She’s My Queen

8. The other ritual

8

THE OTHER RITUAL

SEVERIO

M y wretched heart swells with joy at the look on my uncle’s face when he finds his fiancée having brunch with me while dressed in one of the resort’s robes. Her long, thick brown hair cascades down her upper body and is mussed, looking very much like she just woke up. Which she did.

Cristina’s cheeks turn bright red, and she lowers her gaze. “I crashed here last night.”

Gio takes a seat at the other end of the table. “Where here, exactly?”

I lean back, relishing their domestic argument.

“In the spare bedroom,” she lies.

She’s a terrible liar, and he picks up on it.

“We’re through,” he says.

Cristina looks up. “We were through yesterday. Actually, the day before when you explained how you couldn’t marry me because your nephew said so.”

Gio grinds his teeth. “You better watch your mouth. Our deal is off.”

Cristina yanks the engagement ring from her finger and throws it at his chest, then pushes back her chair. “You two have a nice life.”

“Sit,” I say, but I know she won’t listen. I catch her wrist and tug her back. Her lips press, her chin quivers, and I think she might cry. I want her angry, not sad, so I squeeze. “I have something I need you to do.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “I think you’ve done enough.”

Hardly. My uncle is still breathing. “It’s Order business.”

“I don’t want another tattoo.”

“This is a ritual where I answer for my lack of oversight.”

She appears as if she’s considering what I asked. I don’t want to have to force her to remain sitting, which is what I’ll do if she tries to leave. This Order business is unavoidable, and her presence is mandatory.

I throw her a bone. “You’ll get a chance to punish me.”

Her face lights up, and she pulls her chair back under the table. Good girl. I remove my hand from her wrist and press the number for the resort staff.

She chats with them when they enter and clear the table as quickly as possible. Gio’s on the phone, his legs spread, lounging as if he has not a care in the world. Unlike Cristina, he’s an excellent liar.

Last night, someone told him my men were on the move to the airport, and instead of following through with his plan to smuggle himself out in one of the boxes of merchandise heading for Brazil, he stayed behind, pretending he was on the tarmac to oversee the loading.

A rival like my uncle, who’s played power games with my father since they were boys, is highly adaptable and calculates his moves five steps ahead of most people. Even ahead of me sometimes. He certainly calculated a smart move with Cristina and her family’s wealth, one that I didn’t catch until it was almost too late.

If I hadn’t pressed her last night, he would have escaped, no doubt to gather his forces and attack me from elsewhere when I least expected it. I wish to face him man to man, primarily because I must eliminate him. Or he can eliminate me.

Since I allowed him to get this far, I must answer for it.

The Serpentine Order should be led by the strongest man who can keep it wealthy and powerful. Since I’m that man and I almost lost my position, the rules dictate I must allow the opponent a fair chance.

“What do I have to do?” Cristina asks.

Gio’s on the phone, speaking loudly now, annoying me to the point that I want to shoot him in the mouth. But as the Head of the Order, I rise above petty quarrels and uphold the tradition that dictates I can’t simply eliminate a Mancini family member in a high position, whether it’s in the Order or in society.

My uncle is a prime minister, after all.

I wouldn’t call myself a patient man, but I have my moments. I wait until he’s finished.

Gio pockets the phone and picks up the biscotti Cristina didn’t have with her espresso. “What do you have in mind, nephew?”

He eats her cookie, appearing unconcerned about the ritual or, even worse, that he’s forgotten the ritual the leader can invoke. If so, this will be fun.

I lift a hand and flick two fingers, signaling my guard, Jesse. From inside the villa’s safe, he brings me a polished, rectangular cherry-red wooden box. He places it at the center of the table while I watch my uncle pause midchew.

His blue eyes widen, but then he catches himself and appears as if he’d expected it all along. “The destined ritual,” he concludes.

“The only one.”

He takes a few moments and then slams his gun on the table.

I do the same. I part with my Walther by pushing it toward the middle of the table, where it touches his.

“I don’t like this,” Cristina says. “What is the meaning of this?”

“My nephew is invoking the destined ritual,” Gio says. “It is performed when the Head fails in its duty.”

She turns those pretty brown eyes on me. “Which duty did you fail?”

“Foresight.”

“Foresight?”

“I didn’t see my uncle plotting to usurp me until I almost lost the Order to him. Now we will see which of us is selected for leadership and which isn’t.”

“That seems crazy because you’re not a seer, so you couldn’t have foreseen anything,” she says.

“Are you calling the ritual crazy?” I ask teasingly.

She shakes her head. “I think you’re crazy.”

Gio laughs.

I’m not amused. I flip the top of the box open and show her three clear vials. “One of these vials contains poison. Pick a vial, then pick the man you want to give it to. If the man you give the vial to survives, you will pick another vial and give it to the other man.”

Cristina pushes to her feet. “I’m not doing this.”

“You are,” my uncle and I say in unison.

She shakes her head. “I’m not. No, no. I’m not going to participate in a ritual murder.” She makes the sign of the cross over her chest, and I wince, having just remembered that Cristina is of strong faith.

“If God decides on all things, then he will also guide your hand. Do you not agree?” I ask.

“Don’t speak of what you don’t know.”

“I’m a God-fearing man. It will be as it should be. You will complete the ritual. The Head rests.”

“The Body follows,” Gio says.

“Cristina,” I say in a tone I’m certain she’ll obey. “Pick a vial.” Preferably before my uncle picks up his gun and tries to put a bullet in my heart.

Terrified, Cristina recites prayers as she reaches for a vial with trembling hands. She grabs the middle one and offers it to my uncle.

“Are you sure?” he asks her.

She wipes her tears. “I don’t want this. I never asked for this. It’s you who pulled in my dad when you shouldn’t have, and now Severio’s here making us all suffer.”

My uncle stares at her.

“Take it from my hand!” she shouts hysterically.

Poor thing. If this bothers her, she wouldn’t have survived marriage to my uncle. If she gets upset over ending him, or me, she would have lasted only a year or two before trying to leave and finding out she can’t. He would have betrayed me later on. Maybe even used her to get to me somehow. It was only a matter of time. While I tried to forget this island exists, he grew stronger, and here we are.

Flirting with death excites me.

Under the table, I part my legs and adjust my hardness.

My uncle snatches the vial, pops open the cap, and throws the liquid into his mouth. Across the table, our eyes lock, and my heart starts beating louder as I watch him continue to breathe. He survived.

“Congratulations,” I say. “You just may inherit the Order after all.”

“The Order is mine by right. You stole it from me.”

“You could’ve invoked this ritual back then, but you were a coward. You're still a coward, going behind my back. You disgust me.”

My uncle sneers. “And you will die. By the hand of the virgin you defiled.”

A virgin?

I squeeze my dick harder, then extend my hand, palm up. “Pick the vial of water, would you, little one? I have so much to live for.”

“You really are insane,” she says.

“And relatively impatient. Hurry up.”

“Do either of you know which vial holds the poison?” she asks, looking from me to him.

“No,” my uncle and I answer together.

Cristina swallows. “This is making me want to throw up.”

“You’ll pick the water,” I say.

“How do you know?” she asks.

“Because you like me better than you do him.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t. Not at all. You humiliated me in front of everyone.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You tattooed my body and made me sleep in your bed. You could’ve just taken everything from Gio and called in a hit on him.”

“You slept with him, then?” Gio asks.

I smile. “She was fun.”

He fists his hands. “You’ll answer for this, Cristina.”

I’m going to survive if only so he can never touch her with his fists.

“You’re not good men, and if either of you dies today, people will rejoice. Including me.”

I better survive now. The stakes just went up. If I die, Gio will beat her or end her altogether. It bothers me more than it should, mainly because she’s a helpless bird I never wanted to hurt.

Cristina hands me the vial, her soft fingers brushing across my palm.

“You were fun.” I pop the cap and chug the contents down my throat. A few seconds go by. Cristina’s on the edge of her seat, staring at me.

My hand flies to my throat, and I open my mouth as if I’m choking.

“Oh my God!” Cristina screams. “Call an ambulance! Ambulance!” She’s at my side and fussing over me, but she doesn’t know what to do. I hold my throat and make choking noises. When she starts to pray in earnest, laughter escapes me, giving my antics away.

Cristina’s expression goes from concerned to angry in a second. She swings, and I let her slap me.

I deserve it. I really do.

What she does next shocks me even more. She picks up the last vial, uncaps it, and spills it on the terrace floor. Once done, she wipes her hands as if dusting off flour after kneading bread and looks directly at me, daring me to punish her.

“I brought another box,” I tell her. “Jace,” I call the guard who’s stepped outside the villa.

“You can bring yourself another girl.”

“Gio picked you. You’re it.”

She opens her mouth, no doubt to answer me, but then looks out over the terrace. She covers her eyes from the sun. “What is that?”

I cast my gaze into the distance and spot a drone at the same time that Gordon starts shouting for us to get inside.

Gio vaults out of his chair.

Cristina’s frozen.

Bullets whistle past my head.

I tackle her to the ground, my body covering hers. Cristina is screaming herself hoarse. Gordon is shouting that someone’s hit.

A bullet hits my calf. Another, my upper thigh.

My niece better be far, far away from here.