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I know the moment I take a step forward that people’s estimation of me has lowered, but what else am I to do? I am here to serve a role now. I am no longer here to be protected or worshipped. I am here, solely, to serve a purpose and do it well and that hasn’t been really broached until this moment. With each step, the hard, broken girl who came home comes back to life, building impenetrable walls around her and making sure that she is no longer deserving of a savior.

I decide to brutalize any hope that could've had a hope in hell – I take that blade in my hand and I roll it around in my palm. It's a dead weight, and as I look, the light glistens from the blade, telling me to do its job. I look at Tony, see that familiar look of expectant fear, and I take a step forward.

I know that this will solidify my place in the family a little more, it will destroy the faith people have in me, and it will change people’s opinion of me. As much as it breaks me to think, if I do this, then Zane will hopefully be so repulsed by my actions that he won’t ever want me back in his bed. I just have to make sure the execution is done correctly.

Approaching Tony, I feel the weight of all eyes on me, but I mold myself into a sensual beast – the one that appeased my uncle’s killer instincts and won me a horde of fans within the Dio Lavoro’s Italian base. I put my index finger to his chin and motion enough for him to stand. Once at full height, he looks down at me, and I can see that he's wondering if this is his retribution.

"You've been a silly man, Tony," I say lightly as my hand grazes along his face, cupping the back of his jaw, my fingers nestling into his hair. “Did you really think you’d get away with it all?” I ask, my words stilted with gruffness and a harsh manner. “Did you think I’d allow a man like you to be a master manipulator and make me that easy you’d have an opportunity?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers, deprecatingly becoming a hollow man.

“Well, you must have,” I state sardonically, my eyes still caught on him, my body pressing closer to him. “You obviously thought you’d get this close to me.  You clearly thought that you’d feel my body against yours, my breath against your skin, and my will all yours. You were a silly man to think I’d ever let you near me.”

“I know,” Tony agrees solemnly. “You don’t have to do this, though.”

“I don’t?” I query, my hand grazing down his face. "So, do you think you deserve the punishment my father’s said or do you think you deserve a second chance?"

"There are no second chances in the Dio Lavoro, Amelia. W-We're all meant to know that."

"So, you don't want a second chance?" I ask, my hand caressing the side of his face, keeping myself calm and soft toward him. "Because we all want that one second chance. We all want that chance to get total forgiveness," I speak, keeping his attention on me. "I'm just sorry you had to be mine."

My words fall with a sickly sweet malice, and as I end the sentence, I ram the knife into Tony's abdomen, feeling the blood pulsate warmly onto my hand. Slowly, I withdraw the blade only to move my hand down his head to rest on his shoulder. When my hand stills, I pull him onto my blade before pushing him away only to pierce the blade into a third part of his stomach. On the fourth stab, Tony starts to gurgle, and I know I’ve severely damaged him internally. I hope with the fifth it will finish him off, so I angle it up slightly, and as I pull the knife away, I allow him to drop to the floor. There’s a moment of silence before clapping comes from behind me and I can feel myself starting to shake under the intensity of what I just did.

“Someone clean that up,” I ground out, sickened by the feel of blood on my hands once again. I ignore everything around me, it’s as if it’s phasing out as I begin to truly realize what I’ve just done – it’s not about the kill, but about who saw it.

I begin to leave, giving Giovanni his knife back, and flee the room entirely. I take the slow walk to my room staring at my hands. No one followed, no one even moved when I was done with Tony. I stabbed that man until the life left the eyes that were staring at me. My brutality had now been presented to them, and all I received was a round of applause from my father and Giovanni and total silence from those who love me most.

My shakes become violent the closer I make it to my room and by the time I’m closing the door and using bloodied hands to lock it, I’m slowly feeling pieces waiting to fall away. I go into the bathroom, approach the sink, and put the water on as hot as it will go, and leaving blood on the taps. As steam starts to billow out, I place hands under the heated water and watch the blood begin to bleed itself away from the lines in my hands. I hold them under the stream of water, rubbing them together to rid the disgusting color from them both and don’t care how the new redness is from the burning water.

I don’t remain standing for long. I find myself slipping away from the sink until I’m lying curled up on the floor, water still thundering from the taps, me completely motionless against the cold tiles. It’s here that I start to evaluate how life has possessed more horrors in a few months than I have witnessed in all my years, and I find that I’m at a loss to label myself. Am I still Manhattan’s Femme Fatale? Am I a monster? Am I a bloodthirsty beast cast straight up from hell? Or am I just a demented product of my upbringing? I don’t even know and as I curl up even more in the corner of my bathroom, I just cry as the final question courses upon me: What have I really become?

All I know I’m good for is heartbreak and blood red hands.

Just as destiny had written it.

“This is fucking great,” I mutter as I put an elbow against the car door and lean my head into the palm of my hand. “I get stuck in traffic with you and all because my father wants some precious Cuban cigars.”

“You think this is fun for me?” Zane asks, sarcasm weaving its way through his tone. “I’m stuck in a car with a woman I’ve killed every possible chance with and she’s been nothing but cold fury for days.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry, but you did get warned I wasn’t the girl you fell in love with months ago!” I tell him, unable to keep my tone from raising a few octaves. “You even saw the change in me days ago.” I stop myself and sit back, shaking my head as I find myself laughing. “I can’t believe it’s only been days.”

“If you want to be pedantic about it, it’s been a week,” Zane states, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel. It doesn’t even matter that we’ve been in gridlocked traffic for almost thirty-five minutes; he’s still ready to cruise away and get this job done. He looks at me from the corner of eyes and smirks. “Sorry, did that just piss you off a little more, sweetheart?”

“All of this is pissing me off,” I grunt, now folding my arms across my chest like some petulantly sulky child. I find it hard enough to look at Zane across the table at breakfast as it is, but to now be confined to a small vehicle doesn’t make for a sanity saver. It’s made even harder by the navy suit he’s wearing with the crisp white shirt, casually buttoned up bar the top two buttons. It does nothing to empower my resistance to him, so I keep having to remind myself this is a job. “My father wants nothing to happen between us yet sends us on this stupid little task together.”

“You pretty much stonewalled that anyway, so why worry?” he asks promptly. He shrugs and finally releases the steering wheel to look at me. “You and I both know how this was meant to end, but we pretty much fucked that up because we did what we used to always do – we skipped out on proper communication.” His words are dryly executed and his face is hard as to not show much emotion. “Remember our first fight was over something like that. You were playing wing woman to Brett from down at the station but didn’t think to tell me first. Instead, you went straight in for the kill there, got him to save you from me, who was apparently the sleazebag hitting on you. Sure, you got him a girl, but I also got hugely embarrassed and we ended up fighting. Much like the other night!”

I feel my face soften a little, but I know there is no going back. “I could apologize until I’m blue in the face for that, but what good will that do? You and I are just too headstrong and we think too passionately and look where it ends, Zane. It always ends in tears and words we can’t take back. Why forgive when we’re always on a vicious circle.”

“Maybe that’s our thing,” he tries to compensate for our actions, finding our niche in discovering a relationship with one another. “But maybe if we made it more of a partnership against your father, we’d find a lot more common ground.”

Never going to work like that, buster
! I think wryly.

“Let me ask you a few things in a pretty frank way,” I begin, twisting in my seat. I see he’s now looking at me, intrigued as to what’s about to be asked of him. "So, let me get the first bit right, you'll throw away all moral obligation and become twisted and corrupt for me?" I know we’ve been over this before, but it’s something that needs to be addressed once more.

"Yes." His response is blunt and monosyllabic.

"And you'll throw away being a free man for me?" I ask, intrigued if this is something he really wants.

"Yes." Again, the same response is given in an exact way.

“Okay,” I breathe and shuffle a little in my seat, feeling myself becoming uncomfortable with what I’m about to query. “What won't you throw away?"

"You." Again, the monosyllabic response is offered, and I become breathless.

Recovering quickly, I ask one final thing. “Do you really want to make a life with me?” As he goes to reply, I put my hand up to stop him dead in his tracks before he can commit to the affirmative answer I know he’s about to say. I can see from the spark in his eyes that his answer is anything but negative. “Because you’ll make a life with someone who comes with so much excess baggage and demons that even she can’t cope most nights. You’ll be stuck with someone who fears having a family just because of the genetics she has. You’ll be stuck with a self-righteous, loud mouth, swearing Italian who acts all too passionately and
impulsively
when it’s for people she cares about. Are you sure you want to be stuck with me for life?”

“Yes,” he offers the assenting answer in the same manner as the others.

“Then you’re the fucking idiot and I’m the doomed one for loving you.” I kill the moment, slaying with my jest comment. I see his face fucking illuminate with a bright smile and I huff out loud. “It’s no lie, Zane, I might have called it quits this time, but I can’t stop what I feel. I am only human. You’ll just forever be the idiot who chased what will never be his.”

“Who said you’ll never be mine?” he asks, tossing his own question at me.

“I did,” I respond calmly.

“And will you be able to deny what we actually have forever?” Zane asks, and I seriously hate myself for starting a session of Q&A between us. My silence to his question apparently ruffles him a little. “Under all of our stupid moves and idiot comments, we do just love one another, Amelia. We fight, sure we do, but I would only ever want to fight with you like we do. I only ever want a wake-up call when it’s you delivering it.”

“But that’s the thing!” I unleash a frenzy suddenly. My own temper getting the better of me as it always does. “We shouldn’t have to deliver wake-up calls when one of us in the wrong! We should just be able to know. We should be able to just get on with one another without all the pain we cause. What is the point in doing this if we end up hurting one another?”

“Because it further affirms that we love one another,” he tries, unrelentingly. “If you knew otherwise, you wouldn’t still love me. You wouldn’t feel a damn thing after our last argument. Amelia, if you didn’t feel an ounce of anything for me, you wouldn’t still be fighting with me.”

“But I don’t want to be the couple who fights all the time!” I tell him, trying to resist the growl that’s growing in my chest. “I don’t even know why we fight half the time!”

“I fight with you because you infuriate me!” Zane yells, his short temper flaring once more. “And I infuriate you, too, but that’s what I fucking love most about us! You keep me on my toes; you keep me from being a complete asshole all the time. I want someone I can argue with and then make up with two minutes after.”

“Two days isn’t two minutes this time around,” I remark, and I’m more than happy when the traffic begins to suddenly move. “Now, drive.”

Zane doesn’t make a comment in response; he just puts the car into drive and moves onward. He follows the steady stream of traffic until our turn comes up, and he turns left into it. We head toward the outer skirts of Manhattan, and as it becomes more rural, I decide it’s time to conceal a weapon on me. After the incident at Carmello’s, I do not want to feel vulnerable.

As soon as I pull the small revolver from my bag, Zane bristles.

“Whoa!” Zane exclaims in horror, taking his eyes away from the road ahead to look at me. “What the hell are you doing with that, Amelia?”

“Oh, shut up and keep your eyes on the road,” I tell him as I release the barrel to check it’s fully loaded. “It’s a gun, Zane. You’ve shot one many times in your life.”

“No shit, but I thought Sal took you off gun duty. How did you get one?”

I laugh, smacking the barrel back into the slot. “I got my license by showing my boobs to the instructor in Italy.” I shrug and sit forward, pushing the loaded gun into the back of my waistband. I sit back, making sure it doesn’t press uncomfortably into my back. “This is my mother’s; I made sure he didn’t take it from me after what happened. I just wanted to feel a little more protected.”

“What, so me pummeling a guy’s face in with a hammer wasn’t protection enough?” Zane asks, his voice heightening with cynicism.

“What if there are no hammers around?” I ask, deliberately playing sweet to annoy him. “If there’s one thing I know, Zane, it’s to expect the unexpected and if all I have to do to feel prepared is shove a gun into my waistband, so be it!”

“If anyone so much as even gives you a dirty look, they will have me to answer to,” Zane cautions me, finally keeping his eyes forward.

“Okay, caveman, back down. It’s just a pickup of cigars, but I’ll remember that if anyone gets a little touchy feely.” I calm him and watch the road for a moment. “I don’t know about anything, but I’ll be more than happy to get out of this car.”

“You don’t like being cluttered in a small space with me?” Zane asks me deprecatingly, his lips twisted into a sideways grin. “I could take you in the back of this car and you wouldn’t complain because I know how you like it. The closer the better.”

I put my hands over my face, feeling a readiness to scream into my open palms. I resist the urge and drop them into my lap. “Get your head out of the gutter and into the game.” I say this more because I could easily agree with Zane and betray myself, but this life is safer when you’re lonelier than when you tie yourself to someone who can easily get taken. Mine might irritate me to high heavens, but it doesn’t mean the pain of losing him physically is any less. “We aren’t going to have a quick fuck in the back of the car. This is business, which we are already behind on, and we have to be back at the house in an hour.”

“I know,” he mutters as if he’s a child being reprimanded. “Don’t blame me for trying to crack at least a small smile on your face.”

Smiling – sometimes it’s a physical expression I forget about. I barely had anything worth smiling about in Italy and then when I came back I thought the trend would continue, but Zane bolted into my life and consumed me and I allowed him. Now, I feel like I’m right back on my ass in Italy, doing what I must.

“You don’t get to smile often when you are what I am,” I speak and clear my throat as a lump begins to form. “You might well learn that soon.”

“What you are?” Zane scoffs, shaking his head.

“As if you forgot my sadistic display of poor, little Tony.” I finally look over at him and his knuckles are going bright white as he grips the steering wheel again. His face is staring forward while his jaw clenches and releases, telling me that he’s trying not to remember, but I think he needs a reminder of what he’s really in for. “Real mafia are stone-cold killers,” I begin to say, twisting back to face him in my seat. “That’s how I was brought up to believe in us, anyway.” I pause a little, waiting for any form of response from Zane. When I get none, I continue. “I thought I was part of the revolution, but I’m not. I’m trapped in the same life my father was born and bred in. My brothers, they’re different. All of them, but Gio, have the chance to revolutionize the face of the Dio Lavoro.”

“And you think you don’t?” Zane asks; his voice is now dripping with sincerity.

I laugh, looking down a little while an abundance of shame lays itself upon my shoulders. “No,” I state bluntly. “I’m too far gone for any of that now.”

“How so?” he asks, giving me a quick look before looking back at the road ahead.

“We’re Italian-American mafia. It’s like the best of both worlds or so I’m told,” I muse, really mulling over that statement. I guess we are, we do indulge in both American and Italian life and enjoy both – for the most part anyway. “We get to cherish the old country and the new one together. We get to see both and bask it in, all ready to inherit it.”

“It sounds pretty fucking idealistic,” Zane considers, reflecting on the basic ideology of my statement.

“That’s because you’re a moron,” I insult him and sit back in my seat. “I seriously don’t know how you managed to get into this position, but you’re still oblivious to it all! You really do hear what you want, don’t you?”

“I heard the part where you were going on about the killers,” he says, waving me off. “But I also heard that part with you wanting to be part of the revolution, Amelia. Could you imagine what you could do between yourself, Enzo, Carlo, and Manuel? You could make Abbiati a name to be admired, not one that drives fear. You could make the best of two worlds, something amazing for your futures.”

“Enzo could make this all a haven for us, but with my father still around, it’s impossible.” I say my statement with conviction. I can’t be sad over the truth because with my father still very much alive and kicking, there’s no glimmer of hope. “And I’m sure that if my father went first, my uncle would come over here to take over. There’s no great escape for an Abbiati.”

“You’ll have yours one day,” Zane observes, giving a slight smile. “I’m still ridiculously positive I’m the one you’re going to be calling daddy for life.”

I laugh, hitting out at him playfully. Even though there were explosive moments between us two days ago, and I killed someone to force Zane to not want me, it seems that in doing so has just made him understand more. He hasn’t used me killing Tony against me. If anything, he’s glazed over it. I’m unsure if that’s a good or bad thing and cannot fathom why he hasn’t asked about it, but I can’t dwell. However, I feel like being stuck in traffic with one another was possibly one of the best things that could have happened for us.