Dark Twisted Love

Beverley

Everyone kept a hidden truth. Some secrets were simple, but others were dark and complicated. In all honesty, my entire existence fell into each category precisely. My destiny was predetermined before I could even blink, and the prospect of a normal childhood was never on the table for me. I wasn't exactly a wanted presence, and I certainly didn't choose to exist. Yet, in my mother's eyes and as the spouse of a made man, she was obliged to fulfil her expected role and provide her husband with offspring. And, for once in her life, she didn't disappoint.

She bestowed my father with three kids. However, we weren't truly children, were we? We were his little puppets, manipulated at his whim and discarded when he deemed us no longer useful. I wasn't a child. My upbringing was far from normal, and I was considered obsolete by the time I reached thirteen.

My last name, while only being a goddamn surname, weighed more than anyone could possibly imagine. Being a Rizutto was a curse more than it had ever been a blessing, and the day that I was forced to understand what that really meant was also the day that I saw the world for what it really was. Harsh, cold, and cruel And just about everyone was out to get me.

There was no good in this world, and the people who thought they were good were just lying to themselves.

I realised that my father's betrayal of the Boka Civente turned the ones closest to him into targets, and I was seen as a traitor by default. I wasn't safe here in Chicago, and if it weren't for the promise I intended to keep to my sister, I would've hightailed my ass out of here a long time ago. My childhood was built around the ways of the mafia, and it was all I knew until it wasn't.

I'd asked myself many times what I was without the protection of my family, without my papa, without any morals or honour, and then, just as quick as the question came, it left my mind. I knew exactly what it meant. It meant that I was free.

My freedom was the most important thing to me-it always has been. I didn't like being told what to do or how to do it. The life I was born into wasn't one I wanted, and I knew that this was my time to redeem myself. If there was any redemption left for me,

My nose twitched in disgust, and it had little to do with the stench of blood and body odour in the air and more to do with the scene in front of me. One would think that after working here for so long, my revulsion for this place would be long gone. The same thing happened each and every night, and yet I still found myself in the same position.

I watched the man across the room as he licked blood off the bottom of his lip and smirked at me. His arm was draped over a girl as he slowly took a sip of something cold from a glass, his eyes gleaming with pride. They told me words that he couldn't exactly say from where he was.

I sucked some spilled-over booze off my middle finger, smirking around my digit as his grin fell, replaced by a harsh glare. His bloody knuckles tightened around the glass he was holding, and I laughed to myself.

He was just another man who thought he could do whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted without there being any consequences. Like it was his right.

In his eyes, women were objects and men were emperors.

Well, I couldn't wait to paint that vision of his black.

It took every ounce of self-control I had inside me not to go over there and shove one of my coworkers stiletto's down his throat.

I braced my hands on the bar and watched as blood trickled out of his nose, spilling onto the brown wooden table he was sitting at. The booth was small and crowded with men and two of my coworkers as they congratulated him on his win.

I turned my head and looked at the caged ring on the other side of the bar, grimacing in disgust as I took in all the blood. It was everywhere, and I swallowed thickly at the reminder that I would have to help clean it up tonight. Underground fights were held here almost every night, and my boss, William, got a heavy profit from his little side business.

It was most likely the reason why this job came so easily to me. William was an ex-con turned 'business' owner looking for someone to work the bar at his pub. I didn't see any problem with that, especially when he refrained from asking me anything about my background.

He worked for some bad people-bad people who put their money into these fights and expected a good outcome. Which was why when the prick sitting across the room cornered me on my break and groped my ass through my pants, he still got to fight tonight and walked away with a good sum of money.

The fucker had claimed that 'If I didn't want attention, I shouldn't wear jeans that hug my ass.". He also made it a point to demand that I be fired for punching him in the mouth, when really he should be thanking God that I didn't skin him raw.

William ended up offering him more money than he was initially supposed to get tonight, double the bets, just so that he wouldn't walk out on the fight and William wouldn't have to lose his bartender.

In his eyes, it was a win-win situation.

It was bullshit.

If it weren't for the fact that I was elbow deep in debt and had a shitload of bills to pay, I would've quit working at this dump a long time ago. I've been here a while, and I knew the downs that came with it. I'd done my research on this place before I stepped foot in here for the first time, and I was aware that a place like this wasn't exactly friendly for most girls.

You had to have a backbone and a high level of tolerance to put up with the shit that went on here.

I knew how to handle myself, but that didn't mean I was willing to take anybody's sh*t. I'd been silenced and tormented all my life, and I refused to let it happen again. Not if I had any say so.

Silence was the most horrifying scream of them all.

It was petrifying to have your voice stolen from you.

"Did you watch the fight?" I was torn out of my thoughts by a velvety, deep voice to the right of me. Looking up from the glass I was drying, I twisted my head and glanced at the man sitting at the end of the bar. He was wearing a dark hoodie over his head, preventing me from seeing much of his face, but I got half his profile: an angular jaw and sunken cheekbones with hair so dark that it almost appeared blue.

His hands were intertwined on top of the bar, and he cocked his head to the side, grinning from ear to ear. I took a look at the tattoos on his hands and then looked up at his face again. This guy obviously had no good intentions; I could practically smell it from a mile away.

"I didn't watch." I replied honestly, lifting my shoulder in a careless shrug. It was the truth; I didn't find that foolishness amusing.

"No?" He raised his eyebrow. "Well, you didn't miss anything." He paused. "Not enough blood. Those fuckers moved around each other like two scared pussies, and the other one taped out before anything good happened."

I held back my laugh. "I thought so."

He licked his teeth, nodding. After a few seconds of him staring at me like a weirdo, I slowly tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. "Is there something you wanted? Like, um, I don't know, a drink?" I asked pointedly, rapping my knuckles against the bar. I may have been coming off as a bitch, but I wasn't here to make friends.

Pretty Boy pouted, as if I'd hurt him, and put a hand over his heart. "Rude. Well, Bev, there is something you can do for me."

I froze.

My hands tightened around the edge of the bar, and a bead of sweat trickled down the valley of my breasts. The air was thick, causing my throat to swell up. He knew my name. How did this fucker know my name?

"Your brother," he paused, sliding off of the bar stool. "Let him know that he has exactly forty-eight hours to pay the debt-and trust me, he knows what I'm talking about-and if it's not paid, the two of you will be decaying in the fucking Atlantic." His playful tone had vanished, and his voice was suddenly harsh and menacing. "Right next to your dad."

A ball of fire tightened in my chest; it's grip was feral and deadly. Goosebumps scattered over my skin, and I blinked. Once, twice, and then again.

He knew my father.

It was then that I looked around me, seeing as most of the customers in the bar were now staring in my direction but not at me. At him. They looked almost scared, and it was then that the light bulb in my head flickered on. He practically had the words 'Boka Civente' written across his forehead in red ink.

I suddenly felt cold. So damn cold.

The man tilted his head, an amused expression on his face. "Pass the message, will you?"

"Get the hell out." I bit out, pointing towards the exit near the back. He held his hands up in surrender. "All right, duchess. I'm gone. I'll see you again, though. Count on it." And just like that, he turned and walked away, pushing past the throng of people by the door and leaving, his chuckle following behind him, ringing in my ears like mockery.

What the fuck did he do this time?

Throwing a few nervous glances around the bar, I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and quickly slipped through the thin crowd of people beside the bar, headed straight for the back. I pushed past the door that led to the locker room and quickly gathered my bag from the hook behind the door.

I fumbled through the mess in my bag until I found my cellphone and powered it on. Cursing low under my breath, I quickly ran through my options and then dialled the last number I remembered my brother having.

It rang ten times before I hung up, sending him a quick text to call me immediately.

The bastard wasn't answering me.

"What the actual fuck?" I murmured, twisting the string of my hoodie around my index finger as I pushed my black-framed glasses up the bridge of my nose. They were bothering me, sliding down my nose and tickling my flushed cheeks. I should've worn my goddamn contacts.

I tried calling one more time, and when I realised he wasn't going to answer, I glanced up at the clock above the door, seeing it was past midnight already. Fuck. My shift didn't end until...well, when everyone left the bar. And who the fuck knows how long that'll be?

The laughs and voices of customers coming from outside filled the air around me, causing unease to prick at the back of my neck in the tightest grip.

My brother was never reliable, and he would only ever remember me after it was too damn late.

I snatched the rest of my belongings from my locker and slid my phone into my back pocket before I slipped on my hoodie with an aggravated growl. "Where are you going?" I turned my head as Jersey walked in, a deep frown of confusion on her angelic face.

"I uh," There was hesitation in my voice, and to distract myself, I glanced back down at my phone screen before plopping down onto the bench and re-tying my black Chuck Taylors. "I have to go," was all I told her. My knuckles stung as I worked my shoelaces, courtesy of my weekly regroupings at the gym.

"Do you need me to do anything? Is it that dick outside? Because I'll make-"

"No, M. That fucker isn't worth any of my time." My co-worker was the closest thing I had to a friend, and she truly was a good person-way too good for someone like me. I may have been here physically, but I was truly never here mentally. "Then what's wrong with you? You're nearly pale." She reached out and pressed the back of her palm against my forehead. "But no fever."

"I'm not sick. It's a family thing."

Jersey nodded as if understanding, her sky-blue-colored hair falling over her shoulders as she peered down at me. "I can work the bar for you." She offered.

"Thanks; I'd really appreciate it." I slung my bag over my shoulder and left the room before she could stop me, shoving my way towards the back exit. The door slammed shut behind me, and a wave of harsh wind rushed to greet me, making me regret my decision to wear shorts tonight.

I scanned the busy parking lot for my shitty Corolla hatchback and let out an indignant breath as soon as I spotted it.

• • •

Turning down the radio, my car slowly came to a complete stop, and the sound of my tyres rolling over cement and gravel was the only thing I could properly hear over the pounding of my heart. I looked around me, at the empty parking lot I was in, and then brought my eyes back up at the brothel, where I knew my brother had been crashing in for a few months.

A shiver licked my spine, and I stepped out, wary clawing its way to the surface as I approached the door. I flipped my hoodie over my head and knocked twice, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. This morning's rain still gripped the air. It was humid and so cold.

The holes in the walls of the house were so deep that even from outside, I could smell the weed and Thai food.

The door was ripped open, and an older-looking guy answered, his pants hanging low on his waist and a white tee hugging his big belly. He scowled, but then paused and smirked as he ran his eyes up and down the length of me. I rolled my eyes, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "What can I do for you, baby?" He purred.

"Where's Jimmy?" I bit out, pulling the strings of my hoodie. Next, it'll be my fucking hair.

"Oh, mute boy? He's-"

"Move." I recognised that voice immediately, and my brother pushed past the dude and stepped outside, slamming the door shut in the other man's face. And then his hard eyes came to mine, and he said, "What are you doing here?"

I glanced at his face, having not seen him in person in so long. In the span of eleven months, he'd grown a beard as blond as his eyebrows. He looked like he belonged in the psych ward with his dilated pupils and purple-rimmed eyelids. He was definitely on something, that was for sure. His upper lip was busted, and his eyebrow was cut with a trail of dry blood trickling down the side of his face.

"You know what I'm doing here." I sneered.

He casually lit up a cigarette, leaning against the wall of the house with a slow shake of his head. "You don't have to worry. I'll get it paid," he stammered, his voice trembling around the words. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Even if I had a single functioning brain cell left, it wouldn't have been gullible enough to buy into the nonsense spewing from his mouth.

I felt irritation simmering beneath my skin, causing everything to feel constricted, including my throat. My nails dug half-moon shapes into my palms, and I took a deep breath. Each inhalation seemed to intensify the pain in my chest, and for a moment, it felt like I couldn't breathe.

My eyes scanned the dark parking lot, searching for... I wasn't exactly sure what "how much is it?"

"You shouldn't be here," he signed, brushing off my question.

"No, you're right. I shouldn't be anywhere near you, but here I am. I need to figure out what the hell you've dragged me into!" My voice echoed, and I was certain the guy peering out from inside the house could hear me.

Jimmy's eyes widened, and he urgently whispered, "Lower your voice."

"Tell me what's going on," I insisted, my desperation seeping into my words. "Please."

"I messed up, Beverley," he confessed, his hands moving frantically as he signed to me. "This guy is nothing like Zic. He's worse." He continued, shaking his head as if trying to dispel disturbing thoughts.

"Who?" Unease prickled my skin.

He looked at me, diverting his eyes from the ground. "The Capo." He paused, glancing over his shoulder for the fifth time, before speaking in a hushed tone. "Shady, Zic Langston's son. Tell me you remember him."

I paused, attempting to jog my memory. But it drew a blank. I knew about him, though. Phil was his real name. They called him the King of Chaos, whatever that meant. He was young, malicious, and a formidable force to be reckoned with.

Rumours circulated that he had killed his father, Zic-the former boss-and that his ascent to the position of Capo was far from effortless. While I had never laid eyes on the man, I understood enough to recognise that owing anything to him was a perilous predicament.

He was the kind of individual you either wanted as an ally or wished to see eliminated.

So, what was Jimmy thinking?

Why would he venture into a Boka Civente-owned casino? He wasn't a complete fool, so he must have strategized this move. Aware that our family was untrustworthy, he had to know that one misstep could spell doom for us. Didn't he realise that we were marked targets? 'Betrayal to the Boka Civente was punishable by death.' Those were the words they forced my father to repeat incessantly as they killed him.

Licking my dry lips, I urged myself to calm down. "How much?" I was beyond caring about his dubious rationale; fear had consumed me.

"$35,000," he uttered without hesitation. My lungs constricted, and it was then that I leaned against my car, afraid my legs might give way. Did he really say 35k, or was I hallucinating?

"How did you lose $35,000? You can't even gamble!" I exclaimed, my voice tinged with disbelief and panic.

"Fuck, I know, alright?! I went there to test the waters. I've been doing jobs here and there for low-level managers, and so I wanted to see if I could." He dropped his hands, tired of communicating, I guess.

"See if what? You walked into a casino full of Made Men to test what? To see if they'd put a bullet in your pretty little face the moment they saw you? It does not matter what you do or how hard you try to redeem yourself. They don't want anything to do with us."

I was grateful for it, while he yearned to be accepted by a bunch of criminals.

He's lucky they didn't slaughter us all for Papa's betrayal.

He gripped his hair so tightly that I had to watch closely to see if he'd pull a few strands out. "Don't be a bitch, Bev. I don't need your shit."

"Too late." I retorted coldly.

"What should I do?" His eyes filled with tears, and I felt concerned to see him so upset.

He doesn't get to cry, not when he brought this upon himself.

I despised the mafia-how they operated, what they did. After this, I knew deep down that my destiny was practically sealed. It didn't make sense to me that innocent people had to suffer because they were born into a family of fools. I shouldn't be punished again for something I didn't do.

I won't let that night happen again.

I touched the yellow-beaded bracelet on my arm, taking a sarcastic breath. "How much money do you have?"

Please don't say anything.

"Stay here."

"Where are you?" I trailed off, losing my words as my throat burned with anger. He ran back inside the house, the door slamming shut behind him. I sighed, shuffling the snow underneath my black combat boots as I rubbed my aching temple to try and ease the headache. My hands were so cold that I was losing feeling in them, but I wasn't cold. I was fucking burning up.

When the door opened up again, Jimmy stepped out with a duffel bag in his clutch. He approached my car and dropped the bag in front of my feet, inclining his head towards it. "Open it," he demanded.

I glanced at him, scowling. "I'm not your dog. You open it."

His jaw clenched, and he scratched the stubble on his chin before crouching down and slowly unzipping the duffle bag. I stepped closer, trying to get a better look. Wads of cash were stuffed inside, almost spilling out over the top. I glanced from the money to Jimmy, going back and forth slowly. "How much is that?" I didn't even bother asking him where he got it from, because I'd be given some bullshit.

"20,000."

Shit.