◽WHAT EVIL LOOKS LIKE◽
◽MARIAN'S POV◽
“What happens when he decides he isn’t interested in the deal you’re proposing?” I asked Martini.
He’d just given me a full rundown of everything he was busy with, though I barely understood half of it. Still, at least he answered me. He didn’t satisfy my curiosity, but he did something worse.
He gave me more questions.
Why do people have to be so evil?
“Angel gave me tons of inaccurate information about the mafia world and everything you guys do,” I said, gesturing at the guns he was fiddling with. “This is the only accurate information.”
He just shrugged, that same damn smile still glued to his face.
“How do you get over all the people that die?” I asked, my voice a little quieter. There was weight in that question—personal weight.
My parents died.
Still don’t know who did it. Or why.
But part of me wonders if it even matters anymore. Why would I want to know if I can’t do anything about it?
He seemed to understand my mood had shifted, though he said nothing.
I forced a smile to ease the tension—not for him, but for me. I didn’t want to cry in front of them. I could cry later, alone.
Then I looked up.
Carmello walked down the stairs.
The air shifted the second his feet hit the floor. It always did.
Something about him just commanded attention, and not the nice kind.
After what happened last week, I’d been avoiding him like the plague.
I didn’t want to give him another excuse to snap at me. That idiot expects me to sit quietly in that empty room with nothing but a bed and that stupid frame on the wall that practically mocks me every time I look at it.
I rolled my eyes and looked away before he could catch it.
I *wanted* to get up and leave, but that would make things too obvious.
“Fai la chiamata,” Carmello said. {Rexa wants to have a meeting.} Damn. That language is sexy.
No.
His voice is sexy.
That calm, cold, calculated tone? God, I wanted to see his face when he talked.
But, of course, he’s acting like I don’t exist again. He’s so good at pretending I’m invisible, and that makes me want to be even more prideful, even pettier. Like hell I’ll be the one to speak first.
“Potrebbe esserci un problema con il cartello nel distretto.” {There might be a problem with the cartel in the district.} God, the way he talks—so slow, so calm, so incredibly beautiful.
Martini let out a grunt, clearly disagreeing.
“Non lo sono, ma abbiamo bisogno di tutti gli alleati possibili in questo momento.” {They aren’t, but we need every ally we can get right now.}
Then silence. I didn’t turn around. Didn’t even breathe loud enough to give myself away.
And then, “Perché è qui con te?” {Why is she in here with you?} That shift in his tone? Yeah. That was about me.
“Non sta facendo del male a nessuno.” {She isn’t hurting anyone.}
How I wish I could understand their damn language without them knowing. Just once, I want to know what they say when they think I’m clueless.
“Sì, lo sta facendo. Ha rubato una pistola l’ultima volta.” {Yes, she is. She stole a gun last time.}
Martini went quiet. He couldn’t argue with whatever Carmello had said.
And just like that, the air in the room turned sharp.
Carmello’s voice... it was too serious.
Fucking hell, is he walking towards me? Why?
My questions were cut short when he called me. God, is it bad that I want him to fold me and keep whispering my name into my ear? He could keep calling my name forever, and I wouldn’t mind.
NO!
Marian, snap out of it. He is a monster, and he’s the one who wouldn’t let you go even after knowing he kidnapped the wrong sister.
I hummed, too scared to look up at him.
“If you try to escape one more time, you’ll end up in the basement.” The place I feared the most. Why is he so evil? Why isn’t he more like Martini, that absolutely good human? Instead, he chose to be an asshole.
But honestly, does he really read people's minds? Because yes, I have been trying to escape, and instead of running to my house this time, I’m running straight to the police station. I rolled my eyes discreetly, earning a chuckle from Martini.
Just as I was about to answer with a yes some men entered.
I immediately recognized them as Giovanni's men. They were unusually large, moving like robots. Giovanni gave them orders, and they just grunted in return. I'd never heard them speak, and they had been here three times already since I was kept here.
The atmosphere became more tense than it already was. I looked up to study Carmello’s reaction. I already suspected Carmello had a strained relationship with his father, and the expression on his face confirmed it—he absolutely despised Giovanni.
For the first time, we were on the same page.
I hate his father too.
“Go into the room, and don’t come out.” Martini ordered, and he didn’t need to repeat it. I scurried out of there.
I tried to listen in on their conversation, but it was all in Italian, and the occasional English didn’t make up for what I was missing.
My name came up somehow, as well as Mathilda—who is only called Mathilda by Giovanni. The rest called her Verdict.
To stop myself from being a nosy eavesdropper, I walked to the bed to get some sleep.
I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke up, there was noise coming from outside.
And I really needed to pee.
I’d held it in, but it was beginning to bother me, so I decided going wouldn’t be a big deal if I snuck to the bathroom behind the staircase.
I walked past the big burly guy standing at the bottom of the stairs. He grunted as soon as he spotted me.
What crawled up his pants?
I walked past him to the guard by the toilet, and after I was done, I headed back outside in time for the big reveal.
Carmello was thrown down the stairs and fell to the bottom, where I was.
He was brutally beaten.
I wanted to reach out to him, ask if he was okay, but this time, my curiosity didn’t get the best of me. I got the best of it.
I walked straight to the room and locked myself in.
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