Going After Heaven (Mafia Romance)

Chapter Thirty One

I want him more than I did yesterday and the day before that.

I want him more than the first day in the elevator. When those eyes like a defibrillator brought every dead non-functioning part of me to life.

I want him. It grows every second. Whether I water it or not. The more I try to put it out the more it spreads like wildfire.

I hinge the lock on the door, slip out of my gown and shoes, then put on the denim shorts, crop top, and boots, ready to work.

Ready to make myself put him behind. Attempting again to wring out the neediness growing inside of me every minute for him.

I leave my pile of gown and strap heels on the floor and move to the anvil. I turn on the heat well and dump the weapon carelessly in it as the blue flame picks up.

I take the apron from the hanger and put it on, then the gloves next, blocking out the image of my papa helping me with my gloves and apron so I can prance around pretending to be a blacksmith all day as a kid.

I want to say I miss those days, but how can I miss them when I have denied myself the freedom of thinking about them? It's like a taboo. A no-go area for my mind. I've forbidden myself from thinking about the happiness I had before their death. Too many things I've forgotten intentionally because they do no one any good.

I pick up a chisel, pull the weapon out from the heat well, place it on the anvil, and start to cut out excesses.

The first lesson Gael taught me was that you cannot lead what you don't have a blueprint of. He made sure I learned how to make weapons both mechanically and technologically. Not just knives and daggers, but guns, bullets, and bombs.

The gun I made to kill Black Rifle was the first finished weapon that convinced Gael I was ready to learn the business aspect of the Steel Gate empire and he let me, shuffling between learning from the pros and a business school.

Just recently I finished the bullet I intended to use on Black Rifle. The iron ore needed to make it took me six years to find. It's different. It's one of a kind and I made just one. One is enough. Even if it's just a scratch, it's poisonous enough to paralyze the old bastard and eventually kill him. I made sure of that with the experiments I have carried out over the years.

I throw the weapon into the water well, wait a while, then pick up a towel and clean it up a bit. I sample it. It's still rough around the edges and needs a little smoothening.

A soft knock comes on the door.

Took him long enough.

"Heaven," Gabriele calls out, followed by another knock.

I throw the weapon in the heat well, no way I'm eating anything until I'm done with this. No way I'm letting anything distract me further. The door will stay locked and when I'm done, I'll walk into my bedroom instead.

I pick up the weapon and continue to work on it again. The knock stopped coming and I'm sure he's given up.

I let my mind wander to how I'm hoping Friday will turn out as I work my frustrations out on the weapon. It's getting into shape.

Twelve fucking years of carrying this stiffness in my chest. Twelve fucking years of never taking my eyes off my endgame of killing Black Rifle. Twelve fucking years of working myself like a robot. Twelve fucking years of doing nothing for myself just for the sake of enjoying it. Everything I've done was done to lead me to this end. To the end of the tyrant that massacred my family.

It's here now but something in me feels indifferent about it. Something I cannot pinpoint, which is the base of my frustration.

I dump the weapon in the water, done with it, the same time Gabriele starts to pound on the door.

"Heaven I'll pull down this door if you don't open it," he doesn't yell or anything. Very calm but I know him well now to know he will do it.

I put out the heat well and open the door. He doesn't come in, he stands there glaring at me. Then he moves aside and I walk out to see take-home packs on the desk.

About ten of those are on the table. Who will eat them? I can barely eat one.

"You do realize I won't eat half of one if at all I'm hungry right?"

"A man can only hope," he says and I suck my teeth.

Hope what? That I will grow a barrel in my stomach within hours to eat those?

"I'm not hungry" which is the truth. I feel weak and dizzy but have no appetite for food. No strength for food.

"That's not an obstacle, you'll eat regardless" he moves to the table and picks up a pack.

"I am not hungry" I move away but he snatches me by my wrist and pulls me to his chest, then his hand moves quickly to circle my waist.

"What is wrong with you?" He looks down at me and I keep my head down, refusing to look up. "Talk to me" he shakes me slightly. I shake my head.

His other hand which is supposed to be holding the pack of food comes to my chin and tilt my head to look at him.

"I'm not hungry," I say matter-of-factly.

"No?"

"No"

"Why?" He moves the pad of his thumb to caress my lips and I move away as I feel the heat wave start stirring up in my stomach.

"Let me fucking be Gabriele!" I start to walk back to the forgery and he comes after me.

I turn and push him away. "Leave me the fuck alone!" I shove him hard.

"Tell me," he says without bulging.

"I won't" I shove him again. Why doesn't he mind his goddamn business?

"You will" he towers, moving so close my back is pressed against the door frame of the forgery.

"I really can't" my voice breaks and my inside too. I can't bring myself to say why and what changed.

"You want Black Rifle dead, don't you?" He breathes down on me and I exhale sharply.

"Yes," I whisper.

"So why aren't you happy?" His hand cups the side of my face tenderly and though this isn't the moment, my body still reacts sensuously.

"I am happy" I shudder as his hand moves to have my neck in a chokehold-ready grip, without the actual grip.

"Then what is it?" His thumb strokes my neck tenderly and a strained sound slips out of me. "Look at me" he commands in that possessive tone and I meet his eyes. "Tell me"

"You" topples out of my lips so soft and weak that anyone would strain to hear it.

He's what changed. And for the life of me I don't know how or why.