FIVE

long flight from London Heathrow to J.F.K Airport, New York. Seven hours and fifty five minutes, to be precise.

Time I didn't have to waste.

Florence spent most of the flight sleeping, once she'd finally finished having a tantrum, which was fine by me. I liked watching her, the way her pink lips fell apart when she breathed. She looked so much calmer when she was asleep, it made it easier to imagine that she didn't hate me. I had spent a lot of time thinking that I hated her, but now, watching her, I realised that I didn't. Not at all. This dinner was my only chance to prove that; if she still felt the same by the end of it, I would take her back to London and leave her alone.

The plan had been to go back to my house first to freshen up, then have dinner at the best Italian in New York. Finding my sister drunk senseless in my kitchen was not part of that plan.

"Sofia?" I lead Florence over to the counter where my mess of a sibling was sat with her head in her hands. I set my gun down and sighed. "I thought someone had broken in." Technically, someone had.

There was a sharp intake of breath from her chest, but otherwise nothing.

An empty bottle of red wine was toppled over on the edge of the counter, another half-full one stood next to it. In one hand, Sofia held a glass, and in the other she had a cigarette.

She's using my best damn wine glasses, I thought angrily. And smoking in my house.

I snatched the cigarette from her hand and ground it out in the crystal ash tray that she hadn't even managed to use. "What have I told you about -"

"Arturo!" Florence chided, shaking her head. She rounded the counter and came to a stand still beside my sister.

Fucking brilliant, now they're working together.

"Sofia," she tried gently, removing the wine glass from the equation and setting it aside.

Finally my sister looked up. Her big brown eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her lipstick half rubbed off. She looked like she'd been on a month-long bender.

It worried me.

Sofia was the strongest woman I knew; she had endured more than most in the name of our family and she had never before let the cracks start to show.

I could guess what was wrong with her. It started with S and ended with O. Tended to be synonymous with asshole.

Sofia took a long and shaky breath, drawing herself together. She ran her thumbs beneath her eyes to wipe away the smudged black makeup and then took another cigarette out of the packet. This time I didn't stop her from sparking up. She shakily exhaled a plume of smoke. "I'm alright."

"Clearly you're not."

She took another drag and reached for the wine glass but I snatched it out of her reach. "I'm alright," she insisted again.

"Then why do you look like-"

"Lasciarlo da solo, stronzo!"

(Leave it alone, asshole)

I rolled my eyes. "Florence, go upstairs and get ready."

"We can't just leave her."

"I'll call Salvo, he'll come and get her, problem solved."

Sofia slammed my damn expensive wine glass down.

"No," she whispered. Her hand that still held a cigarette waved it back and forth between Florence and I. She was shaking. "No one is calling Salvo."

There was an edge of hysteria in her voice that didn't go unnoticed. Even Florence shot me a weary glance. She pulled out a chair beside my sister and slumped into it. "Nobody is calling anyone. Not if you don't want us to."

"Speak for yourself."

"Arturo," she warned, shooting a wide eyed glance between my psychotic sibling and I.

I rolled my eyes and reached for the whiskey decanter. Of course I wanted to call Salvo right this instant; have him ship her away back to Italy, for all I cared. One night with Florence was all I asked for. One night to fix things. And now here she was looking at me with those big brown bambi eyes pleading for me to let Sofia stay.

"Donne!" I grumbled. She and I both knew fine well that Florence was going to get her own way.

(Women!)

I threw back a tumbler of whiskey and set it down just a little too hard on the counter. Sofia startled at the sound.

"How long are you staying for?" I sighed.

Sofia took a long drag on her cigarette. "I don't know."

"And does he know you're here?"

There was a long pause. "No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I..."

"Well?" I pulled out a cigar and lit it. If I had to repeat myself one more time...

"I can't..."

"What do you mean you can't?" I kept my voice cool but beneath it simmered a burning rage. I was going to lose it with her. "Tu sai quale sia! Hai idea di quanto sia pericoloso?!" I slammed my hand down on the table as anger grew in my chest. How could she be so reckless? "Hai idea di quanti pericoli tu mandi Florence-?" I halted my rant abruptly, switching back to English. "What are you doing?"

(You know what he is like! Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?!) (Do you have any idea how much danger you are putting Florence in?)

Florence had just pulled a cigarette from the packet and placed it between her lips. She shot me a look like she had been caught red-handed. "Everyone else is doing it," she said sheepishly.

I reached over and took it from her lips, snapping the cigarette in half. "You don't smoke."

"She can smoke if she wants to."

"Don't test me," I snapped at my sister. "You can stay for two days, then you call Sal. If you won't, I will. Did my security men let you in?"

Sofia nodded. "I told them to go home for the night."

"You did what?"

I strode over to the window and glanced out at the darkening sky beyond the glass. Behind the pine trees, pale pinks and oranges glowed like dying embers as the sun sank out of view. I surveyed the landscape and breathed out a heavy sigh. It wasn't often my plans went awry, nor was it often that I let a woman get her way.

Florence was different, though. She was always fucking different.

My eyes flickered over the dimly lit lawn and a flash of movement caught them. Someone was walking across the grass with long, purposeful steps. An intruder. Exactly the reason I employed people to guard the house, not that my sister seemed to have any concept of safety.

So as not to alarm Florence I left my usual gun on the counter and exited the room in silence.

Downstairs I had a tall wooden cabinet which was usually locked. I turned the key and threw it open, revealing a stock of weapons for situations not dissimilar to this. A gun would be too loud and I didn't have a silencer to hand, so instead I opted for a knife.

When I opened the front door the figure was only a few feet away. They wore a jumper, hood up and head down. They didn't look armed. It took a second for them to realise that they had been spotted, and a moment more to process the information and react.

Two seconds for them to hurtle towards me.

Three seconds to land their first hit.

Half a second for me to realise who it was.

Lucas Rossi.

He slammed right into me, arms flailing, attempting to land as many punches and kicks as he could. "You bastard!" he grunted as he aimed for the corner of my jaw. I blocked his hit and grabbed his wrist, twisting it around until he moaned in pain. Still struggling against my vice-like grip, his second hand came up towards my cheek and this time he landed a good punch. I felt myself reeling from the impact, releasing his wrist in the process. "How could you?!" Lucas continued to rage.

I didn't know what he was talking about but hell if I cared. Clearly he had forgotten our last encounter in my office. Perhaps it was time to remind him.

"Rat," was all I spat as my right hook connected with his jaw - successfully - making it pop. He held a hand to his face and flexed it, assessing the damage. Rage seemed to fill his eyes and in a split second he was charging again, this time attempting to force me backwards with his hands smashing into my ribcage.

Unfortunately for him, it was a rookie mistake. I saw it coming from a mile off.

I drew my knife as he ran head on and I saw the realisation dawn on his features. Fuck playing fair. He had only a second to react to this new state of play; he twisted his body, unable to stop, so that the glistening blade only tore into his shoulder.

"Fuck," Lucas hissed. He stood a few meters away, panting and gripping his now-bleeding shoulder. I smiled silently.

It felt good to see him suffer.

As he breathed heavily and struggled to pull himself together, I span the blood-soaked blade between my fingers. "Is that all you've got?"

He spat a mouthful of red onto the grass. "You wouldn't kill me."

"That's a bold assertion for someone with a knife wound."

"If you love her, you won't kill me."

I chuckled lowly and retrieved from the pocket of my jacket a silk handkerchief. I placed the knife between its folds and wiped it clean. "And what do you know of love? You love my Florence?"

"It doesn't matter who I love." I saw his jaw clench as he swallowed. Yes, was what he meant. He just said it in fewer words.

I cocked my head. "And you think that I will not kill you, for her, si?"

"It would kill her. She'd hate you."

"Wrong." I took a firm step closer and Lucas watched me with weary eyes. His blood had left a streak down his white jumper. "She wouldn't hate me," I continued dispassionately. "She wouldn't know. Do you want me to tell you how I would do it?"

"You're going to ruin her," Lucas spat.

I ignored him. "I would shoot you with an unregistered gun. I would cut your body into pieces, one by one, limb from limb, and I would tie each of those to a breeze block. Then you would sink to the bottom of the Hudson, and Florence would never know. Now, that method is for days when I'm feeling kind. On days where I'm feeling less kind, well, let's just say you would be awake for the separation of your limbs."

"You wouldn't-"

"And if you're lucky, you would fall unconscious after one, perhaps two legs had been sawn off." I began spinning the knife idly between my hands again. "Although, one man once stayed awake until there was nothing left..."

The night had drawn in icily around us. Lucas' hot breath misted into the frigid air, making his face appear even more pale. "You don't fucking deserve her!"

I smiled a half-smile and turned around. "No," I whispered. "I don't. But I have her, and I will keep her at all costs. Go home, Lucas. The next time I see you, I will kill you." I opened the door without looking back. "And I won't be feeling kind."