Devil's Vow

42. The Executioner

Laura

I needed to breath. I didn’t know Grandma Chiara for so long, but in the short time I knew her, she was kind to me. She cooked for me and made it a point to help me get out of bed in the early mornings for a jog around the compound. She also taught me the little she could about planting things, seeds, flowers. Watching all these people talk about her, Chiara Ricci, the warrior, the woman that gave women a place in this world, the deals she closed and the enemies she took down. I can’t help but think that my sudden presence in her life killed her. 

So, when Andreas went to drop the flowers, I stood up for the first time since the funeral began. I take only a few steps before I see Giuseppe Lombardi. I know nothing good about Giuseppe Lombardi, except that he is the Boss, the Don, the leader of the Cosa Nostra. He also teamed up with my country, placing a bounty on my head mere days to my wedding. I’ve never seen him up close until today; he appears to be in his late seventies, or maybe early eighties. I want to ignore him, but as I make a single attempt to walk in the opposite direction, two men stand in front of me.

I turn to the old man, “If you want to talk, the least you can do is ask, or is ambush the code of communication around here?” I fold my arms and glare at him.

“She has a sharp tongue.” He commends as he takes one step closer to me. I take none back, I keep my cool, my hands still folded and my chin up. I maintain eye contact as I wear a façade where I am not terrified of the man who wanted me dead just some weeks ago. “Mrs. Hidalgo, let’s take a walk.”

“Why will I walk with you?” I take a step closer to him.

“She also lacks basic respect.” He looks to his men who nod in agreement and then he looks back to me. “You will walk with me because I have information you desperately need.”

“And what makes you think you know what I need?” I ask.

“The Executioner.” He says in a cold tone that sends chills up my spine. I freeze in the spot where I stand. The only way he’d have this information is if he as a spy in Mansion Hidalgo. I open my mouth to protest, but I also need to know why Andreas went to great lengths to make sure I don’t find out from anyone.

“Let’s walk.” I tell the old man and he leads the way. 

It’s dark outside and the city’s lights flicker to life like a symphony of shadows and whispers. We walk away from the funeral gathering, further and further, until the murmur of voices fades, leaving only the hollow crunch of our footsteps. Soon, we reach the cemetery—the land of the dead, a special place where the Cosa Nostra buries their own in a secretive and somewhat hallowed ground. The gravestones loom like silent sentinels in the dim light, and a shiver creeps down my spine as I notice that many of them appear freshly laid, their damp earth still settling.

The cold night air is thick with the weight of unspoken secrets. Each breath hangs, misty and spectral, as if the dead themselves are watching. My hands burrow into my coat pockets, fingers brushing against the cold metal within. Red alarms blare in my mind, a warning that reverberates through my bones. What if this old bastard tries to kill me again?

“If you’re thinking of killing me remember why they call my husband, Un Diavolo.” I keep my voice steady. “So, will you give me what I need?”

A set of guns are raised and aimed at me by four of his men. In a swift motion, I reach into my coat for my gun and I aim at Giuseppe.

“Are you threatening me, Signora?” He tilts his head to the side, his dark gaze settles on me as the shadows of the night grace his face, making him look every bit as scary as he claims to be. 

“What do you know about The Executioner?” I ask, my voice still steady even with the guns pointed at me. I cock my gun at the old bastard, and in return, his men cock their guns.

“The Executioner is a killer wanted by every intelligence agency and government in the world,” he starts. “A ruthless, relentless and skillful killer created by Giovanni Lombardi.” 

I shake my head, defiant and his lips twist into a smirk as he folds his hands behind his back, stepping closer. His movements are slow and controlled. He closes the distance until the cold metal of my gun presses against his forehead. We’re so close, too damn close, I can feel the heat of his breath against my neck. My pulse is a wild drumbeat, echoing loudly in my ears, but I swallow hard as I press the gun harder into his skin, letting him feel the threat.

His men inch closer, shadows circling like wolves in the dim glow of the streetlights. Every heartbeat feels like a fucking countdown, the air thick with anticipation. His gaze bores into me, intense with a deep sense of anger in his dark eyes. I brace myself for his next words, gun in my hand, heart in my throat and a silent plea that my husband is looking for me.

“You are The Executioner.”

A/N

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