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STOLEN BRIDE’S BABY: Carelli Family Mafia by Heather West (50)


Bella

 

The aftermath is oblivion.

 

I sit and wait, while my mind screams at me to leave. Go, it says. Go and leave Emilio and the others to their fate. Leave this old house with its old memories to its fate. Go with Jax, your love. The one person who hasn’t betrayed you. Who loves you – or did before at least.

 

I pat Muffin absently. She has lowered her head to the ground, slumped over. She knows. There’s no way we’re leaving here. This old house and its old memories are all I have left of my parents now. I can’t let the Renegade Devils destroy it.

 

And what of Paula? I can’t just leave her here to die, there would’ve been no time to alert her, to save her. Where is she now?

 

I try to stand up, but my body refuses to move.

 

And those girls, all those girls, the whole business. I need to fix it. I just need time. A few months. A few months to make the business legitimate, get it off the ground, then I can hand control over to someone else. Then, only then, can I be free.

 

I owe it to those girls, my family, myself.

 

I stand up and slide the armchair back in place. Sit back down on it. Wait for what will come. Whatever it is, I have a feeling that it won’t be good.

 

Emilio gets back sooner than I would’ve hoped. Maybe fear speeds time along, who knows. Then again, I would’ve hoped he’d never get back. He is a shout outside the house, racing from room to room, his footsteps a drum roll until he finally makes it down to the basement.

 

“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?” he yells.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Now he’s right in front of me, his voice a deadly hiss. “Two of our compounds were just blown to shit, and you’re sitting here, calm and quiet and have no idea how.”

 

I shake my head.

 

“No.”

 

He rips me off the armchair and throws me to the ground. He starts shoving the armchair over, slow-going with his one usable arm, speaking as he goes: “Well, it doesn’t matter really. Because those Renegade Devils are sure gonna be sorry they messed with us. Because now, Bella, you’re going to see what I’ve been trying to show you for weeks now. You’re going to see why we’ve got the Renegade Devils in the palm of our hand. How we’re going to crush them now that they were stupid enough to attack us.”

 

The door flap now revealed, Emilio crouches down and sticks his head through. I knew what he’d find, and yet the vehemence with which he swears still sends a chill down my spine. As did his scrambling in and storming around.

 

I consider trapping Emilio in there, but he’s out before I can make a decision, snarling in my face before I realize that I should have left as soon as he came home.

 

“What… happened?” His eyebrows are arched incredibly, and, his eyes flashing, he almost looks like Papa now. It’s in the mouth more than anything, the bared teeth, the curve of the lower lip, that’s too big for the top one. His eyes are full of tears, like he’ll cry or strike me or both.

 

Should I tell him or should I lie?

 

“Bella…” he growls out.

 

I open my lips, but no words come out. Emilio doesn’t understand. That this is it: my final decision – where my loyalty lies: my family or Jax.

 

“What… happened?” he repeats, and his hand trembles so that the light catches on the green of his ring, and suddenly I get it. What I’ve known all this time.

 

“I don’t know,” I say, and Emilio strikes me.

 

“You bitch,” he hisses out, grabbing me by the shirt and shoving me through the flap door.

 

“Emilio!” I cry, crawling out.

 

He draws his gun and presses it into my forehead. The second time today I’ve been in this position. I stare into his eyes. Tears are streaming down them now, no longer obscuring the rage there. The unmistakable, dangerous rage.

 

“Emilio,” I say, and he cocks his rifle.

 

“Don’t talk. Don’t say another stupid lying word. I know, okay? I know.”

 

He wipes away the tears with his gun hand, his bandaged arm trembling. “I know about Jax Forester, about how you’re trying to change everything, even went down to the Factory.”

 

For one stupid, crazy last chance of a second, I wonder if Emilio actually understands, and is only mad about the withholding, is only doing this to teach me a lesson, to teach me about trust.

 

But then Emilio laughs, and I know it’s all over.

 

“How dumb are you? You think that Jax Forester of all people is doing anything other than using you for the stupid bitch that you are, trying to mess with us from the inside? God, Bella, I knew you were sentimental, but I never took you for a full-on idiot.”

 

His mouth is an ugly sneer, his eyes flicking searchlights – searching, scanning, eager to see that he’s cracked me, hurt me as much as he intended to.

 

I blink back my own tears, refuse to move. Those tears will come out over my dead body. No way am I giving Emilio the satisfaction. That he’s getting to me. That he’s voicing my greatest fear, giving it wings, claws, fangs. That his words are sending my stomach swirling.

 

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Emilio continues. “That what I did to his sister, Jax Forester pulled on my own. Guess stupidity is more universal than I thought.”

 

There are no more tears in his eyes now. Only a sheen of indifference.

 

“You won’t get away with this,” I say, and he laughs again.

 

“How do you figure? I’ve got a gun to your forehead. I’ve got Gerrard, Anton, and Remy ready to take my side at any minute. Hell, I’ve even got Papa’s blessing in writing.”

 

A shiver runs down my spine. “Oh no…”

 

“Oh yes,” Emilio says, his one hand gripping the gun while the other burrows into his jacket pocket. “Actually, I’ve got it right here.”

 

His shaking hand unfurls the crumpled paper, while his shaking voice spouts off its contents gleefully: “I, Marco Antony Russo, do assert that my business be handed over to my son, Emilio Russo.” He turns it and mashes it in my face, so the swooping pyramid of Papa’s signature is unmistakable.

 

“No,” I say, twisting my face away, “That isn’t legitimate, and you know it. Getting your vile mother to force it out of him on his deathbed isn’t what anyone is going to consider lawful.”

 

Tucking the paper back in his pocket, Emilio nods as if he’s actually considering my words. But when he looks up at me, there’s a malicious gleam in his eye. “You’re right, of course. But really, who’s going to know?”

 

I gape at him as the inference at what he’s saying sinks in.

 

“All they’re going to see is this paper,” Emilio continues, his voice light, casual.

 

“What about me, Emilio?”

 

He doesn’t answer, his eyes locked on a spot over my head, the inevitable conclusion worsening with every passing second.

 

Then, his eyes meeting mine, he murmurs, half to himself, “Yes, what about you?”

 

A smile plays on his lips, and my blood runs cold, words surging forth: “Emilio, please, I won’t tell anyone – I swear. I’ll leave, leave Toronto, Ontario, Canada even. I’ll stay out of your way I promise. Please, Emilio.”

 

His gaze is still beyond me. When it flicks to mine, his smile forms fully, says, “Oh you’ll leave Canada alright.”

 

Now my whole body is trembling. “Emilio – please – don’t do this – please, I—”

 

“Have already shown that you can’t be trusted. You lied to me, Bella. You lied about fucking Jax Forester all this time. You lied about trying to change our family business right under me. And just now you lied about letting Jax Forester down here to rescue his sister.”

 

“Emilio, please...”

 

He pats my head. “Don’t worry, Bella. You will stay out of my way. You’ve been trying to learn more about the family business, the girls – well, now you’ll get to experience it all firsthand.”

 

Our eyes meet with horrible understanding, and I croak out, “No.”

 

Emilio pats my head again. “Yes, I’m sending you out with the next shipment of girls. You won’t be ruining my plans any longer.”

 

“Emilio...”

 

“Papa always said that sometimes what we have to do to succeed isn’t always pretty.”

 

“Emilio…”

 

“And now Mother can come back here, where she’s always belonged.”

 

“Emilio.” I gasp. “Look at me.”

 

And, finally, he does.

 

I let my gaze bore into him, convey all my repentance, my sadness, my terror. I fill that gaze with every one of our childhood memories: snow angels and snow cones, sand castles and paper fights and Monopoly games and pizza birthday parties and crying here, together, as Papa passed away.

 

But our shared gaze lasts only a moment, our understanding less than a second: he blinks and opens his eyes a new man. Not my brother, not Emilio. But a stranger, a tyrant doing what it takes, whatever it takes.

 

“There will be a guard waiting in that armchair,” Emilio says, gesturing over, “with orders to shoot you if you try to escape.”

 

I’m shaking my head, back and forth, not caring about the muzzle of death pressed into my forehead. “No… no…”

 

With the palm of his hand, Emilio shoves me back through the door into the room.

 

“Goodbye, Bella,” he says, and then the door is filled with the back of my favorite armchair.

 

The irony is a stab to the heart, but really, I’m as good as dead already.

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