A Kiss Before I Kill You

~ Chiara ~

In about twenty minutes, my fiancé was going to die. And I was the one with the pleasure of killing him.

I watched from my position near the bar as he staggered to his feet, shoving the stripper off his lap with all the grace of a drunk buffalo.

His friends roared with laughter, completely unaware that their beloved groom-to-be was dying right in front of them.

The neurotoxin I'd slipped into his first whiskey was working exactly as planned.

His pupils were dilated, his words slurring together, and that tremor in his right hand? That wasn't from the alcohol.

The first dose was to make him sloppy, dizzy. The second would be the one that stopped his heart.

No blood. No mess.

"Another drink!" he bellowed, nearly tripping over his own feet.

I adjusted my masquerade mask–one made of black lace that conveniently covered half my face–and picked up a fresh glass of champagne from my tray.

The party's masquerade theme was supposed to add an air of mystery. For me, it was an added disguise.

My phone buzzed inside my pocket, stopping me in my tracks. I fished it out and glanced at the screen.

Isa: You're at the party, aren't you?

I rolled my eyes. Of course she knew.

Me: Maybe.

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

Isa: You still have that knife I gave you?

My brows lifted, a smile tugging at my lips.

Me: You're the worst sister ever, you know that?

Isa: Says the woman currently trying to kill another of her fiancés.

I snorted, shaking my head.

Me: Fair point.

Isa: Just be home before midnight, okay? And be fucking careful. If you even think about dying tonight, hell will be the least of your problems.

A laugh escaped me as I weaved through the crowd of suits and ties.

Bossy little twin.

Bachelor parties were supposed to be about celebrating the groom's last night of freedom.

How fitting that would be Luciano's last night.

He was my third fiancé in six months.

Soon, he'd be my third dead fiancé.

I was getting rather good at this, I mused, handing Luciano his second laced drink of the night.

Just as I turned to leave, he grabbed me by the waist and pinned me against his body. My eyes stung, his revolting stench invading my lungs.

"I... I don' fink I've ev'r had a waitress b'fore," he breathed, voice slurring with every syllable. "Looks like t'night's... the p'rfect night f'r that."

His grip tightened, and before I could protest, he was dragging me toward the private rooms upstairs.

The blare of the music faded into the background, along with the cheers of Luciano's friends.

My mind raced.

That wasn't part of the plan.

I'd expected him to ignore me. Why wouldn't he?

He would have half a dozen women clinging to him all night. I was just another waitress carrying drinks through the crowd. Someone he wouldn't even spare a second glance.

Apparently, I'd been wrong.

I kept my face lowered as we moved through the hallway, my mind racing through every possible way out.

I tried to pull myself free but all my efforts fell flat.

Shit! How could he still be this strong?

If I struggled too much, it'd only draw attention because what kind of low-paid waitress would refuse a man like Luciano fucking Fierro?!

No. I had to stay calm.

If I let him take me upstairs, I could find another opportunity to finish him off. It was the only option I could think of that didn't immediately ruin everything.

Thankfully, the private area wasn't crowded and the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke faded as we went farther.

Moans and grunts filled the hallway, blending into an obscene chorus.

As we neared the last room along the hallway, my heart sank. There were two bodyguards stationed outside the room, each clutching a pistol like it was his lifeline.

The sound of my pulse thrumming drowned out the music blaring below us. I slowed for half a second, but Luciano's grip tightened around my waist and kept me moving.

Two guards. One room, and no easy way out.

I could maybe get past one, but not two.

And if something happened to Luciano while I was inside that room, I'd have nowhere to run before they came through the door.

Shit! My plan had just become a hell of a lot more complicated.

The guards stepped aside the moment they saw Luciano. I kept my expression blank as he pushed open the door.

I would figure something out.

I had to.

A grunt escaped me as Luciano dragged me in with a newfound strength, shutting the door with a loud bang before I even realized we were inside.

He wasted no time laying his filthy hands on me–groping, grabbing, and pawing like the animal he was.

"Get off–" I shoved against his chest, but the bastard was stronger than he should be, even with poison coursing through his veins.

"C'mon, bella," he slurred, backing me toward the bed. "Don't be... shy..."

The revolting feel of his touch made me want to peel my skin off. Although his movements were slower now, more uncoordinated, his grip around my waist was still like iron.

Just a few more minutes. The neurotoxin would soon–

His hand suddenly trailed down, sliding in the space between my thighs and my stomach just dropped.

I didn't even think. I just slapped him.

His face barely moved, bloodshot eyes fixed on me in a deadly glare. The growl rumbling deep in his chest was difficult to miss and for a split second, I feared the neurotoxin was no longer effective.

Before I could make another attempt to escape him, his hand shot out and ripped the mask from my face.

My heart screeched to a stop as recognition flashed in Luciano's bulging eyes.

"Chiara?!"

My blood turned to ice.

Oh, no. Oh no, no, no–

"How..." He burst out laughing, an ugly and cruel sound. "How did I not know that my wife-to-be was donning a waitress's uniform by night. Does... does your father know you're here? I can't help but wonder... what he'd think of his beloved fiore when he finds out who she really is."

My hand quickly found its way to the knife tucked beneath my blouse, the same one Isa insisted I carry.

Guess her nagging actually paid off for once.

I didn't have time for small talk. I had to finish it now.

Without a second thought, I lunged forward, driving the blade into the side of his neck.

His eyes bulged as he gurgled, his hand instinctively flying to where the knife was deeply buried in him.

Blood spewed from his neck like a fountain. It was still hot against my palm as I took slow steps away from him, chest heaving as I stared at his staggering body.

That should have been enough. But it wasn't.

Why wouldn't he just fucking die?

His eyes locked onto mine, and whatever drunken haze had clouded them before was gone.

A guttural sound escaped him as he lunged forward. I barely had enough time to react before his rough hands closed my throat.

In one swift move, Luciano had me slammed against the wall, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs.

"Get–"

His fingers tightened the second I tried to speak and I could barely recognize the squeak that left me.

I clawed at his wrists, but he barely seemed to notice.

Then my feet left the floor. The bastard was lifting me.

My fingers flew to his hands as I struggled for air, but his grip only got tighter.

My eyes darted around the room, searching for anything–anything–that I could use to help my situation. But, they were all out of reach.

Slowly, my vision began to blur around the edges.

No. Not fucking like this. Not now.

I kicked at him, trying anything I could to loosen his grip.

But nothing worked.

My lungs burned. The room started to tilt, and Luciano's face swam in and out of focus.

"Entrate, imbecilli!" he barked.

Shit! The guards.

No, no, NO–

I forced my eyes open, scratching and kicking with a little bit more energy.

The guards would burst in at any moment. I had to find a way out of here.

I couldn't afford to be caught. I would rather die than be taken alive by the Fierros.

The door burst open and Luciano's head snapped toward it.

Fuck! I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm so fucking dead–

A rush of air invaded my lungs as Luciano's grip loosened for half a second. Then, his entire body went still.

Two bodies collapsed through the doorway and it didn't take me long to realize they were the guards.

My pulse spiked. They're dead.

Luciano stared at them, confusion flashing across his face.

"What the-"

His grip finally loosened. The second he dropped me, I hit the floor hard, sputtering and coughing as air tore back into my lungs.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Luciano turning towards the doorway where his men laid motionless.

How... how had they died?

I didn't hear any struggle or gunshots. Unless...

My head jerked up, and a man standing in the doorway met my gaze. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his face was hidden behind a mask.

My breath hitched at the silenced pistol hanging loosely from his gloved hand.

"Who the hell are you?"

A soft click echoed through the room, followed by a gunshot.

Luciano jerked. For a moment, he simply stood there before his knees finally buckled.

He crashed to the floor and I just... froze.

The masked stranger stepped into the room with a measured, uneven gait and I noticed the slight limp in his left leg.

An all too familiar limp.

His gaze dropped to Luciano's body, then back to me.

I pushed down a lump that'd formed in my throat as I forced myself to meet his gaze head-on, each breath unsteady.

"You should be more careful, Miss Verdone," he whispered, voice strangely silky.

My breath trembled as he said my name.

Before I could speak, he tipped his head–a mockery of a bow–and turned to leave.

"Wait–"

He paused in the doorway and threw a glance at me over his shoulder. I swear I could see him smiling beneath the damn mask.

"See you soon, Miss Verdone."

And just like that, he was gone.

And I was left alone in the room with one name ringing in my head like a fucking bell.

Raffaele.

The limping son of the Puppeteer.