My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 12 "Confrontation" (6 page)

“Well, you’re wrong; I’ve never met
the man.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me if
you had.”

“Why are you questioning me? Everyone
in this household knows I’m FBI.”

“You move and look like a Black Viper,
and you fight like one too. My bet is you’re a double agent.”

I screwed up my face. “What a load
of shit.”

“Only from your mouth. So enjoy
your freedom, Viper, because tomorrow I’ll be letting my boss know what you are.”

“Whatever, I don’t care.”
I stalked
towards the passage, the man’s words pure imagination. I knew of the Vipers.
The women had worked for the Black Russian as assassins and spies, until they
had a falling out with him. I might have fitted their profile with my fighting
skills and looks, but that was as far as it went. Plus, I’d never met the Black
Russian, and right now, I didn’t want to. As far as I was concerned, the FBI
could get another idiot to go after the man, because I was no longer interested
in completing my task, or even being an agent. All I cared about was killing Christo,
saving my brother and Thierry, as well as capturing the sick priest and Matteo.
Once that was completed, I wanted to climb back into bed with Frano and fuck
his brains out for the rest of our lives.

I entered the gym, heading straight
for the wardrobe. I searched its interior for the hidden trapdoor, finding a
metal button a minute later, which I pressed. The floor opened downward, revealing
a space large enough for a grown man to climb through. I eased myself through
it, descending a ladder to a dark cellar. I pulled out the penlight I’d stolen
from Frano and clicked it on, realizing the slave cells were on the other side
of the wall.

I started searching the room for another
way out. There were several single beds, a couple of cabinets, even a fridge
... and another wardrobe. I opened it, this time running my hand over the back
wall, since it faced the yard. My fingers brushed a metal circle similar to the
one in the other wardrobe. I pressed it, causing the wall to open outwards. I
stepped through the opening, entering a passage comprised of bushes, the night
sky now the ceiling. I raced through it, stopping at its edge to check for
Landi soldiers. An empty vineyard stretched out before me, the sweet smell of
grapes filling my nose. Up above, the half moon threw a faint glow over the dark
landscape, while a soft breeze brushed my face.

Not seeing any soldiers, I took
off, running through the vineyard, vaguely remembering doing it once before.
The memory grew stronger with every step, making me stop in my tracks. I
glanced back at the house, the two story villa grand. My eyes locked on the
backyard. An image of a young Jagger popped into my head. He’d been playing
with a soccer ball while waiting for me to arrive for his seventeenth birthday.
He’d been so skinny back then, not the slim, muscular man he was now. Still,
that same pervasive sadness had surrounded him, something I’d chosen to ignore.
I knew I’d let him down, like everyone else in his life. No one had truly cared
enough to have noticed the signs of his abuse, because it had all been there:
his sullen outlook on life, the way his beautiful eyes misted over constantly,
his need to be away from home, his fear of large men ... and more. And now I
was finally going to do something about it—I owed him that much.

A shadow rounded the building,
probably a Landi soldier. I ducked down and started running again, not stopping
until I was on the other side of the vineyard, too far away for him to see me.
Following Camila’s instructions, I headed east, hoping to reach my destination
in under an hour. I was good with directions and could find my way out of
anywhere, the skill having been hammered into me during my FBI training.

The thought of the FBI—in
particular my boss, made me grimace. I was still angry with Dan for not being upfront
about Honey ...
and
everything else.
He’d been like a father to
me, someone I thought I could trust wholeheartedly. It was ironic that I now
trusted a mob boss more than him. I wondered how much of a role he played in
suppressing my memories. Did he okay the drugs they’d used on me? Or did the
order come from a higher authority? And why the hell would they want to
suppress my memories in the first place? None of it made sense, especially
since I’d only come from a low level mafia family, one with no real power. Why
was I so important that they had to fuck with my head? And even if I did know
the ins and outs of the mafia world, which I hadn’t back then, they’d wiped my
memory. Again, it didn’t make sense. None of it did. Or maybe they’d molded me into
a vengeful killing machine, then unleashed me upon Frano, hoping I’d destroy
him. The thought enraged me, because I almost had. The memory of smashing
Frano’s head against the cell floor made me shiver with fear. I could’ve killed
him. I grimaced, mentally adding more names to my revenge list. After I threw
out the Donatelli trash, I was setting my sights on the FBI.

I emerged onto another field,
seeing the forest surrounding the lake. I jogged around it, the cold air
pleasant, the run not too taxing. I loved to run, and had missed it while being
locked up in the D’Angelo house. The memory of the past few weeks came to mind,
and of everything I’d been through. Even though it had been horrifying at times,
I would’ve lived through it all again if it meant I could keep Frano.

I continued following Camila’s
instructions, wishing I could turn around and go back to Frano. I hated leaving
him alone with that trumped-up bitch. He was quite capable of putting Camila in
her place, but just the thought of that sleazy woman touching and flirting with
him made me want to go postal—notably on her. But then again, Camila seemed to be
more interested in Jagger now, which was a strange change of course for the
power hungry witch. It made me wonder why she’d suddenly given up on Frano.
Maybe it was because she knew he wasn’t into her, or maybe she was genuinely attracted
to Jagger. It wasn’t exactly surprising, considering how beautiful Jagger was.
Still, I would always choose Frano.

Always.

After another twenty minutes of
running, I finally reached the town Camila had described. I stopped in front of
a tall stone church, the structure looking vaguely familiar. I smiled,
realizing why. I’d had my first communion there. The smile dropped from my
face. The thought that I had forgotten this, along with everyone I’d cared for,
made me feel as though I’d betrayed them—and myself. I’d been living a lie for
the past seven years, one fabricated by whatever power that was manipulating
me, whether it was the FBI or some other organization. I just wished all my
memories would return, so I could get on with the life I was meant to live.

I glanced at the clock tower,
realizing I’d run the distance quicker than what Camila had estimated. Good,
I’d use that to my advantage. I kicked into gear again, heading past the church.
I veered left down a dark street lined with tall trees. Their branches were
laden with fruit, the sweet smell permeating the cool night air.

A dog barked in the distance,
breaking the eerie silence. At a set of lights, I turned right, slowing down as
I spotted Marco’s Mall. It was a five-storied monstrosity, its large neon sign
brighter than the moon above. I slowed down even more as I cut through a street,
coming to a complete halt at the end of the mall. I poked my head around the
corner, finding an empty parking lot, the Donatelli not having arrived yet.

I pulled out the Scotch tape from
my pocket and taped one of the blades to the inside of my pants. I threw the
rest away, only needed one to slit Christo’s throat. I then removed the knife
Camila had given me, knowing it would do me no good. Instead, I would hand it
over to the Donatelli, telling the men what Camila had said, hoping it would
roll back on the bitch. Camila might have surprised me with her help, but I
wasn’t delusional: She still wanted me dead, and the feeling was definitely mutual.

The sound of a car made my eyes
shoot to the far side of the parking lot. A vehicle emerged out of the darkness,
heading my way. Willing myself to move forward, I stepped away from the safety
of the building and slowly walked towards the oncoming vehicle with my hands
held high. The car came to a halt several meters away, the doors opening a
second later. As soon as the men stepped out of the car all hell broke loose,
the sound of gunfire going off. I flung myself to the ground and covered my
head, wondering whether the Landi soldiers had followed me. At the back of my
mind, I knew that didn’t feel right. This whole situation had the bad smell of a
setup. The gun firing maniacs had probably been waiting for us, ready to ambush
me and the Donatelli.

After a minute, the firing finally
stopped. I looked up, seeing dark figures running across the parking lot
towards the Donatelli vehicle. A man crawled out of the vehicle, looking like
the only surviving mobster. He fell to the ground, clutching his right arm as
the dark figures surrounded him. Keeping quiet, I watched, wondering whether
they’d seen me or not, because no one was looking my way. An American voice
barked at the mobster to get up. A second later recognition hit me, the dark
figures identity now revealed.

They were FBI.

Remaining on the ground, I called
out, “Julio,” not wanting to attract friendly fire.

The dark figures turned my way.

“Rita?” Julio answered.

I rose slowly to my feet. “Yes.”

He strode towards me, the man tall
and muscular. I had done my FBI training with him, the both of us the cream of
the crop. He was part African American, along with Mexican and Puerto Rican. He
was one handsome motherfucker—and he knew it, too. He wielded his good looks
like a superpower, making women fall at his feet. I just wasn’t one of those
women. He was more like a brother to me. I just hoped he hadn’t betrayed my
trust like Dan had.

Julio held his arms out wide as
though he was greeting a long lost relative. I went into his arms, feeling conflicted
about seeing him. Although I liked him, I was worried he’d ruin my plans, considering
they were probably in direct conflict with his orders. Though, if anyone would
break the rules for me, it would be Julio, since he wasn’t exactly clean. In
fact, he was downright dirty, but only in the sense it got the results
required.

I unwrapped myself from him.

He grabbed my face, staring at me
in wonder. “I didn’t think I would ever see your smart-ass face again, beeyatch.”

I smiled. “Ever the charmer.”

“That’s what happens when you go
off the grid.” He let go of my face and grabbed me again, giving me another
hug. “Girl, you scared the shit outta me.”

I gave him another squeeze. “That’s
my job.”

He let go of me, then punched me in
the arm, making me yelp.

“What was that for?!” I said,
rubbing my arm.

He grinned. “I told you if you
didn’t make it back for my birthday, I’d give you a dead arm.”

“Guess I deserved that, old man.”

“Ha! Thirty isn’t old, and you’ll be
the same age soon.”

I shook my head. “Nope, I just
found out I’m fucking twenty-four.”

He frowned. “What?”

I smiled, relieved at his surprise.
“Guess you’re not involved in my mindfuck.”

“What are you talking about?” he
said, looking confused.

“Dan set me up to come here. His
bosses thought I was a mafia informant. Apparently, the bastards have been messing
with my memories since I left this island seven years ago. I was born here, and
get this: I’m Frano D’Angelo’s lover.”

His eyes widened. “You’re fucking
with me.”

“Nope, and just to let you know, I’m
not
the informant. It was my double-crossing, lowlife of a husband, aka,
Matteo the Asshole Donatelli.”

The surprise dropped from his face.
“I heard about that bastard. I fucking cried at his funeral, and I never
fucking cry. The next time I go to his funeral, I’m going to fucking laugh.”

“You have such a lovely way of
saying things,” I smiled, Julio’s language always peppered with expletives.

“I sure as hell do, though I don’t think
it’s our lot playing with your mind. I’d say it’s the mafia doing a number on
you.” He placed a hand on my arm, looking concerned. “What did they do to you?”

“Nothing much,” I lied, not wanting
to get off topic. “And it was definitely the FBI. After Federico died, I
started getting my memories back. They must’ve been spiking my food.”

“And aliens have been anally
probing me for years.” He shook his head. “C’mon, do you really believe that
horseshit?”

“Then why did I suddenly start
getting my memories back after Federico died?”

“What memories?”

“Ones that have been confirmed by
Frano and Jagger D’Angelo.”

“They’re playing with you, Rita.”

I shook my head. “I know they’re
real. I also remember other things. I was from a low level mafia family called
the Salvi.”

He exhaled loudly. “Guess they let
anyone into the FBI now.”

I smacked his arm. “This isn’t
funny.”

He grinned. “I always thought you
weren’t good enough to be let in.”