He Hates Me Not (Hate & Love Duet 2)

A smile tugs my lips at the thought that she’s dripping all over the vibrator and with nothing to appease her want.

Pet might act tough, but she doesn’t like toys or collars or chains. Actually, she does, but only when I’m there with them. She said it the last time, didn’t she? That it’s not about the fantasy, it’s about the one who’s bringing the fantasy to reality.

Me.

When I go back to her, she’ll be so ready for me, she’ll forget about all the stubbornness and her demand to go back.

She’ll never go back.

It takes me a few hours to do a complete tour of the mansion. It’s old, the walls have gained age after all the years it has spent vacant.

It became the house of ghosts.

My family was shot in Chicago, and for some fucked up reason, I’m glad for it. I don’t know how I would’ve taken it if this place was turned into a bloodfest by the Costas.

I stand in front of the house, my hands in my pockets as I stare in the distance. On the right, there’s a field for grapes. On the left, olive trees. Nonno and my father loved their wine and olive oil.

My gaze filters back to a recliner chair on the patio where Nonno used to sit and hold me on his lap while he read me stories. I remember the day he died due to his heart disease. The number of people who showed up at his funeral was unbelievable to a young child my age.

It was majestic and full of respect. Dad stood proud and told me we were the leaders of the family.

“Responsibility is a duty, not a choice, Alessio.”

I briefly close my eyes as his words filter back into my head.

Even the Costas were there, or at least Emilio and Paolo were, paying respect to Nonno’s death, offering their condolences like rats while they were plotting our demise and how to stab us from behind.

Motherfuckers.

I’ll erase the Costa name just like they erased the Vitallio — or rather tried to. I might go by Jasper Cain now, but I was once Alessio. I was once a proud son of the Vitallio family. I came back after decades but better late than fucking never.

Enzo said this place has been deserted since the massacre in the States.

There are a few seasonal workers, usually illegal migrants, but from what he said, no one forgot the Vitallios.

Enzo’s father had been Dad’s best friend and he was hunted down and killed in his house in Sicily.

The only reason Enzo survived is because Lucio kept him alive to take care of his shipments from here to the States.

The motherfucker must think he’s so invincible that they kept the sons of his enemies alive. Not only that, but he makes them believe he’s their benefactor, too. It’s his God complex.

That day my foster father was beating me the fuck up until he broke my nose, I hit him back and ran away. That’s when Lucio appeared like a savior — or more like a grim fucking reaper. He was waiting for the chance I’d be on my own so he could pounce, and I gave him just that by running away.

Well, Lucio. You’re not the only one with hidden cards.

Once I’m outside, I retrieve my phone and dial his number. On the way here, Enzo provided an untraceable phone. Mine was, but Lucio knew about it, so I don’t trust it anymore.

Not that I completely trust Enzo either, but we share a tragedy and there’s company in that. The need for revenge in his eyes matches the same that’s flowing in my blood.

He answers after two rings. “Lucio Costa.”

“Alessio Vitallio.”

There’s a pause before he speaks in a calm tone. “You figured it out.”

“You thought I never would?”

“I knew there would be a day where you connected the dots. I just thought I would use your dog skills for a bit more.”

I clench my teeth but force myself to remain composed as I speak, “Is that why you sent me to kill Luca? Because he figured it out, too?”

Luca, Lucio’s earlier hitman and number one man, suddenly fell from grace. Lucio told me he betrayed him and therefore he needed to die. I didn’t question it at the time and finished him off.

Now, I’m sure Luca belonged to a family Lucio hurt at some point and he made the mob killer think he saved him, too.

Lucio’s booming laughter echoes through the phone. “Exactly. An animal finishing an animal. Don’t you think it’s poetic?”

When I don’t reply, he continues, “Just like it’s poetic how you saw me as your savior when I shot your whore mother in front of your face. The only reason I didn’t kill you is because it was easier to use you.”

I’m going to kill him and I’ll make it fucking hurt.