Femme Fatale Page 16

  I wonder what the outcome of this will all really be – the fallen Abbiati princess, the Femme Fatale, Zane’s lover. The possibilities are endless, but this is something I have to do. It goes against my better judgment, but I never want to feel like I did when Enzo told us Zane was shot. I never want to feel a rush of hatred burn through me like I did when I found out this was orchestrated. I never want to be doubted again.

  I have three more deaths before my fourth and final one. By the time I have to kill Zane, he will be healed, and I will, hopefully, have a plan for him to disappear. His recovery bides me time, gives us hope, but before that can begin, I have to strike again.

  I stand up straighter in the shower, looking forward as the water rains down over my face. I will make sure Jimmy and Marius are not breathing by the time I head back to the hospital.

  Stepping out of the shower, I grab my towel and wrap it around myself. I am fueled by lack of sleep and the lesson my father drilled into my – don’t feel, don’t deviate, kill. However, this is all influenced by my feelings, and I don’t care, for once. I will make sure Zane is safe. After this, people will know he is my hit, and they won’t try to stop me. I wanted sleep, but now I want to leave my mark for all to see. No rest for the wicked tonight.

  Opening my closest, I look at my many outfits and wonder one thing – what would Femme Fatale wear?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As I step out of my Ferrari, I look up to the grand mansion before me and cannot believe that I’m about to commit a murder – or two – in a house so grand and beautifully kept. I guess there are worse places I could do my job.

  I saunter up the drive and ring the doorbell twice as soon as I’m within reaching distance. Anticipation flares up in me, red-hot and eager. I have no idea how smoothly this will go, but I can pray that what I’ve decided to wear will help me. My top is low plunging, tucked into a leather figuring hugging skirt. The shirt itself is white, almost transparent as my bra shows through. My Louboutins are the ones I feel most powerful in, and my lingerie matches it. The door begins to open, pulling me out of my reverie to stand poised and ready.

  “Amelia?” he utters as I stand before him on his porch. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Jimmy,” I say and just smile sweetly. “I heard what you did for my family where Zane Maverick was concerned. I’m here to say thank you.”

  “Oh,” he utters surprised. “I thought you’d be mourning to be fair.”

  “Mourning?” I ask, a hand flying to my chest in mock shock. “You saved me a big job, Jimmy. Clearly, I need you to see that I mean that. Zane Maverick was beginning to tear my family apart, and you prevented that.” I take a step closer to him, my hand coming up to play with the collar of his shirt. “Now let me show you how I say thank you.”

  I give him no chance to squander the moment, ruin the mood, or turn my plan on its head. I enter the house without an invite and begin to kiss him. I push him back into his house and suggest we go back upstairs. His actions, his greedy hands, and his roughness tell me he likes the idea. We head up the stairs in a haze of touches and blissful unawareness. When we make it, I immediately push him toward the bed, pushing him hard enough that he falls upon the mattress, and I get ready to climb on top of him, but halt when I decide to slow the pace. I had so many ideas of how to run this show, but a striptease seems the most appropriate way to take this moment. He watches me, his face taking in the view of me as I unbutton my top and slowly begin to reveal my black lace push up bra. I pull the silk material free and allow it to drop to the floor. I almost faze out as I begin to unzip my skirt and allow that to follow in a similar fashion to the top.

  “Now,” I murmur lightly, as I step in close to Jimmy’s awaiting form. “I think we should get Marius over,” I mention, straddling his lap, covering his body with mine. “Get some cardio in before work.”

  “You want a threesome?” he gasps, his eyes widening.

  “You sound so surprised,” I say and begin to trail my finger across his face. I slowly tilt my head to the side, allowing my hair to fall as I do so, and I look up at him under my lashes. “C’mon,” I goad him lightly. “Just call him, and we’ll start the warm up.”

  “Okay,” he tells me. I clamber off him and watch him as he gets up to grab his phone from his pants pocket. I leave him to fix this part in my grand plan.

  I sit and take inventory of the state of my nails. I listen to him drivel on in the background to Marius. His excitable tone is nothing but childish, and his every description of me is as if I’m a piece of meat. She’s practically naked already! I roll my eyes. Yeah, the Amelia Abbiati wants a threesome. Again, I roll my eyes. Just get here, or I’ll start banging her without you. I look over at him horrified, and he offers me an apologetic look. I shake my head, looking away from him as he finishes the call. The moment he’s said his goodbye, I rise to my feet.

  “Now that’s done, I’ll go and grab us a drink.” I then turn to him devilishly. “Strip,” I demand and leer at him. “I want you in nothing but your boxers.” I eye him up and down for a second. “You have five minutes tops. I’ll be right back,” I tell him, deliberately whispering the words as seductively as possible into his ear. I hear him grunt, and although he is getting more and more turned on, I’m quite the opposite. My emotions are detained, squandered beneath boiling hatred. My forced interest in this man has him chomping at the bit for me.

  Don’t feel, don’t deviate, kill – it all never felt so easy.

  I scurry down the stairs and head toward the kitchen at the back of the grand house. I find champagne and orange juice in the fridge and quickly search the cabinets for glasses. Finding them, I go on the hunt for a jug to make a mimosa mix in. If we’re going to do this my way, then I want to feel the bubbly buzz of alcohol while I do it. I make quick work of mixing the two drinks together. I pull the drawer out beside me, thankful it’s a cutlery drawer, and grab a spoon to mix the concoction up. When I’m satisfied, I pour the drinks out - one for Jimmy, one for me.

  Now it’s time for the potent addition to Jimmy’s glass. I came doubly prepared this morning. I pull the small glass vial from the inside of my bra and pour it into the mixed blend. I spot the pile of fresh fruit out, throw a strawberry into Jimmy’s so I know which is which, and head back toward the stairs.

  “You ready for me?” I call out as I take each step delicately. I know Marius will be here soon, and I want to make sure that Jimmy is going cold by that point.

  “You bet!” he hollers back, and I wish he knew what he was really getting into with me.

  I take a large sip of my drink as I walk and enter Jimmy’s bedroom. He’s now only in his boxers and he looks at me like a predator watching its prey. He’s hungry for me, but he doesn’t seem to take into account who I am and what I’ve done. He should cower at my feet, fear me, doubt my every action, but he doesn’t, and it leaves me open with every opportunity to play.

  “I think we should make this a little more fun,” I announce and place the drinks down away from Jimmy’s grasp. I spot a grey silk tie on the side of the chair in front of the large vanity dresser. I grab it and laugh. “How about I tie you up and really get this party started?”

  I watch him gulp as I stand on the other side of the room in nothing but my black and red lace lingerie, killer heels, and a look of pure sensuality.

  “Okay,” he utters, caving to my will quickly.

  I seductively waltz back over to the bed, playing with the silk tie as I do so. He rubs his hands together gleefully, and I just can’t withhold the smirk from tearing across my face. This is going to be all too easy.

  “Lie back,” I instruct him, and he listens as I step beside the bed. “Hands up,” I order sternly, my voice remaining fierce, and I lick my lips with the mounting levels of anticipation. I love how he listens, willing to please only me with this submission to my will. I loop the tie around him, pulling the material as taut as possible around his wrists. I thread the cloth in the headbo
ard of Jimmy’s bed, pulling tighter and tighter, before I tie the loose ends together.

  “Is that tight enough?” I ask, drawing a line down his bare arm with my index finger.

  He struggles against his bindings in response and looks at me. “You’ve either had practice at this or I think you’re good at tying knots.”

  “It’s not all I’m good at,” I pronounce with a wink and leave his side to grab his drink. I make haste to go back to him and start the real party. “Drink up,” I lightly command and place the flute to his lips. He guzzles the drink down, allowing me to tilt the glass until it’s completely empty with only a champagne covered strawberry left in the bottom. I place the glass down on the bedside table and lean over Jimmy’s body a little more. I ignore him for a moment as I grab my drink and leisurely sip. I sit back beside him and look down at him. I can see the stronger dosage Giovanni’s mixed has a rapid response on the body now.

  “How do you feel?” I ask him as he starts to do the all-knowing head shake to clear the fog that’s quickly descended upon him. “Do you feel woozy? Feel like you’ve lost all control?” I run my hand down his chest, digging my nails in a little as I do. “Do you feel that tightness in your chest as your body heat begins to rapidly increase?” I lean in, his eyes bulging, the whites slowing turning red. “Do you feel the poison taking over?”

  Jimmy just begins to make struggled gargling noises at me.

  “Now you know how Zane felt,” I grunt, my jaw locking tight with my ever-growing agitation. “This is how he felt when you shot him in cold blood and left him there dying, thinking you were doing me a service. I am doing the same as you did to him. I am making you suffer.” I grab onto Jimmy’s thinning hair, forcing him to look at me in his last struggling minutes. “Shame you won’t survive this to remember that you never mess with an Abbiati.”

  I release him roughly and take a stand. I watch as the blood draws along his lashes like an onslaught of tears. The crimson drags down his face as he looks at me with a sense of pure helplessness. All I do, as he fights and strains for the ability to stretch out to grab me, is step back. This is Femme Fatale revenge in all its glory.

  Two down, two to go. Papà will be pleased.

  As I inwardly celebrate, the doorbell rings and my inner monologue freezes. Perfect, my second victim of the day has arrived.

  I hurry myself to make it downstairs and open the door only to lean against the frame and look at Marius. His eyes widen, clearly shocked at the sight of me in nothing in lingerie and designer heels on his best friend’s doorstep.

  “Nice of you to make it,” I state, keeping my voice lustful.

  Marius has always been a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine. At thirty-three, he’s completely ripped, tanned, tattooed, and every woman’s dream. He is, for all intents and purposes, sex on legs. He likes to come and hang out with Giovanni from time to time, and always, without a doubt, will attempt to hit on me. His shameless flirtatious way hasn’t granted him a way into my panties in this lifetime, and he’s about to see that he never stood a chance with me.

  “I always wondered when I’d get this sort of morning call,” he speaks as he steps into the house. His voice is deep, a husky baritone that could make any woman weak. “I just never thought you’d want a threesome with old man Jimmy, mind you.”

  “Full of surprises, me,” I remark, smirking as I do so. “I’ve seen how you men work beside my father. It’s admirable. I’ve also seen you without a top. It was only a matter of time before I caved and wanted you, Marius.”

  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to say that? Hell, do you know how long I’ve wanted you to notice me?” he asks me, his lips pushing flush against my neck, and while doing so, pushing me to nearest wall. His lips drag over my skin, kissing, biting, sucking. I will admit when he hits the tender spot just below my jaw, I weaken and allow him full control for a second. He must have sensed my body caving, as he pulls away and looks down at me. “That’s why I had a hand in this, Amelia. I wanted you.”

  “There are other ways of getting me,” I counter his affection, my tone showing just how unimpressed I am.

  “No, there aren’t,” he whispers, his lips once again trailing across my skin. “With that Maverick around, you were only his. I saw it, Amelia, so I know.” Again, he pulls away, only this time to frame my hands with his large, overbearing hands. “Gio would kill me for ever feeling anything for you, but I can’t help it. Everyone loves you, but not how I do.”

  “Why did he have to die, though?” I ask him, bringing up a hand to pass over the nape of his neck readying to drive my fingers into his hair. “Why not win me over and leave Maverick in one piece?”

  “Because that’s not how we play the game in this business,” he tells me, now releasing my face. “It’s all a matter of life or death. You get nowhere keeping the loser alive. He had to die for you to see me.” He suddenly looks sickened by his own vulnerability, but pushes through using it as a weapon. “I’m hoping you do.”

  “Oh, I do,” I utter, trying to keep myself convincingly in tune with him, but it’s getting difficult. They all think of Zane as the underdog, all belittled the thought of him, all undermined my love for him, but now it’s coming back with a vengeance.

  Benji and Jimmy were in it for the money, Marius murdered for love, and now I’m left wondering one thing – what is Big Al’s number one motive? The thought is all too consuming for me, and I cannot ignore it any longer. I have my answers, just not my results.

  “I had to kill him,” Marius declares to me.

  The statement is still startling, but I just let the feeling wash through me. I’m guessing word hasn’t gotten back to him yet that Zane is very much alive and breathing. I won’t burst his bubble. He’s making this far too fucking easy for me.

  “Let’s not kill the mood by talking about Zane Maverick. He isn’t in the picture now,” I comment, lying through the skin of teeth. I don’t remember when it became so easy for me to lie, but it’s paying off. “I left Jimmy a little tied up upstairs,” I announce, suddenly trying to pull us apart from one another.

  “What about round one here and round two upstairs?” Marius asks me and kisses my chin.

  This time I remain unresponsive to his advances. Round one. That saying is all too familiar, and the words all but sucker punch me in the gut. That’s what Zane uses to describe our second chance romance. We failed at round one – he wants to make round two unforgettable.

  “Hey,” Marius exhales against my skin and pulls back. “Something I said?”

  “No,” I lie, shaking my head. I look at him and smile. “Let’s not leave the poor guy upstairs waiting. You can have rounds two to ten with me.” I watch his face ignite at the thought and slip out from under his body. As I walk away toward the kitchen, flaunting my sensuality with each step I take, and I hear him start to quickly undress. His jacket hits the floor first, then he scuttles along trying to pull shoes and socks off. I can imagine that next goes his tie, then he makes a mess of unbuttoning his shirt. As he does that, I grab the leftover champagne, reach for two glasses and the orange juice, setting it all in front of me.

  “You think Jimmy will be able to keep up?” Marius asks as he follows me at a less erratic, desperate pace.

  “We’ve already started on a bottle of champagne, you’ve got to catch up to him,” I mention as I reach into my bra for that potent vial. I snatch it out, quickly click the lid off and pour the contents in. As soon as it’s drained, I’m pushing the bottle back into the confines of my bra and pouring the drink mix on top. I can sense that Marius is right behind me, so I finish and turn with the glass flute. “Here,” I comment as I hand over a glass. “We made mimosas just to keep it a little more casual. I’m going to grab some more champagne.”

  “You’re so fucking sexy,” Marius muses as he watches me move around the kitchen, grabbing a strawberry on my way over to the fridge. In nothing but my bra and panties, I find it easy to sashay around the house
with absolute prowess oozing from all parts of my body. I can hear from the change in his voice, he’s getting harder and harder the longer he watches me parade around myself. “I’d hate to think what Sal would do if he knew we were up to no business like this.”

  “He’d probably castrate you.” I toss my comment over my shoulder, blasé to say the least. “But being naughty is worth more to me than playing by the rules.”

  I pull out another bottle of champagne and muse to myself – everyone lives like a God in this world. My father – and people like him – throw money at those who work for them and everyone lives merrily and stinking rich. I twist around on my heels and find Marius right behind me. I jump back alarmed and find the champagne bottle pressed to my chest.

  “I’m willing to make you forget about Maverick,” he comments and steps closer, forcing me to take a step back. I carry on until I’m pushed against the fridge, my back hard pressed, my hand gripping the bottle tighter and tighter. “He can be just a distant memory.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, Marius,” I begin to comment, my eyes narrowing slightly as I look at him with utmost anger. “You killed the man I love on my birthday. I can’t just forget that little treasure. You have to do more for forgiveness than some turned-on bullshit and sweet talk, Coglione.”

  “Don’t speak Italian to me, Amelia, it makes me hard.” I watch as his eyes begin to flicker across my face. They roam from my lips, to my eyes, and back again. He’s absorbing the sight of me, and I let him as I just continue looking straight at him. “It feels like I’ve waited a lifetime for this.” He leans in, his lips hitting that weak spot on my neck once more.

  “You’re going to be waiting a little longer, buddy,” I tell him, resisting his urges. “You don’t get me just for killing a man. Now, drink up,” I direct him as I push him away from me. I hold the large bottle of Bollinger up. “This bottle’s coming up with us,” I smirk, waggling my eyebrows as I bypass him. I only look back to point to his glass. “I want that gone before I reach the bottom of the stairs.”