Page 17 of Sweet Revenge

When she did, she lay down carefully on the bed on my unwounded side, folding her hands and looking up at the ceiling.

“Elisa?” I tried to prop myself up, but it hurt, so I fell back on the pillows. “Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything.” Her voice was soft and calm. “I’m just thinking.”

Reaching over, I ran my hands through her long strands of silky blonde hair. She was melting. I could tell. “I’m so sorry that I upset you. I didn’t mean to.”

She looked over at me, and I thought she might cry again. Instead, she lifted up off the pillow and kissed me. Long and intense, it made the pain in my shoulder melt away for its entire interval. When she released me, I was acutely aware of the pain in my chest again, but for a moment, everything in life had been pure bliss.

Elisa resettled on her pillow. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.

Part of me said I should just shut my trap and let her talk, but I was confused. “What’s that?”

“My mother’s death. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even fully the fault of whoever killed her. My father should’ve kept her safe. He was the one who dragged her ass into this lifestyle. Why couldn’t he protect her? What difference does it make if you’re the baddest mobster in the world if you can’t keep your own family safe?”

Her questions raised some concerns for me. She had a point. So far, I’d done a pretty shitty job of keeping her safe, and that needed to change. Panic began to well up inside of me for a second as I remembered this was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to date her, or anyone for that matter, to begin with. I needed to find a way to keep her from getting hurt again.

“As far as my father’s motivation is concerned, I’m not exactly sure.” She had returned her thoughts to the original question I’d asked her outside. What was the driving force behind her father’s actions? “But I think we can figure it out. The bastard is cruel, that’s for damn sure. But it’s just a means to an end. He can’t demand respect from people without that element, so he treats everyone like shit. He doesn’t necessarily seem to enjoy causing pain to others, other than me, I guess, but he feels it’s part of his job. He can’t get people to comply without the threat of pain and death. This way, he gets strict obedience without having to do anything to earn it. It’s a necessity, really. Just how he runs his show.”

I shook my head. She wasn’t wrong, and that was the scary part about it. My father had been the same way, though he actually did enjoy seeing other people suffer. I had a feeling Alexander did, too, at least beyond what she was saying, but I didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t think it’s revenge either,” she continued. “If he’d been after your family because you killed my mother, something I’m sure he’s known all along, he would’ve come after you years ago. I mean, it’s been five years since her death. It doesn’t usually take him that long to get vengeance. It’s usually a pretty quick thing right after he’s wronged.”

She had a point there. “So what is it, do you think?” I asked.

Elisa was quiet for a moment before she leaned up on one elbow and turned to look at me. “It’s your mother.”

The room fell silent for several beats as I stared at her, trying to understand her epiphany. “What’s that?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, it’s your mom.”

“No way, Elisa. Your father isn’t motivated by love. He doesn’t love anyone but himself,” I reminded her.

“No, I agree with that. It’s not love, exactly. It’s just someone else had what he wanted. When he was torturing me, he said that he’d known your mom for a long time, that they’d dated or some shit, back before either one of them got married.” Her forehead scrunched up as if she was struggling to remember exactly what he’d said. “He made it sound like your dad had come in and swooped her away, like maybe she’d never really loved your dad and had always been in love with my father or some shit, but either way, he’d lost her. And when he’d lost her to your father, he’d decided the Petrovs were his sworn enemies for life.”

“You think?” Maybe she was on to something here. Her father did seem like the kind of bastard who didn’t like sharing his toys.

She nodded. “I do think so. It’s not love that’s motivating him. He probably doesn’t love your mother any more than he loved mine, which wasn’t much, if I’m honest. It’s just the idea that someone else had something that he thought belonged to him, and not only did he want it back, but he wants to destroy everything that person held dear. So it doesn’t matter that your father is dead and he already has your mother, he essentially wants to burn everything that was your father’s to the ground. His businesses, the syndicate, his family, everything. He’ll stop at nothing to make sure he comes out on top, even if it means he suffers, too, along the way.”

I took in what she was saying and mulled it over in my mind for a few minutes. While it seemed like a pretty simplified version of what motivated the man, I understood where she was going, and I had to admit that she was probably right.

I finally began to grasp what she was saying. The more I thought about it, the more I could see that Alexander La Rosa was the kind of guy who would do whatever it took to catch up to someone who’d accidentally run into him in a crowded subway terminal just so he could shove the bastard in front of a moving train. For him, it didn’t matter if the punishment fit the crime. He just wanted anyone he perceived as having wronged him to pay with their life or whatever they held most dear.

“All right, baby,” I said, biting my bottom lip against the pain as I moved to wrap an arm around her. “That sounds like something I can work with then.”

Elisa looked at me for a moment with her wide, icy blue eyes still raw and red from crying. She nodded and settled her blonde crown against my shoulder.

If Alexander La Rosa wanted to came after my family, I could do the same to his.

CHAPTER11

ELISA

Nearly two weeks passed by quickly, considering we were doing next to nothing, other than talking, having sex, and letting Daemon heal. Of course, he refused to actually lie still and help facilitate that mending. By the second Monday we’d been at the cabin, I found myself sitting on the old stump near the porch watching him swing the axe, wishing it were me. Something about gripping that handle, letting the blade fly, and slicing through something as solid and once stately as a log made me feel alive in a way I never had before.

It was nice to watch Daemon do it, though. Dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, he looked rugged in a non-mafia way, like a svelte lumberjack. Like if lumberjacks also did cardio and didn’t eat a buttload of flapjacks for breakfast every morning.

“What are you staring at?” he asked, setting the axe down for a moment as he inclined his head toward me.