I check the time. “In a few hours.”
She nods and puts her head back down, but I can almost feel the pain radiating off of her.
“We can put it off, you know,” I suggest. “Get your revenge first and fill Scarlett in after. She and Kylie can know that you’re alive. You can still have them.”
Sitting up, she takes a deep breath and sighs. “No. I can’t. The mafia life is no place for either of them, but it’s exactly where I need to be. It’s better for them if they believe I’m dead.”
I want to argue her reasoning. To try to explain that we can find a way to keep them in the dark, but I don’t know if that’s true. And when she gets up and walks away, I know her decision is final.
“I was going to be a grandmother?” Scarlett cries. “But she was so young.”
“It wasn’t intentional, I promise. But we were excited all the same.”
She looks down at her lap and smiles. “God, I miss her.”
I give her a minute to compose herself while I pull another folder out of my briefcase. When she’s ready, I slide it over to her and keep my hand on top, knowing the contents aren’t something you can dive into without caution.
“I need you to brace yourself. The information I’m going to share with you will be shocking and it will hurt, but someone once showed me that the best decisions are made when you’re faced with all the facts.”
She nods and after taking a deep breath, she opens the folder.
We sit for hours in the little Italian restaurant, and I comfort her the same way Raff would as she learns about everything.
Her husband’s involvement in her father’s death.
Evidence of the role he played in Saxon’s death.
Her father’s involvement in the Familia.
Her husband’s affair.
Each thing is no easier to hear than the last, but I can see where Saxon gets her strength from. She holds it all together, and when she walks out with her head held high, I can see why Saxon misses her so much. Maybe if my mother had that fire, she would still be alive.
My grandfather once told me revenge is worth nothing, and that the best way to get back at those who have wronged me is to kill them with kindness. But while I love him dearly, he’s the same man who told me to keep my hands to myself, and that’s not nearly as much fun.
A nostalgic feeling creeps up the back of my neck as I walk through my family’s new house. It’s a cute place, way larger than they need, on the outskirts of the city. Even though I never lived here, it holds my mother’s warmth. It’s one of the things I missed the most.
Pictures of me hang on the walls, something that would have haunted my father if he had a conscience. On a table off to the side in the living room is a picture of my mom and me. It was when we went on vacation to the Bahamas. I’m sixteen, with sun-kissed skin, smiling happily. Next to it is a vase of flowers. They look fresh, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Mom keeps up on switching them out—keeping my memory alive.
As I walk up the stairs, the butterflies on the door give away which room is Kylie’s. The walls are painted pink with gymnast silhouette decals and her medals on display. Everything in here smells like her, and there’s a pang in my chest at the thought that I’ll never see her again. But it’s for the best.
Heading back down the stairs, I go into the kitchen to grab the sharpest knife I can find. One thing our chef has always been big on is knives. I just never thought it would be of such use to me until now.
Once I have what I need, I make my way toward my father’s office. It’s located directly to the left of the front door, right past the stairs, with big glass panel doors. Everything about it looks identical to the one he had in the penthouse, the only difference being the location of the safe.
Pictures of all his accomplishments hang on the wall, as if he’s become something to be proud of. What a joke. I wonder what all these people would think about him if they knew the truth. If they knew that he tried to give his daughter to the leader of the Russian mafia in exchange for power, and when that didn’t work, he tried to have her killed.
But they’ll know plenty about him after today.
I sit down at the computer and use everything Beni taught me to hack into the security cameras. I remove what was captured of me entering and walking around the house and loop it over, making it look like the house has remained empty. With my help, Beni hacks in from a hotel a few blocks away so he can take care of the rest.
The only thing left to do now is wait.
ONE THING ABOUT MY father is that he’s always had a passion for the fastest and most luxurious cars. He thinks that the things you own are what make you as a person, and if you’re not arriving in style, you’re bound to fail. So it’s no surprise that I can hear him drive all the way down the street and pull into the driveway.
He whistles as he walks up the front steps, unlocking the front door and coming inside. But when he steps in his office and sees me sitting in his chair, his face pales. I cross one leg over the other and smirk.
“What’s wrong, daddy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
His mouth opens and closes repeatedly before he can form a single word. “Impossible.”
“Why’s that?” I tease. “Because you had me killed?”
“We buried you,” he says.
I smile as I inspect my nails. The black manicure Viola did earlier couldn’t have come out better. “Yeah. Funny thing about closed caskets though. You never really know what’s in them, or who is in them, for that matter.”
He takes a step back, scrambling to pull his phone out of his pocket, but he doesn’t get far with it. I pull out a gun with a silencer and fire it once, shattering the screen and effectively rendering it useless. His eyes widen as he stares back at me.
“You don’t want to do that,” I tell him, scrunching my nose.
“What the hell happened to you?” he sneers. “This isn’t the daughter I raised.”
I chuckle as I stand up. “You’re right. I’m definitely not her, because you succeeded in killing me. The old Saxon is dead. Like dead dead. But that’s okay. Really. I should thank you, because this new one? She’s much more fun.”
“Don’t act like I’m the only traitor in this room. You willingly went back to him. I couldn’t let my grandchild be born a Malvagio.”
Hearing him refer to my baby, the one he ripped from my womb before he even had a chance to live, strikes a nerve. The darkness settles in as I want nothing more than to slit his throat, but I’ll settle for a stab to the stomach.
My plan depends on it.
I reach behind my back and grab the knife I took from the kitchen. Before he even realizes what’s happening, I shove it into him, right beneath his rib cage. The blade slides through him with ease, and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of that feeling.
“Saxon,” he croaks as I pull it out.
His blood covers the knife, turning it a metallic shade of red. “What’s wrong? You think you’re the only one capable of killing your family?”
Holding his stomach, he falls to the floor, while I stand above him and watch. His hands are covered in blood as it oozes from the wound and he sprawls on his back. It wasn’t a fatal wound, not immediately anyway, but it still hurts like a bitch.