Page 147 of Ruthless Devotion
“Twenty is high. What about fifteen? I could do fifteen,” he says.
“You can do Twenty or you can fucking get out of my territory. Or we have that war Brian just mentioned. It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that it’s going to take a big display of carnage to reach the kind of sane agreements we could otherwise reach peacefully if you weren’t going to treat me like a fucking child.”
Giovanni raises his hands. “Okay, okay. You’re right. I’ve got enough on my plate right now with some family matters at home. My daughter just had a baby, and nobody wants a war right now. Twenty percent it is. For the business that happens in your territory.”
I nod. “I’ll be sending a guy every quarter to audit to make sure I’m getting paid right.”
“Of course,” he says. He says it like this is standard procedure, but at the same time, I bet he thought I wouldn’t be checking things, so he could just lie about the numbers and pay me ten… or less.
I stand up and reach across the table to shake his hand, and then Brian and I leave with our security detail behind us. Once outside, I instruct the team to go back home and not to follow us. They take the second SUV and head out.
“Am I going to have to babysit you everywhere you go?” Brian says when we get in the remaining car.
“Don’t start,” I say.
“I will fucking start. You wanted to kill everybody in that room, and I’m telling you, that’s not the way to survive in this world. He was just testing you. He’s heard rumors but he wanted to see how you handled yourself in person.”
I start up the car. “How do you know that?”
“I heard one of his guys talking when I went to the bathroom. They wanted to be sure the rumors weren’t just talk. You’re going to be fine if you can hold it together and keep cool. The reputation you’re building for yourself will walk into a room before you do… just like how it is with me. But you have to be committed and never waver in the face you show them.”
I want to argue because I’m so over this pseudo father figure nonsense.
“I thought you said this was going to take a few days. I cleared my schedule for you,” Brian says.
“Good because I’m taking out four people on the list that live out this way.”
“And you need help?” He doesn’t ask it in a judgmental way, more of a just to be clear kind of way.
“I want to handle the torture and kill myself. Don’t interfere. But I could use help planning some of the logistics on one of them, and disposal.”
He nods. “No problem. Mina isn’t expecting me back until the end of the week.”
I won’t be able to do my ritual after each kill. I’m going to have to somehow “batch it” when I get back home. The very idea of this is making me want to crawl out of my skin. Even just the thought of not doing this “right” is making me feel like I’m about to have a panic attack. I need Brian here to keep me steady and so I don’t fuck up and leave evidence behind. But I don’t tell him any of this.
If I’m being really honest, half the reason I was so on edge with Giovanni was thinking ahead to this whole situation. I didn’t want to have to go out of town four different times to do this my standard way. And I don’t know how I’m going to handle the ritual when I get home. Am I destroying my ritual right now? It’s the only thing keeping me together.
It has to be done a certain way. And it’s all unraveling.
I haven’t even figured out who I’m confessing to, and what I’ll say. Fuck, I should have saved Father Rossi for last, but the reception was such a convenient time and place. I was never going to get an opportunity like that again. If Brian knew I plan to keep going to confession after my kills even with Father Rossi gone, he’d rip me a whole new asshole. I can’t let him know. He can’t know how deep all these compulsions run. If he did, he’d think I was being more than just sloppy. He’d think I was suicidal.
“Where are we staying while we do this?” Brian asks, either not realizing my internal mental breakdown or choosing not to address it.
“The Four Seasons,” I say. “I got us adjoining rooms.”
He smiles. “I taught you well, kid.”
Twenty-Four
Maddie
It’s the third day of Aidan’s absence when a special delivery arrives for me at the house by courier. It’s a beautifully wrapped package with black wrapping paper that has soft black embossed velvet designs. There’s an elegant shimmery gold ribbon and bow to complete the look and a small sealed cream-colored envelope attached to the top. I sign for it and take it up to my room to open it in peace. Did Aidan send me something? It’s really the only explanation, unless someone sent me a wedding gift. My side of the wedding guest list focused on gifts off my registry while Aidan’s gave money.
Maybe someone couldn’t make it but wanted to get a gift to me anyway? I can’t think of who that would be. I take the gift up to my room and lock the door. No one at this house has tried to enter my private space without knocking, but still, it feels more secure.
I open the envelope.
* * *
