Page 94

Ace

Sitting at the round oak table as the members of The Order all gather around, I twist my ring as I think of how I left things with Amora. It's been a week, and I haven't seen her since. Not that I didn't want to. Fuck, I can't think of anything I've wanted more, but Vincent had taken her without a word to anyone else. Every time I think of the last time I saw her, the more I piss myself off because I didn't make the most of my time with her. We'd stood in silence for what felt like forever. She never answered after I'd told her why I came. I don't blame her; I turned up covered in blood, giving her fucking techniques I've been using for the last four years, and then told her I needed to see her because of the way she looked at me. She probably thought I was insane. Fuck, sometimes I think that, too. Then I fucked up further, saying shit I didn't even mean, and she practically threw me out the door before giving me a chance to truly apologise.

Jarrod slumps into the seat beside me, his eyes rimmed red and bloodshot.

"You look like shit," I lean in and whisper.

"I feel it. Vincent had me up all night, searching for names. Told me he'd break my fingers if I didn't find them by morning."

I grip the handle of my seat. I'll fucking break his jaw if he ever tries. It wouldn't be the first time I've broken a part of his face. When we were growing up he was the most arrogant piece of shit, and he's only got worse. It's crazy how he can have such an ego when he did nothing to gain it. He hides behind his father's name, just like he'd hide behind his fucking legs whenever I'd lunge at him.

He's always been a pussy. Nothing's changed.

"Simmer down, Rocky. I found it, don't worry." He wiggles his fingers in my face. "All ten still intact."

"It's not a joke, Jar," I say dryly. After my visit with Amora and now his threats to Jarrod, I don't know how I'll make it through this meeting without slicing Vincent open and creating him a perfect noose with his intestines. Fuck, I need to smoke.

"Why do you think they called an emergency meeting?" I ask, trying to distract myself from the itching sensation in my hands that always fucking happens whenever I want to wrap them around someone's throat. My eyes shift to Vincent who's sat at the other end, totally unbothered.

"I think we're about to find out."

One of the older members stands, his face covered by a porcelain mask. "The De Lucas are making moves, Vincent. I've heard it from sources; you disrespected years of earned trust your father had built, destroying an alliance, and because of what? A whore you plucked from the street?"

Everyone's eyes turn to Vincent, who hasn't said a word yet. His hand covers his mouth, leg crossed over the other. He stares at the man, eyes piercing. I spot the wound on his cheeks, fresh scratch marks, and I know it's from Amora. At least she is still fighting.

The room stays silent, waiting for Vincent to speak. Jarrod nervously bounces his leg beside me. I wish I could offer him more comfort, but after all these years, I'm running out of things to say that will help.

"You really dragged us all here for an urgent meeting to discuss the likes of Giovanni DeLuca?" He finally slices through the silence.

"He plans to make a move, Vincent. I don't think you understand—" Vincent cuts him off immediately, holding a hand up to silence him.

"I don't think you understand. I do not fucking care what Giovanni De Luca does." He stands, fixing the cuffs of his suit jacket. "Once, he may have been a tyrant that ran the streets. A name to be feared, but not anymore. His interests stay with children, breeding. He hasn't grown with time; he's still stuck in the early 2000s. He doesn't have the men, the security—" he laughs, "—the guts, to do anything. Your concern is misplaced, your fear unearned. I'm not concerned."

"Your confidence is bordering on arrogance, Vincent. Your father would never have allowed this to happen…" He trails off, eyes placed on Vincent who's walking around the table.

His hand lunges out, grabbing the man by the back of the head as he forces him down hard. His head bounces off the table, once. Twice. And with a crack, his mask is splintered.

"When I want your opinion on my fucking confidence, I'll ask for it. Until then, shut your fucking useless mouth and let me finish what I have to say," he snarls into his ear. The man's hand flies to his face, tiny speckles of blood trickling down his cheek as he jumps back into his seat without another word.

Vincent returns back to his seat, steps a little slower this time as he enjoys all eyes on him. He's always been an arrogant prick. I doubt that'll ever change, but it's so undeserved. Everything he has, came from his father. He didn't earn it, either. He inherited it.

"Does anyone else have anything to say before I continue?" he asks, checking his watch and sliding back into his seat.

"Another issue, sir." A younger member stands now, his mask painted a midnight blue with gold trim, his voice a little softer than the other. All eyes dart to him, every single person thinking the same thing.

This dumb cunt has a death wish.

Vincent rolls his eyes. "Go on." He looks at his watch, his body itching with impatience which forces me to wonder what he's in such a hurry to rush back to—or worse, who. He begins flicking through a file whilst the younger guy begins to reel off missing shipments and a drug deal that had gone wrong. I completely tune out again, letting my mind wander to Amora.

I can't lie, I know I'm obsessing. I know it, but I can't stop it. I've tried. I've been trying since the first time I saw her to push her out, to refuse to believe that even the smallest part of me cared, but the more I see her, spend time with her—fuck. The more I find myself searching for reasons to climb the balconies and go to her again. I don't know how to explain it because I don't even know what it is myself. At first it was because she saw someone I didn't know existed, someone I didn't think could exist. But now, I'm starting to worry that maybe it's more. Maybe she's somehow crawled into a place I thought had died a long time ago.

It was more than that, too. For the first time in fourteen years, I didn't have the nightmare. My mother didn't come, and I didn't see the woman I'd just killed, or the child whose life I ruined. For once in these fucking miserable years, I was back in that warehouse and instead of walking her into captivity, I walked her straight out.

Vincent and the others continue to discuss things I couldn't give a fuck about, and before I can stop myself, words tumble from my lips that I instantly fucking regret.

"What about the girl?"

The sound of my own voice surprises me. Why the fuck am I asking this question? I bite my cheek, knowing I can't take it back.