"_La vendetta è un piatto che si serve freddo."_ Revenge is a dish best served cold. The saying has always amused me. Who said it had to be cold? Why wait when the blood can be fresh and the screams still echo in the air? I prefer it hot, scorching, leaving a trail of devastation behind.
The sound of my fingers drumming on the chair's armrest flowed with a steady rhythm. But I couldn't say the same about violence roaring in my bones.
I stretched in the chair, the leather creaking under me, and my eyes trailed lazily around the room. It was one of the private offices in the villa-mine, specifically. Three different faces of evil aka my fathers sat around the table with their faces set in different levels of annoyance, curiosity, and something that vaguely resembled amusement.
Twenty minutes.
And they were still waiting.
Waiting for me to speak, waiting for an explanation for Donatello's murder. Not just him-there were several others, all of them left in pieces, quite literally. I took my time, swirling the glass of whiskey in my hand, watching the amber liquid catch the light.
I could feel Padre's eyes burning into me and he had a poor control over his facial expressions. His irritation barely contained and his green eyes narrowed.
I wonder if he wanted to kill me.
The thought amused me as I took another sip.
"Che palle," Ralph spat, his Italian accent thick, the vein in his neck bulging. "Sei impazzito? You're killing our own men without a second thought! Donatello? And the others? _Perché? _ Why, Judas? Dio, sei fuori di testa."
(Pain in the ass.)
(Are you crazy?)
(You're out of your mind.)
Not more than him though. Did I say he paints with blood?
I glanced at him with one brow raised, unimpressed. He was always like this-quick to anger, quick to disappointment. It was almost predictable.
"_Calmati, Padre," I muttered, leaning back further in the chair as my arms stretched out lazily on either side. "They weren't 'our' men. They were rats. Stealing shipments, feeding intel to our rivals. What else was I supposed to do? Let them live?"
(Calm down, father.)
His fists hit the table that he wanted to knock against my face with a loud thud, making the glasses jump. "You could've told us! Per l'amor di Dio, we're a family. We make decisions together, not-"
(For the love of gods.)
Killian cut him off with a laugh, leaning back in his chair, cigar dangling between his fingers. "Oh, come on, Ralph. When has the 'little prince' here ever done what he's told? You think he's gonna start now? Kleiner Prinz, you always liked to stir the pot, didn't you?" His German slipped through with ease, his eyes twinkling with sarcasm.
And there was a reason I liked him more than my own blood related father. He was boring.
I smirked at him, appreciating the words. Out of the three of them, he was the most tolerable, even if he never took anything seriously. "Stirring the pot keeps things interesting, don't you think?" I glanced at my father, who was still fuming. "Besides, I'm not a child. I don't need permission to handle rats."
His face twisted a she threw a glare at the German. "This isn't about needing permission. Testa di cazzo, it's about control. About not acting like a fucking psychopath-"
(Dickhead.)
I rolled my eyes.
Ah yes, because nothing says 'I'm in control' like a temper tantrum and swearing in Italian. Very classy.
Before I could say anything, Alexei, ever the calm one, raised a hand to silence the argument. "Enough. Judas, explain the shipments. How long were they compromised?"
I shifted my gaze to him. He always listened first, acted with purpose. His control was admirable, even if it bored me at times. "Two months. They were careful, only taking what wouldn't be missed. But they slipped up." I shrugged, setting the glass down on the table. "Donatello was their inside man. He got greedy, and when I found out, well… let's just say he didn't get a chance to explain himself."
And when he put his hands on my little bird. Well, they didn't have to know.
"Two months?" Alexei frowned and his fingers steepled together. A cold glint in his dark eyes. "That's a significant leak, synulya. Killing them solves the immediate issue, but what about the long-term damage? The rival family-have you traced their connections?"
Synulya. He called be by that name rarely. An endearing I hated with my guts.
Instead, I grinned. "I've already started cleaning house. This was just the beginning."
Padre let out a groan, rubbing his temples. I swear he was more intolerable day by day. Old man couldn't stay put. "Madonna santa, you've made a fucking mess. Again."
Killian chuckled, exhaling smoke into the air. "Mess or not, he's thorough. I'll give him that. And what's life without a little chaos, right?"
True, but chaos was only fun when there's blood to clean up after.
I grinned at him. He knew how to keep my father in line.
"Spare him, guys. You tell me, princezen, how're chicks in Russia?"
"I swear you've spoiled him, Killian."
Russian chicks. I bit on my lips. Well, I had fair taste of women all around the world, but nothing compared to the cunt I left in my penthouse.
Not even a day had passed and I was already planning to fly back. And it was torturous I could still smell her-ptichka. My little bird. Fragile, delicate, yet she had this fire in her that made me want to break her even more. Every time I thought I'd crushed her spirit, she fought back, even if just a little. She was the kind of challenge I couldn't resist.
Though her challenge was laughable.
I tapped my fingers against the armrest, the image of her tied to that chair, the way her lips trembled but her eyes never lost that defiance-it was intoxicating. I wanted to see more of it. I wanted to see how far she could be pushed before she broke completely.
"Synulya?" Alexei's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Hmm?"
"We need a plan." He leaned forward and I turned my head toward him to meet his intent gaze. "You've eliminated the immediate threat, but we have to assume the rival family will retaliate. What's your next move?"
I took a slow breath. A plan. I always had a plan. My little had to wait a little longer for me before I finish this game. "We strike first. Hit them where it hurts. The shipments were just one part of their operation. They've got other businesses we can bleed dry. And when they're weak, we go in for the fucking kill."
Alexei nodded. "Good. But we do this carefully. We don't need more chaos than necessary." He looked around.
Padre scoffed. "Careful? With Judas? Sogni d'oro, Alexei. He doesn't know the meaning of the word."
(Don't dream.)
Killian grinned, nudging Ralph. "Relax, alter Mann. Let the little prince do his thing. We'll clean up the mess later, as usual."
Ralph shot him a glare. "I'm not cleaning up shit."
I smiled, standing up and straightening my jacket. "Don't worry, daddy. This time, there won't be any mess to clean up." I looked at Alexei making the as tired face as I could. "And I'm so fucking tired. Can I rest? We can discuss this over dinner. Like alwyas."
He looked at me as Killian chuckled at his side and then nodded.
I grinned pushing the chair back and got up and started walking toward the door still feeling their eyes on my back.
My mind drifted again to her. My little bird. She didn't know it yet, but she was part of the plan too. And soon, she'd be in a cage so tight, she'd never fly again.
Before I reached the door, Alexei's voice stopped me.
"Judas."
I turned.
"There's something else you should know. We've received word that Lucius is moving. He's planning something big."
I stilled, the name sending a cold fury through me. Lucius. The one name that always brought out the worst in me. He was a dead man walking.
"Good," I said, my voice low, dangerous. "Then we'll bury him next."
I walked out, the door closing behind me with a soft click.
Lucius was about to make his move.
And so was I.
But first, my little bird needed to be reminded of her place.
The hunt was on.
*****
The echo of my footsteps reverberated through the silence as I strolled down the stairs, the leather of my shoes slick against the polished marble. The house was still, eerily so and as big as I recalled, the kind of quiet that settled in after a storm, waiting for the next gust of wind to stir up chaos again.
My mind was still reeling from the meeting with the three old men. Their incessant nagging about Donatello, about the unnecessary killings, like I owed them a justification.
I didn't.
I killed because it was necessary.
I killed because they were in my way.
But as I reached the bottom of the stairs, a faint sound-soft, almost muffled-snagged my attention. A sniffle.
I stopped.
The noise tugged at something deep, something old, something I thought I buried beneath layers of cruelty and apathy. But I recognized it.
I knew that sound.
My feet moved on their own, carrying me to a familiar spot behind the staircase, hidden away from view. And there, huddled in a ball, was a small pile of flesh, dark brown hair cascading over thin shoulders, trembling with every breath. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees, as if that could protect her from the world.
I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. "Tina?"
Her body stilled.
She stilled.
She should freeze, knowing full well I wasn't supposed to be here. Not yet.
I crouched down, the silence stretching thin between us. "Tina, piccolo, what's wrong?" I asked softly, my voice taking on that sweet tone that always made her lower her guard.
She didn't answer immediately. Her breath hitched, then she exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. She didn't know I was watching her so closely. I could see every shift in her shoulders, every tremor in her body.
She was lying before she even spoke.
"I'm fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just... tired. That's all."
Tired. Right. Because hiding behind the stairs and crying was her way to reenergising herself.
My eyes narrowed, but I didn't press her. Not yet. She lie again I know.
"You've never been a good liar, Kristina," I straightened up and leaned against the wall and watched her closely with my arms crossed over my chest. "Now, do you want to tell me what's really going on, or should I start guessing?"
Her head tilted slightly, her tear-streaked face coming into view, but she didn't meet my gaze. Her eyes were swollen, red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, not minutes. She tried to smile, that weak little smile that told me she thought she could fool me.
But she couldn't.
I wasn't like the others.
"I told you, it's nothing," she whispered, rubbing at her eyes as if she could erase the evidence of her sadness. "I... I just needed a moment alone."
Alone. Always alone. I wondered how long she'd been sitting here, hidden, while the rest of the world continued to spin. And why.
I crouched again, my fingers tilting her chin up so I could meet her eyes. "You know I don't like being lied to, sorellina." My voice dropped though I kept the smile on my face. "What are you hiding from me?"
Ah… my little sister tried to glare at me.
She flinched but didn't pull away. And my eyes narrowed when I saw a faint mark on her wrist. My eyes immediately cut to her face. How did she get it? And why no one knew? I swear my fathers were over-protective of their family, and they'd burn the world before any scratch come to their children kr wife in general.
And here my little sister was sitting with a bruise on her wrist. Did someone at college bullied her? Nah. They knew who she was. No one would dare. Then what was it?
"Judas, please... I just-"
"Enough."
The word came out sharper than I intended. She stiffened. Fear was an effective tool, but not with her. She wasn't like the others. I needed to use something more... gentle.
I reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek, my thumb grazing her skin. "Tell me, Tina. Or I'll find out my way."
Her lip trembled. She was about to speak, about to break, when-
"Judas."
I froze.
The voice was soft, almost ghostly, like it had come from somewhere deep within the house. It echoed through the room, twisting around me. My spine stiffened, but I didn't turn.
'He's a monster, Rara. You should've had him aborted.'
I shut my eyes and tried not to relive those moments.
'He killed a fucking bird! What are you expecting? He inherited those genes from his psycho father.'
Instead, I leaned closer to Tina, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We'll finish this later, Tesoro," I whispered against her skin, my voice laced with something that wasn't quite affection, wasn't quite a threat. It was both. "Stay where you are."
I straightened slowly, brushing the dust from my jacket. My heart rate barely flickered as I turned toward the sound of the voice.
At the base of the stairs stood a woman. My mother. Her hands were clasped together, her eyes wide, startled, like she had seen a ghost. And those wide brown eyes…. They reminded of certain little bird I left in Russia. Terrified. Scared. And ready to run.
The only difference, these eyes had some sort of affection in them. Or did I imagined it?
A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips. I met her gaze, and something shifted in the air between us.
"Mother," I greeted her keeping my voice calm, almost amused. I strolled over languidly.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Should've aborted me, right? Shame you missed your chance-now you just have to deal with the monster you made.
I stopped just in front of her, my eyes never leaving hers. For a moment, we stood in silence. Then I moved, my arms wrapping around her in a mockery of affection. She stiffened, but didn't pull away. She wouldn't dare.
I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. "You look surprised," I murmured, my voice low, intimate. "Didn't think you'd see me so soon, did you?"
She trembled. Perfect.
"I missed you," I whispered. My hands tightened around her, just enough to make her breath hitch. "But not as much as I missed your cooking."
I pulled back, meeting her gaze once more. Her brown eyes were wide, filled with something that looked like fear, but wasn't quite there. She cleared her throat, and I noticed she had gotten a little more older though nothing beat the look of innocence on her face.
"Judas… why didn't you… informed me sooner?" She tried to form words.
"Why don't we sit down?" I smiled. "We have so much to discuss."
Her lips moved, but the words died on her tongue. She nodded. She always nodded.