three days, and I just needed five more dollars so I could buy her the ballerina music box she wanted. Every time we passed the gift shop, she’d stop and lean against the window, her tiny palms flat against the glass, staring at the wooden music box. Sometimes, the shop attendant would turn the windup key and open it so Ellie could watch the ballerina turn to the most annoying music. Part of me hated that attendant for making my little sister want that damn box even more, yet Ellie loved every second of watching the ballerina twirl.

Luckily, Roland only saw the ten-dollar bill I had swiped from his pocket, and not the other dollar bills I had shoved inside my underpants two minutes before he caught me.

I was able to go to the gift store and buy the music box which played the most annoying tune, and it was safely hidden away in my room, wrapped with a pretty little pink bow.

I glanced down at the living room one more time before closing my bedroom door, latching the handle with the old wooden chair so no one could come in.

Ellie jumped on my bed, the spring coils squeaking. “Please tell me you have chocolate.”

“Chocolate isn’t food, Ellie.” I opened my closet and fell to my knees, reaching all the way to the back and grabbing one of the old shoe boxes.

“You have a choice between canned chicken or beef jerky.”

Ellie’s face beamed. “Oh, that’s easy.”

“Beef jerky,” we both said at the same time, and I tossed her the packet, along with a granola bar.

“Don’t gobble it all down at once,” I said as she tore it open, shoving the beef jerky into her mouth. “Ellie!”

“I can’t help it,” she mumbled with a full mouth. “I’m just so hungry.”

A sharp pang ripped my chest. She was getting bigger, hungrier. Skinnier.

I glanced at the Twinkie still left in the box. I planned on giving it to her on her birthday, the closest thing she’d get to a birthday cake. But seeing her so damn hungry left me no choice but to give it to her.

“Here.” I placed it in front of her on the bed.

“A Twinkie?” Her eyes lit up, the tiny freckles moving as she wiggled her nose. “You got me a Twinkie?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s yours?” She glanced at the now empty box and back at me.

“I ate mine earlier,” I lied. If she knew I didn’t have one, she’d want to share hers.

“You dummy.” She slapped me on my shoulder. “You should have kept it so we could eat it together.”

I smiled. “Would you have been able to wait that long if you knew there was a Twinkie for you?”

She took a large bite. “Probably not. Do you think Mom will remember my birthday this year?”

I settled down next to her, knowing the bitter answer. “Maybe,” I lied again. But I didn’t have the heart to disappoint her yet. She had three more days to hope.

A sudden bang on the door had both of us on our feet.

“Where are you, you little mutts?” Roland yelled. “Get your bony fucking asses out here.” He tried opening the door, the handle rattling against the chair. “Open this motherfucking door.”

I stepped in front of Ellie, shielding her. My heart hammered, and I prayed the chair would hold.

“Elijah, you little fucking thief. I know you took money from me.”

“Did you?” Ellie whispered over my shoulder, but I shooshed her.

“I had two hundred-dollar bills in my pocket. Where is it?” This time he hammered against the door, pieces of wood cracking next to the hinges. “Elijah, I swear to God if you don’t give me my money back, I will beat your bony ass to a pulp.”

“Elijah,” Ellie whispered, “I’m scared.”

“No. It’s okay.”

“Did you take his money?”

“Of course not.” This time I was innocent. I didn’t take the fat pig’s money. Besides, I wasn’t that stupid to steal two hundred dollars. The times I did steal from him, I made sure I didn’t take too much, so he wouldn’t notice there was money missing.

“Open this goddamn door, boy.”

My heart was beating in my throat as I struggled to push down the fear.

“Elijah.” Ellie grabbed my arms and pressed her body flush against my back. “I’m scared.”

“Get under the bed.” I grabbed her wrist and forced her to the ground. “Stay there. Do not come out. Understand?”

She nodded frantically as tears welled up in her eyes, her face pale with fear. God, I hated it, seeing her so damn scared.

I shot to my feet as a loud crack sounded, the door breaking in half as it hit the floor.

Roland rushed in, his face red and eyes wild, glaring at me from across the room. “You better give me my money back, boy.”

“I didn’t take your money.” I inched back.

“Liar. I had two hundred dollars in my pocket this morning, and now it’s gone.”

“I didn’t take it!”

“You little shit.” He launched at me, but I ducked out of the way, and he slammed into my desk, my lamp falling and shattering on the floor.

“I swear, it wasn’t me,” I yelled at him and glanced down to make sure Ellie was still hidden.

“What is going on here?” My mom walked in, looking worse than shit with one eye swollen shut, her skin blotched and hair a mess.

“Your piece of shit son stole from me, that’s what’s going on.”

Mom glared at me, yet she could hardly stand. “Is that true?”

“No! I didn’t steal anything.”

“You fucking liar!” Roland grabbed the stapler that stood on the desk and threw it in my direction. I ducked, and it hit the closet door. “I caught him with his hand in my pockets this morning. That’s what earned him that fucking bruised face. But seems like I didn’t beat you hard enough.”

It was an impulse, an instinct when I glanced at my mom, hoping she’d say something now that she knew her boyfriend beat me. But she remained unmoved, an empty vessel of festering flesh.

Roland looked down toward the bed, and my heart stopped. Ellie.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

I darted toward him when he crouched, pulling Ellie from under the bed by her ankle. “Leave her alone!”

He reached out and grabbed me by my throat while jerking Ellie to her feet. “If you didn’t steal from me, then it has to be this little shit.”

“It wasn’t me,” she cried while trying to get away from him. But he grabbed her by her ponytail and yanked her back, causing her to cry out in pain.

My insides exploded, rage swallowing my fear. “Let her go!” I yelled, kicking while his fingers tightened around my throat. But I cared more about getting Ellie away from him than I did about my next breath.

“Aww,” Roland mocked, his fat face that of pure evil. “Look at you, all protective over little sis. What the fuck do you think you can do with that bony ass of yours? You couldn’t even protect a goddamn fly if you tried.”

“Mom!” I called. “Please, stop him.”

I scratched at his hand, clawing at his skin. But he didn’t even flinch, and Mom didn’t move. She just stood there, a miserable void.

Ellie’s cries pierced my ears, and I watched helplessly as Roland pulled her tiny body up by her ponytail and threw her against the wall like she was nothing but a ragdoll.

“Ellie!”

She didn’t move.

“Ellie!” I cried. “Ellie, get up.”

Nothing.

“Ellie! Mom, help her! Help her, please!”

Mom merely glanced from me to where Ellie lay eerily still. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.

The empty beef jerky packet slipped from the bed and onto the floor, right in front of Roland’s feet.

“You little shits were stealing food as well?” He lifted me, my feet dangling from the floor while his hold tightened, my lungs crying out for air. “You’re nothing bust wasted fucking space. You better hope your sister is dead, because if she isn’t…I have a friend who would love to take her off my hands.” He cackled like a maniac, and my thoughts went quiet and body numb. “And believe me, she’ll be better off dead.”

“Please,” I whispered, the edges of my sight dimming, growing darker. “Don’t…hurt…”

It went black.

“So, why the bodyguard?” Charlotte gestured toward James, who sat by the bar, back turned toward us and out of ears’ reach.

“Precaution.”

“Why?”

“James is the head of security of one of the most powerful men in Italy.”

“This friend you mentioned?”

I nodded. “Marcello Saint Russo. He has eyes and ears everywhere, which is exactly what we want right now.”

I glanced in James’ direction, specifically at the cellphone placed on the marble countertop next to his hand. If that phone had to ring, it would be to signal that shit was about to hit the fan, and our plan B would be compromised…and we’d be fucked.

Charlotte glanced around, her gaze soaking up the pristine interior surroundings of a yacht with a fifteen-million-euro price tag.

“If you think this is impressive,” I waved around, “wait until you see the outside.”

She bit her lip and dropped her gaze, staring down at her fingers in her lap. So innocent. Naïve. Unsullied by the tainted riches this world offered in return for your fucking soul.

I watched Charlotte from across the table, something I was fucking good at. She could be stubborn, act strong, appear resilient, but her face reflected her genuine emotion. It was there in the way she’d suck on her bottom lip when she felt insecure. The way her eyes would change from sky-blue to sapphires when she got excited, and how her cheeks would glow a resplendent pink when she was shy…or aroused.

Behind her defiance, her fight was a delicate soul and a fragile heart. So easily breakable. For the coldhearted bastard side in my dark soul, who liked to break things, her fragile existence was a temptation that plagued me. I wanted to know how far she’d bend before she broke, how strong her mind could be before it shattered. But there was a different part in me I had long forgotten, a sliver of my humanity her beauty and innocence had reminded me of—a part which grew stronger the more I lingered around her.

When she cried into my chest earlier, breaking in my arms, it felt foreign having someone search for comfort from me. The last time anyone needed any type of solace by being close to me was the night Ellie had snuck into my room and snuggled up behind my back for the last time. I remembered how annoyed I was with her over waking me after I had cleaned two of the neighbors’ yards that day. Little did I know that would be the last night my little sister slept beside me.

I opened my eyes and immediately knew it wasn’t my room when I looked up at the ceiling. This one didn’t have clots of dried paper stuck to it, paper I’d chew and shoot through a straw whenever I was bored.

The bed squeaked as I pushed myself up on my elbows, glancing around. It was Ellie’s room, the dirty pink curtains torn at the seams and hanging off half the curtain rod. The only two dolls she had were placed on the old bedside table, the paint peeling off the sides. Next to it stood the music box, the one I bought Ellie for her birthday, but never got the chance to give it to her. What was it doing here? Did they find it?

Oh, no. Ellie. Where was she? Why was I in her room?

The memories of Roland, and Ellie, and my mom exploded into my head, and I leapt off the bed. “Ellie! Ellie, where are you?”

I tripped over the dirty carpet which was once a pretty purple, but now mucky gray.

“Ellie!” I tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Ellie!” I kept screaming, slamming my fists against the door. “Where is Ellie?”

All I remembered was Roland throwing her, her tiny body hitting the wall, making the most sickening sound. Or maybe it was my heart that broke. Either way, she didn’t get up. She didn’t move.

“Let me out! Ellie!”

The click of the lock made me step back, my heart racing at a million beats per second. Roland appeared, his large frame, broad shoulders, and fat belly blocking almost the entire entryway.

“Where is my sister?”

“Who?” He slanted a brow, his dirty green eyes glaring in my direction.

“Ellie. Where is Ellie?”

“I’m sorry, Elijah. But I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

My skin went cold, chills slithering around my body. “My sister. Ellie.” My nostrils flared. “Where is she?”

Mom stepped in behind Roland, glancing around him. “What is going on?”

“Your son is acting fucking crazy again.”

“No. What?” I frowned. “I’m not crazy.”

Roland pointed at me, his lips curled as he leaned closer to my mom. “Do you know an Ellie?”

Her eyes met mine, a moment of recognition flashing between us. It was a single second of unspoken truth, until she opened her mouth and spat out the lies.

“We don’t know an Ellie, Elijah.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re lying. Where is she?”

“We’re not lying, son.” She stepped in, watching me with caution. “There’s no Ellie here.”

“This is her room!” I shouted. “This is her bed, her toys. Her clothes.” I pointed at the broken laundry basket in the corner.

My mom picked up one of the dolls. “Elijah, this is Harley’s room. Roland’s daughter. You remember her?”

I shook my head vigorously, my hands trembling.

“She visits us every second weekend. She was here two days ago.”

God, I was so confused. My mind was like a maze of things that made no sense.

“I’m not crazy,” I bit out between clenched teeth. I was so scared and so angry, I want to run and throw up at the same time. But I knew I wasn’t crazy. Ellie’s face and the memories were just too real to be a lie. “You killed her…didn’t you?”

Something dark flashed in Roland’s eyes, every crease and crinkle of his face drenched in evil.

“You hurt her. You killed her.” I sucked in a breath. “Didn’t you!” I screamed so loud, I was sure the neighbors heard, but I still didn’t care. I hoped they heard. I hoped they’d send help so I could find Ellie.

“Listen, boy.” Roland walked past my mom, shoving her to the side. “I won’t tolerate your lies. I don’t care how crazy you are.”

He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled a needle out. “Now, you need to calm down, son.”

“Don’t call me son,” I seethed. I wanted to spit in his face like a poisonous viper. “Stay away from me.” I inched back, regarding the threat in front of me, glancing at the needle in his hand. “What is that?”

“It’s just your medicine, Elijah,” my mom chimed in, her face more pale than usual. “It will help you relax.”

“No.” I pursed my lips, my back hitting the windowsill. “Don’t come near me.”

It took Roland no more than three steps to close the distance between us, but I dodged him, ducked underneath his arm, and ran toward the door. But someone grabbed my elbow and pulled me back.

My mom.

My own mother.

“Please, Elijah,” she urged as she grabbed my other arm. “We just want to help you.”

Tears slipped down my face, yet all I felt was hate as I looked at her. For the first time in my life, since this nightmare with her started, I hated her. I wanted her dead. I wanted to watch her die and pray to God that he wouldn’t have mercy on her soul.

I sucked air through my teeth and leaned closer. “You know her. You know Ellie. Your daughter.”

“No, son.” Her eyes softened with something that mirrored compassion. But it couldn’t be. My mom was incapable of feeling anything but a rush and a high. “I don’t know who Ellie is.”

“That’s a lie,” I bit out, and then felt the prick of the needle into my arm. “I hate you,” I whispered. “I hope you rot in hell.”

Charlotte placed her fork down and took a sip of her white wine, her plate of seabass fillet and zucchini hardly touched.

I lifted a brow. “Something wrong with your food?”

“No. It’s perfect. I’m just…feeling a bit out of sorts.” She placed her glass down. “You made this?”

I nodded.

“You’re a good cook.”

“I’m good at a lot of things.”

She looked at me from under her long, thick lashes, pulling her lips in a straight line, knowing exactly what I was insinuating.

“So, this yacht,” her blue-gray eyes glanced around, “it’s quite something.”

“Saint has a taste for the ridiculously expensive.” I took a bite of the seabass, its taste mild, delicate, buttery—perfection.

“How exactly do you know this Saint person?”

“A mutual friend.”

“How about an answer that’s slightly less vague?”

I shrugged, taking another bite of my food, making no attempt to further the conversation. It didn’t sit well with me to discuss matters that included work, acquaintances, or anything about my life. A man like me built his entire professional foundation on discretion and confidentiality. We didn’t fucking talk.

“You said you were going to tell me everything.”

“I was hoping we could get through dinner first before we discussed other matters.”

She leaned back in her seat, the night sky casting beautiful shadows across her face. “I’d rather we get all the secrets out in the air first.”

“Will you eat once I’ve told you everything?”

“That depends on what you’re going tell me.”

“I’m serious, Charlotte. You have to eat. Bribing and force-feeding are not beyond me.”

“And neither is killing people.” She crossed her arms.

“You know,” I wiped my mouth with the napkin and placed it on the table, “you seem to have this need to remind me of my…profession every chance you get. As if you think it’s something I can forget.”

“Oh, no, you have it wrong. It’s me I have to keep reminding.” She reached for the bottle of wine, filling her third glass for the evening. I understood her need to numb the chaos with alcohol. God knew, I had done the same more times than I cared to remember.

She took a sip, her luscious lips kissing the brim of the crystal glass. My cock stirred as I watched her swallow, her delicate throat practically begging me to trace my tongue along its arch.

“Let’s start with my father. How do you know him?”

“I don’t.” I eased back in my seat. “I know of him.”

“Great. That makes two of us,” she sneered, sampling her wine.

“I know your grandfather. Gianni Guerra.” I studied her closely. “He used to work for the Cosa Nostra.”

She frowned. “The Cosa who?”

“Cosa Nostra, also known as the Italian mafia.”

Her eyes widened. “Mafia? Are you serious?”

“Very.” I shot her a stern look, showing her exactly how fucking serious I was. “Gianni Guerra used to work for the Bernardi family.”

“As what?”

“A contractor.”

“That’s like code for hitman, right?”

I nodded.

“Jesus.” She took a sip of her wine, followed by a larger gulp, closing her eyes as she swallowed. “Okay,” her shoulders lifted as she inhaled deeply, “where do you fit in? How do you know my grandfather? No, wait,” she held up her hand, “where do I fit into all this? Why am I here?”

“You—”

“Wait. Wait.” She closed her eyes. “Who is the Bernardi family?”

“They—”

“No, wait.” She scrunched her nose as if thinking caused her physical pain. “Jesus, wait. Hold on.” The ice clinked against her glass as she swallowed last of it, cringing. “I literally do not know where to start.”

I sat up, placing my hands on the table. “Then how about you just keep quiet and listen?”

Her plump lips pursed, and she crossed her arms, conceding with a silent huff.

“Your grandfather was a member of the Italian mafia, a soldier for the Bernardi family. For years, he carried out various…assignments for them.”

“Killing people?”

“Among other things. But yes, silencing those who betrayed the family, owed them, and those who planned on talking against them was your grandfather’s main area of expertise.”

She scoffed. “I love how you talk about mafia and killing people as if it’s this normal thing in the world.”

“It is in mine.”

Our gazes fused, neither of us blinking—her defiance versus my dominion. Soon she’d realize that going against me was just a waste of fucking time.

“Your grandfather,” I started again, “knowing the life of a mafioso, the dangers, the threats, he never married.”

“But how—”

I silenced her with a glare. “This would go much faster if you’d just shut up and listen.”

“Sorry.” She bit her lip, and I had to fight the urge to leap across the goddamn table so I could be the one to bite that enticing as fuck bottom lip of hers.

“Gianni fell for a girl, but he knew loving her would send her to an early grave. So, he did the noble thing and left without knowing she was pregnant.”

She glanced down, and I could see in the look on her face ten new fucking questions just popped into her head.

I poured her more wine, knowing she needed it, then filled my own glass. “Gianni eventually found out about his son—”

“My father,” she breathed.

“But knowing he had a son made him more determined to keep his distance.”

Charlotte tightened her crossed arms, resentment swirling in the blue hues of her eyes. “What kind of man does that? Deliberately staying away from his own flesh and blood?”

“The kind of man who puts their safety above his own need to know his son. The kind of man who spends every day of his life missing the memories he never had of a son he didn’t know. A son who ended up being nothing more than a drunk. A man who abandoned his wife while she was pregnant.” I leaned my head to the side, watching her face, her expression. “A man who got stabbed in a drunken brawl and died on the pavement outside a whorehouse.”

Charlotte’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her jaw clenched and eyes shimmering with tears she was determined to bite back. There were so many other ways for me to tell this part, to lighten the blow of her father’s death. But the truth was, no matter how you tried to ease your way around the cold, hard reality, it still fucking hurt. It was best just to rip the Band-Aid off and let it bleed.

She looked away, staring out the closed stacking doors which shielded us from the cold night air. I wanted us to have dinner out on the deck tonight, but the weather proved to be a dick.

I remained silent for a while, giving her some time to digest the fact the father she had never known was dead, and all hope of ever meeting him was gone.

“I’m an orphan,” she said softly before taking a deep breath, appearing to steel herself. “Lucky for me, you can’t mourn something you never had. He might as well never have existed.”

I settled back. “That doesn’t make him any less real, Charlotte.”

It had been weeks. Maybe days. Maybe years.

I didn’t know.

I didn’t care.

They had locked me in my room, pretended I was crazy while I rocked myself in the corner staring at the wall Roland had thrown Ellie against.

At least, the wall I thought he had thrown Ellie against. That was if Ellie even existed.

According to them, I was crazy. I didn’t have a sister named Ellie, only a stepsister. Harley.

Every day, Roland would come in here with a tray of food, suddenly caring enough to feed me. He’d be dressed up real nice, pretended to be concerned about my well-being, reminding me how broken my mind was.

Every day, he’d say the same thing, like a rhyme, over and over again. ‘You’re different, Elijah. Your mind works differently than a normal person’s would. It’s unique, but broken. And this Ellie person you say is your sister, she’s not real.”

Oh, but she was. Her face was as real to me as the bullshit that oozed out of his mouth. I didn’t tell him that, though. I soon learned that fighting him, screaming Ellie’s name, earned me another prick in the arm, and then…darkness.

I hadn’t seen my mom since the day she betrayed me by taking Roland’s side, both of them pretending and insisting I was crazy. She shattered something in me that day, and the part in me that felt, the part that hurt so damn much I could hardly breathe…I shut it off. I compartmentalized and shoved it back in my mind, making sure it would never surface again.

Knowing her, she was probably high, drunk, or passed out.

It was a Sunday morning, and the only reason I knew that was because of the church bells that rang and chimed for what seemed like hours. But apparently, my mind was too broken even to be annoyed by it.

Keys rattled, and the doorknob turned, but I didn’t even bother to turn and look, knowing it was Roland bringing me my first and only meal of the day.

The hinges squeaked as the door creaked open. “Elijah, I have someone here who would like to see you.”

No matter how gentle his voice sounded, how compassionate he pretended to be, it still grated at my bones.

I stopped rocking, glancing halfway over my shoulder. All I saw was this tiny figure and the striking light, honey-blonde hair. My heart, stomach, and lungs all coiled together, and I fell over my own two feet as I stumbled to get up, my legs weak and arms numb.

“Ellie?” God, it had been so long. Days, weeks, an infinity of time spent thinking of her, imagining her sweet face and gentle voice. There were times Roland was so convincing I found myself doubting my own sanity more than once.

“Ellie!” I exclaimed, putting one foot in front of the other, wanting to run to her, wanting to hug her and thank God she was okay.

“Elijah, stop!” Roland stepped in front of me, blocking Ellie off. “Calm down, son.”

“I am not your son,” I hissed, glaring up at his giant frame.

“Listen.” He placed his hands on my shoulders, but I shrugged out of his hold, growling at him like I would tear him apart at any moment. I wanted to. I wanted to pop his eyes from his skull and cut his damn tongue out. I dreamed about peeling the skin off his bones with the blunt potato peeler down in the kitchen drawer.

“Listen, boy.” He held out his hands and urged Ellie to step in next to him while wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “This isn’t Ellie.”

“What? No.” I looked at her, those familiar green-brown irises staring at me. “That’s Ellie. I told you I wasn’t crazy. Ellie, come here.” I held out my arms, wanting to get away from the monster, but she wrapped her hands around his leg and leaned into him.

My skin turned cold and clammy. “Ellie. It’s me. Elijah.”

She placed her little, round cheek against his knee. “My name isn’t, Ellie,” she said softly. “I’m Harley.”