SAVAGE POET: A Dark, New Adult and College Romance Page 3

  “It’s Roque’s crown to wear.”

  “The boy is not ready. His hand not bloodied enough, his dick’s never been wet.”

  “He took care of the Fiorelli girl. He snuffed her out without blinking once. His father would be proud.”

  Zio Franco’s large hand smacked the table. The dishes jumped with a clatter. “I rule until he comes of age. He’s not ready. He’s full of teenage hormones. He’d make rash decisions that would jeopardize all our businesses.”

  “Like a mass murder at a funeral gathering? Even our own women and children were hit in the crossfire. It was foolish, the order you gave. We could have held him and his brat while escorting our own out the backdoor. Instead it was mayhem.” The head of the Castellione outfit shook his head and puffed on a cigar.

  Through the crack in the door, I watched my uncle shrug. “Collateral damage. Fiorelli killed my wife and my baby on Christmas Eve. If my mistake was passion, so be it. Vengeance was ours.”

  “You’ll groom Roque as your brother wanted. I promised your brother his son would wear the crown. I make good on my word.”

  “His shoulders aren’t strong enough to support his head. The crown can be heavy, full of thorns and soaked with blood.”

  “If you hurt him there will be payback, Franco. Murdering the next-in-line is against our code.”

  My uncle laughed. “Hurt him? Roque? The boy is all I’ve got since Fiorelli murdered mi familigia.”

  But I saw it in the glaze in his eyes. The way he balled his fist next to his wine glass. Uncle Franco was no longer family. His lust for power was stronger than blood. He wanted me dead and gone, buried like all the rest. I knew he had a mistress. With me out of the way—he’d start over as the DON with a new wife and baby. I could feel it just as strong as the little Fiorelli’s girl’s heartbeat against the flat of my hand where I held it on her neck before I squeezed.

  I saw and heard all I needed.

  It was time to plan.

  I left and went home, sat in my father’s study and moved chess pieces around the board. I still had family…distant relatives of my mother outside of Rome. I’d call on them soon. Ask for support, in return I’d offer my cousins a spot at my table. My mother’s family isn’t as wealthy. I know her brother always wanted in on my father’s business but was shut out. Then, I’d call the one man who could back me until it’s my time to rise. None of the made men will back me at fifteen. Not when I have no access to money, no legal adult status or the muscles yet to make them bend to my will. My Uncle will buy them all, promise them more than he can deliver.

  I need my own crew. One I can trust to break me just to build me into the perfect killing machine. One that I can use as a new foundation on which to build my own throne.

  Constantine.

  It had to be him.

  He’s half-blind. Old as fuck but he trained Papa to be the Don he was. It’s a sort of fucked up tradition between our two families. They train us and we wed and bed their women in return, strengthening the alliance by blood. But Papa let it all go to his head. The money. The power. The pussy. Drunk on his own power, he became sloppy and the Fiorelli’s got him.

  Money, power and a woman is a man’s weakness. I’d seen it time and time again with my own eyes. It works to my advantage that I’ve tasted none of them. I can exercise self-control to make sure none of the three ever bring my downfall.

  Except…the girl. The one whose life was in my hands to take…one heartbeat away from stopping.

  My fist smacked against the table as I remembered the feel of her silky red hair in my hands… the way it smelled like innocence and sunshine…how I shook as I held her. I was the one with my hands on her throat and yet she was the one who controlled me.

  She’s a tween. Probably doesn’t even bleed yet and I’ve got some sick fascination with her. I should’ve ended it. I’ll find her, no doubt still in her Papa’s house trying to plot how to live. I let her live an extra day. I can’t let her have anymore not when my very place in my own family is being questioned. I will be the head of the Salvatore Syndicate. It’s my destiny and no one will take it from me, not even Little Red.

  I grabbed thick rope from the cellar and walked into the dusk. The cold winter air burned my throat as I breathed in deep. I shut my eyes wondering if her throat burned like this as my hands closed around it.

  Damn that hellish girl.

  I couldn’t do it and that made me weak. She’s a weakness.

  In the end, I couldn’t take her life…when something in me wanted to own it. As I squeezed and breathed in the honey-scent of her hair and felt her girlish body tremble… it excited me—her—a little girl.

  I’m sick.

  I really am my father’s son—a total monster. When she fainted, falling limp in my arms, I felt shame at how powerful it felt. I was her master. It was my decision if she lived or died by my hands. She made me feel like a fifteen-year-old god.

  That little piece of obstinance was right about one thing—I was a virgin. A demi-god who was almost a man but never knew what it felt like to fuck. She called me out on it, too. When her eyes delved into mine; she tried to suck my soul straight from the center of my being.

  Maybe she did.

  How the hell else can I explain why I didn’t make the final kill that would even the balance? Her famiglia killed my father, my baby sister, and all my aunt’s in a car bomb on Christmas Eve. They were on their way to church. It was supposed to be me and my brothers in that car. But we let them go instead. The engine was running longer, the interior warmer. My fate was to watch in horror four cars back as they burned.

  I shook my head.

  Her life was mine to take to make things right.

  Shame crashes over me. I didn’t avenge them. They deserved vengeance.

  I nodded to the guards, waving them off as I take off on foot. With the Fiorelli’s gone there are no threats…except the one I left to his wine and cigarettes. It’s a brisk walk but it cools my heated blood. I’m back to being cold-hearted and calculated, I need to turn into a ruthless man to survive my lot in life. I never craved the crown since it was always mine to have. But now that it’s being threatened, I want it as bad as I want to snap the Fiorelli girl’s delicate neck.

  Her house was a silent tomb.

  No lights.

  No flickering candles.

  I stepped inside. It was filled with objects of the people turned ghosts who used to have a life within these walls.

  She was too smart to have any light on. On silent feet, I moved from room to room. Her father’s study was unlocked. My fingers traced her baby-girlish face from the photo perched on his desk.

  I lifted it high, smashed the glass and tore her photo from the frame. Like a lovesick fan, I held it tight, tucking it into my pocket.

  Obsession. It consumed me. The need to make her pay for her father’s sins—that must be why. It was the only logical reason.

  “Where are you little butterfly?” I called out softly into the darkness.

  With a twisted grin, I climbed the stairs like the big, bad wolf knowing he had his target trapped.

  My fingers pushed creaky doors open one by one until I found her room. I knew it was hers. The smell of honey and sunshine came from within.

  Moonlight spilled across her pillow—cold and gray like the light of death itself. It shone down on a crumpled piece of paper, next to it laid a wilted flower.

  You won’t find me. I’ll find you first. Someday when you aren’t looking, my face will be the last you see as your blood spills just as my Papa’s.

  Until then, little-man Salvatore.

  P.S. If our roles were reversed. I wouldn’t have hesitated. You showed weakness and mercy. Don’t expect me to give you any.

  My cock stirred.

  The little butterfly had claws. She’s smart too. But she’s wrong if she thinks I’ll let her soft mossy eyes and flame colored hair bewitch me twice.

  I would get vengeance. Someday just l
ike I promised. When she’s legal and her tits ripe. I’d laugh as I ram my steel dick in her and remember her taunt that I didn’t know my way around a woman’s body. My hands trailed over her cold sheets. Picked up objects around her room before dropping them back in their place. On her dresser, I found a hair ribbon. It was hunter green and still had strands of her hair tangled in it. I held it to my nose. Like the sick predator I was, I inhaled deeply.

  My whole body quaked.

  Trembled.

  Need.

  Desire.

  Vengeance.

  They all swirled in a storm, brewing inside me.

  I pocketed the treasure next to the photo and walked downstairs. Whistling, I shoved off the back step and walked in the shadows toward the local whorehouse. I’d prove that sassy hellion wrong. I’d become a man tonight.

  A Salvatore never pays and a whore’s legs are always spread for one. I knew our outfit always kept the most beautiful ones on reserve. No other men in Palermo could touch them. Their pussy’s were saved for us.

  My knuckles rapped twice on the door.

  The madam kept her cool when she opened. “Mr. Salvatore. Welcome.”

  She ushered me inside the opulent mansion where women lounged topless on velvet couches. She snapped her fingers. “Get Giselle.”

  “Come. Sit.” She led me over to a wide chair covered in the same crimson velvet as the couches. She made me a bourbon, neat. I felt like a man as she paraded woman after woman in front of me until she presented the last one.

  “This is Giselle. She’s a favorite.”

  I perused the woman. She was beautiful, with long chocolate hair and deep blue eyes. But I didn’t want her.

  I look up the line.

  “Her,” I pointed my finger at the petite redhead. She was young and flat chested. If the madame was surprised by my choice she hid it well.

  The redhead came forward and straddled me. I ran my index finger up her stomach. It shook as it reached her pebbled nipple. It took everything I had not to come in my pants as she moved her hand to the seam in my crotch.

  She resembled my hellion, but she was much older. She took my hand and led me to a gaudy boudoir.

  I didn’t bother with foreplay. She knew what was coming. I drove my steely hips into hers. My hands made their way to her throat. She clawed at me. I whispered honeyed words of devils and angels as I came. My eyes shut tight, as I buried my nose in her hair and pretended, she was someone else a decade from now.

  I let go and she rolled from under me wheezing for breath. I felt reborn, energized, and ready to take my place at the head of my family’s table.

  I sprung off the bed and started to dress. Opening my wallet, I let a thousand Euros rain on the bed.

  “Salvatore men… don’t pay.” Her voice was husky with pain.

  “A gift, for you bella.” I smirked as she held the sheet to hide her barely there breasts.

  “Don’t hide, bella. These,” I leaned over taking the sheet and letting the back of my knuckles rub over her nipples, “are art.” I realized I took her, but still knew nothing of sex. “Show me? Teach me how to please a woman?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Please, bella.”

  She nodded. “Choking is fine but wait until you feel me clench around you. Wait until I’m at the edge of the cliff. I’ll soar higher then.”

  I undressed again.

  She pushed me back on the bed and straddled my hips. “Touch me here.” She rolled her own nipples. “Like this.”

  I groaned, feeling my cock harden, wanting more. I bent forward taking the tiny bud into my mouth. She threw her head back and grinded her wet mound on me.

  When she lifted her hips, my cock surged up and slipped back in. She showed me the tempo. Slow. Fast.

  I came again. This time it was just a sheer release, with no ghost of a girl’s eyes haunting me.

  I was virile with a lifetime of pent up rage in my teenage body. We went for hours. And I found my favorite position when she gets on all fours and raised her ass up high.

  I slid in deep, seeing stars as my dick hits the secret spot all woman have. My whore didn’t fake her cries of bliss as I hit it over and over.

  I realized missionary is for lovers. And love is a weakness. I vowed never to take a woman that way when there is no need. This position was best anyway. She was satisfied and I felt like a powerful god and the best part—I didn’t need her face or lips. Kissing is for passion. Eyes can steal your soul. Both those things are a death sentence for a man-boy like me. Especially if I want to survive to bring my family back to the heights of power.

  I left her right before the breaking dawn. The smell of sweaty sex still clung to me as I snuck back into the family home with evil ruling my heart. In a moment of clarity. It all made sense. What I must do to survive like the little Fiorelli girl.

  I grabbed my father’s switch blade and crept down the hall to my uncle’s chambers. He was snoring. Bottles of wine littered his nightstand and floor. He was in the middle of two women who also were sleeping it off.

  I opened the blade and struck hard and fast. His eyes snapped open, but he was already a dead man as the blood gushed from his slit throat onto the satin pillows.

  I held his gaze and waited. In his dying eyes, I saw that he knew. He knew why it had to be done. For he was plotting against me. My uncle wanted me buried and gone but instead it would be him, not me.

  I turned, walked out and let the hot shower rinse away my sin. But the man I had become remained. I took my first life and lost my virginity in the same long night.

  I met my eyes in the mirror. The Fiorelli girl was wrong. I wasn’t weak. I had just become a man.

  4

  “Do I have to?”

  “In America, yes. You must go to school.”

  I sighed, munched my toast and pretended I wasn’t intimidated. I stared down the face of death, escaped its clutches unscathed but the thought of going to the fifth grade in a public school in New York had me petrified.

  Since my accent was heavy and my English poor, Zio thought it best to enroll me a year behind for my age. He took me shopping and I was excited to buy jeans and sneakers. Papa always made me wear dresses and fancy shoes that pinched my feet.

  He sipped his espresso, eyeing me over the rim. “Look them in the eye. Don’t let them see your fear. They will be looking for it.”

  “Who? The fifth-graders or the Salvatore’s?”

  He smiled faintly. “To conquer one, you must conquer the other first.”

  “Well, I already conquered Roque Salvatore. These bullies don’t stand a chance.”

  “No, they don’t. I’ll pick you up from school. Your training starts today.”

  “Martial arts?”

  “Fencing. You’re small for your age and much younger than your foe. You must use every weapon you can to your advantage.”

  “Like the goddess, Diana. She used bows and arrows.”

  “You will, too. All in good time.”

  I picked up my backpack and put on a thick puffy coat. I was already feeling much better about my day. I just had to get through school first. Zio walked me the five city blocks over to the school. I stopped, letting the tip of my nose touch against the chain metal fence. Boys inside the concrete school yard were playing some weird game inside a hexagon using a bouncing ball.

  “It’s called Ga-ga. You’ll learn. It’s good for your reflexes.”

  A few girls jumping rope caught my eye. Hope fluttered through me. I’d never had any real friends. People at my old school either sucked up to me because I was a Fiorelli or feared me because I was one. I couldn’t win. But now I was Diana Palermo, a girl with no past and with a future I could paint any color I wanted.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you in.”

  “No. I can take it from here.” I lifted my chin high; stared down every curious gaze, and marched right into that building.

  “Diana Palermo.” The name dropped from my lips heavy with my accent, but it was spo
ken like a dare. The secretary nodded her head so hard the glasses perched on the tip of her nose wobbled.

  She spoke English so fast I couldn’t understand one word. I thought Italians spoke fast, but she had my nationality beat. She shuffled a pile of papers, found the one she was searching for and motioned me to follow her out and down the hall.

  She walked into an empty classroom and handed the sheet of paper to the teacher writing on the blackboard with chalk. Much to my delight the teacher turned and smiled with her eyes.

  “Diana! Benvenuto! Welcome!”

  My shoulders sagged with relief. She spoke Italian. Her accent was off, but I understood her and she, me.

  She told me to take a seat in the first row. I thought school was going to be okay. But that quickly changed shortly after the bell rang and the class filed in. She turned her back to finish writing on the board and that’s when the first spitball landed in the back of my hair.

  Eyes narrowed, I turned to face the sea of smirks behind me. My fingers felt around in my hair for the wadded-up paper and flicked it to the floor. I wiped my hands on my jeans just as another one hit.

  These kids were idiots. The worst things they’ve seen on a TV I’d actually witnessed first-hand. I was hoping to make friends. But I guess it was to be war. Little could they know—war is all I’ve ever known.

  It was going to be a slaughter.

  I chewed the end of my pencil and plotted. I knew it was the big kid in the back with the spiked-up hair and attitude I could smell in the front row. He was going down. I wondered how many boys would fall before I toppled the ultimate prize. They’d all be practice for the main event. But I’d still savor each victory.

  I stayed still not even bothering to collect the gathering ickiness sticking in the back of my hair. I held my head high and did my work. Recess was coming soon. I’d show these boys that there’s a new boss in town, starting with a swift kick in the nuts and if that wasn’t enough, I’d practice my right-hook. The one Zio’s been teaching me.