Protection money was always easy for Fiorenzo to slowly talk out of someone. Playing with his knife always seemed to make them change their mind. It was a shame. He had almost wanted to use it on that blubbering idiot at the laundry mat. It was a boring part of the job for Fiorenzo. He found himself enjoying the part he was scared to more and more. It was becoming a normal routine. It always seemed like someone else needed to die.

Fiorenzo had used his gun once for a job. Afterwards he just kind of felt nothing. It was a good feeling, but when he used his blade things were different. He felt like he was serving a form of justice. The gun was good to have a round to pull out when people wouldn’t stop talking. It did have an amazing silencing effect that was useful from time to time.

Why had this had to happen? He should have taken care of things back in Chicago. Fiorenzo pulled up in the black Chevy pickup slowly. He put it in park and killed the engine as he scratched the back of his head in thought. He pulled loose an All Jacks with his lips and grabbed the matchbook from his suit pocket. Sunshine Motel. Inside etched in a bubbly font was Room 111 with a heart and an arrow shooting through it. What the fuck was she doing in Vegas? Why hadn’t he ended things completely before flying out of town? Fabrizia Merlo had tracked down Fiorenzo. He had hoped she never would.

He should have just stabbed her right then and there when she walked up outside the HQ. She came sauntering up with her Italian sway like Fiorenzo was going to just sweep her back into his arms once more. She put the matchbook into his palm and bit down on her lip staring at him for a moment. Her eyes were filled with desire.

“Cia Fiorenzo, vieni a trovarmi.”

She had said. The same thing she would say every time she would call Fiorenzo back in his apartment in Chicago. She would say that same phrase and then moan into the phone calling out his name. He had always shown up shortly thereafter. It was never meant to be more than convenience. Two Sicilians keeping company in another country. The moment Chelsea had hit him, Fabrizia stopped existing in Fiorenzo’s world. That was until today. She had walked off after kissing him on the cheek. Fabrizia had put on her best strut for him. She stopped a few feet away and looked over her shoulder.

“I hear you found a new woman to keep you warm. The family back home wasn’t pleased to learn you weren’t with a Sicilian anymore. I’ll be in waiting. Maybe if you come see me I can talk to them? I know you must miss me.”

Fiorenzo should have stabbed her. What good would it do now? Why had he been sleeping with her in the first place? It was sick and twisted. She was the daughter of the Merlo’s. What exactly had she told her father? If Fiorenzo started seeing more Sicilians anytime soon, he was going to have to get Chelsea and get the fuck out of Vegas. He had been trying to figure out how to get away from the pull of this bitch for a long time. The first time they slept together was sick. They had been so close, before her father had killed his parents. She comforted him and followed him to America. She swore off her family name and wanted to be with him. Fiorenzo made her settle for midnight visits. He had wanted to end it, but she had threatened to call her father Oreste Merlo more than once.

The All Jack was burning into its filter and Fiorenzo coughed out the disgusting taste. He shook his head and looked at the door. He should really get out of the truck, but he was dreading this. He somehow had hoped things would just disappear.

Fiorenzo shut and locked the door to his favorite place on earth. The place that he knew would never be beat. No where could make him feel so happy, unless of course Chelsea was there, too?

“Mi amore, We must talk.”

He said when he rounded the corner in the kitchen and saw her there with her stash box. She was meticulously putting the finishing touches on another perfectly rolled joint. Chelsea set down her work of art and tilted her head, obviously concerned by his tone. Fiorenzo walked over, gave her a short-yet-passionate kiss, and grabbed onto her hand after their lips parted. He walked her over to the couch rolling his eyes at a towel she had left in the floor. She must have been in here after her shower. Too bad he missed the show.

Before he began, his hazel eyes pierced over at her. He would love to just pull her in close and make love to her here upon the couch. Could they not just fly off? Maybe a trip that never ended?

“I have a lot to tell you. It’s not going to be something you want to hear. There may be trouble though, and I want you to be safe. Also, I love you.”

He sighed before going through the details of how his relationship began with Fabrizia back in Sicily, how it had never really flourished into anything, and exactly who her parents were. The more he talked the more it hurt him. It hurt him because he should have told her this already. He was so busy falling in love with this woman that he didn’t want to bring an end to the first time he had felt true happiness.

“She gave me this today just before telling me that her family wasn’t happy I wasn’t seeing a Sicilian anymore. I suppose maybe she’s the reason her father had never came for me to finish off the job he started with my father. She wanted me to come see her apparently.”

Fiorenzo felt the first real fear he had felt in years when handed her the matchbook. He was seeing a look he couldn’t read on his lover’s face. He was afraid she would just be done with him now. After all he should have told her about Fabrizia.

“I have been trying to end it with her for years. When you hit me, I knew it was over for good. I had fooled myself into thinking it would all just vanish.” Fiorenzo closed his eyes and shook his head as a migraine began to set hold on his brain. “I’d never go to see her again. Sei la persona più importante con cui vorrei condividere il resto della mia vita.

Chelsea listened as Fiorenzo spoke. One emotion chased on the tail of another. Worry replaced confusion, and then the worry mutated into something she'd never felt before. Jealousy. Some woman had been putting her hands on Fio for years, and had the audacity to think she still owned him. 

When Fio handed her the matchbook, she flipped it open with a fingertip and saw the little heart drawn inside by a female hand. Her hand shook, so she handed it back quickly and wiped her palm absently on her thigh, wishing she'd never touched it. Her heart gave a painful thud in her chest as her brain tried to rationalize. On the one hand, she had no legitimate excuse to feel this way. She'd fucked her way through Las Vegas for years, how must Fiorenzo feel about that? On the other hand, that had been a job...she hadn't been in a relationship with any of them, barely saw them as human beings. 

There were no matchbooks with little hearts on them for Chelsea.

Breathing in deeply, she knew this wasn't anything she had a right to punish him for. Standing, she went back into the kitchen and picked up the joint she'd just rolled. She'd misplaced her lighter somewhere, and she'd be damned if she was going to ask Fio for those matches. Instead, she paced to the gas stove, lit it, and bent down to light up. The end of it flared and she killed the stove, straightening as the paper crackled down while she pulled heavily on it. When her lungs couldn't take any more, she held it until her vision began to sparkle around the edges, her brain screaming for fresh oxygen. When she exhaled, the small kitchen was nothing but a cloud. She passed through it and returned to Fiorenzo on the couch, who was looking at her with a worried expression on his face.

"Letting her stick around and toy with you isn't an option. If she isn't the type to be convinced into leaving nicely, how do you feel about her disappearing?" Did she want to hear the answer to that?

"And, if something should happen to her, and it isn't traceable back to you, are you free of this? Her family, and whatever trouble they mean to you?" 

It was hurting her to look at him. She loved him so much. Her hand moved across the couch and came to rest against his leg. It was as if she needed physical proof that he really was sitting here next to her, and not off in the shitty hotel room fucking some Italian woman who knew his body so much better than she even did yet. The pain in her heart slipped down into her stomach; if she kept on with this line of thinking, she'd throw up. Another quick drag of the joint as she waited to hear what options he would allow her.

The grasp on his leg from Chelsea’s hand felt like it was pleading him to tell him this was all just a bad joke. What if they just killed Fabrizia? If she dies in Vegas then more than likely her family would send someone after him soon. It wouldn’t matter if they suspected him or not. She had been convincing them that he would come back, when he was through spinning his wheels here in America, to marry her. Fiorenzo somehow knew she couldn’t possibly think that would ever happen.

“Depending on what she has said to her father. It might not matter if she is alive or dead right now… There is no way to tell what she has told them, and I damn sure don’t want to go find out from her lips.”

His eyes looked over at her. The smell of her joint was clouding the room and he had half a mind to grab it from her fingers. “La Sicilia non è preparata per un fuoco incrociato.” Fiorenzo bit down on his lip watching her as the paper sparked and burned down further. She was jealous. She wanted to end the life of Fabrizia. She was probably right to feel that way. Fabrizia wouldn’t stop coming after him. The few times he stopped taking her calls she turned out to be everywhere he went. If Fiorenzo started sleeping with anyone else they would end up dead typically. He had stopped trying.

Fiorenzo wondered if he could kill Fabrizia himself. He wasn’t sure. There was a large part of him that hated the woman, but she had always been around him. She had always doted upon him and tried to make him love her. The only way he could plunge his blade into her would be…

“I don’t think anyone will be convincing Fabrizia of anything. She’s killed other women I’ve gotten close to before. I think it’s time for my past to die, but someone will be headed here for answers. I’m the first one they will seek out to give them.” He ran his fingers through his hair messing it up as he gripped onto it tightly in thought. If anything happened to Chelsea because of all this, he would have to kill every last Merlo left. It wasn’t something he hadn’t dreamt of many nights in the past.

He pulled an All Jacks loose from the soft pack with hi lips after flicking it out an inch or two. Fiorenzo looked at the matchbook he wasn’t aware he was still holding onto and shook his head tossing it to the coffee table in front of them. With a raised brow he reached for Chelsea’s burning bliss and retrieved it. He put the cherry to the end of his cigarette and puffed a few times before handing her back the joint.

“I never had with her what we have. Lei è invisibile rispetto al te.”

He took a long drag from the All Jacks and blew the smoke towards the ceiling as he leaned back into the couch. His eyes closed for a minute. He had really convinced himself that this moment would never come. That he would be allowed to just go off and be happy. Did Chelsea really want to fight for him? It must sound to her like he ran off with her like one of her clients would promise from a relationship. He didn’t know if it would make things worse explaining to her the details of what him and Fabrizia had always had. Would she believe him anyways? Was his real love going to kill off the blackbird that had always called out to him in the night?

It would make this so much easier if she believed nothing he said to her, or if she didn't care as much as she did. As Fiorenzo sat back in the couch, head reclined and eyes closed with his cigarette burning between his fingers, she tried to imagine him gone. Gone back to Sicily. Off with another woman. Dead. None of those seemed acceptable. He belonged here, with her.

Lifting his hand with the cigarette, she tucked under it and swung one leg over him, straddling his lap. Her hands moved up and into his hair, dragging fingers slowly through it. His free hand came to rest on her back as she leaned in and kissed him, long, and slow. He tasted like hers, and that fact alone made up her mind on what she needed to do. 

After.

***

Two hours later, Chelsea slipped out of Fio's arms and out of the bed. Quickly dressing in the dark, she donned her motorcycle leathers. Staring at the gun in her purse, she made a split decision to leave it. Instead, she walked quietly to Fio's nightstand and opened the drawer. The 11-inch blade seemed much more appropriate. Shoving it into the back of her pants, she leaned down and gently kissed Fiorenzo on the temple. Hopefully it wouldn't be the last time she did so.

Out on the street below, she booted up the kickstand and heaved, pushing the bike away from the curb and half a block away before she climbed on it and fired it up. Strands of hair broke loose from the knot she'd tied it in as she accelerated into the night. It was 2am, the only thing awake being The Strip in the distance. Chelsea moved through the streets towards it, eventually coming to a stop half a block away from the Sunshine Motel, and killing the engine. After she'd booted the kickstand back down, he tucked her hair behind her ears and strode to Room 111. After a brief knock, Fabrizia opened the door in a red negligee. 

"Fiorenzo, I thought you'd never- oh. Oh! This is what my Italian has been climbing these past weeks? You look like a gang cun-" 

It could have gone differently. Chelsea didn't expect it to end well; one of them was going to die tonight and she'd not known her opponent enough to predict how it would play out. But the minute she saw Fabrizia's face, the fight was already over. Chelsea saw a mouth that had kissed Fio's lips, ears that had heard her baritone, a nose that had smelled his scent. Like a piston, Chelsea's fist shot out, connecting with that nose and breaking it. Fabrizia's hands flew to her face, the stupid primadonna assuming the assault was over.

Chelsea hadn't even started yet. Grabbing the other woman by the hair, she brought her face down into her kneecap, over and over, until Fabrizia went limp in her hands. Chelsea let go, letting her drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes, then followed her down as she reached behind her to pull out the blade and go to work.

...in what is being called the most heinous act of violence perpetrated in Las Vegas in fourteen years. Fabrizia Merlo, daughter of Oreste and Capriana Merlo, was found brutally slain in a hotel room off The Strip early Thursday morning by the hotel maid service. A Sicilian native, Miss Merlo was here on holiday when...

One swipe, and the negligee was shredded down the front. Straddling the unconscious form now, the sharp, long blade passed through flesh like melted butter.

...suffered multiple facial fractures. Autopsy and time of death have yet to be determined due to the extensive, animalistic acts performed on the body. Police Sergeant Kevin Neal, one of the first on scene Wednesday night, was quoted as saying that he truly hoped that Miss Merlo's initial injuries, likely to the face, were hopefully what killed her. Coroner John MacKenzie, while refraining from stating any facts this soon in the case, agreed that 'the best thing for her would have been to take a bone shard to the brain'...

Leaning over Fabrizia's now, over her heart, Chelsea opened her mouth wide and sunk her teeth in deeply, then bit down and pulled backwards, effectively removing a huge chunk of flesh. Spitting it aside, she raised the blade in a two-fisted grip above her head and brought it down, over and over, then reversed her grip and drove Fiorenzo's 11-inches of steel into places a blade should never, ever go.

...in excess of two hundred stab wounds and violations perpetrated. The family has insisted on a closed casket funeral, due to the extensive injuries sustained by the body and features. 

Gasping, Chelsea got off the floor and left through the still-open door. Thankfully, no one was in sight, because she didn't even think to look. She wasn't thinking at all, as a matter of fact. Someone else had been running that show, and Chelsea would have no memory of it.

Straddling the bike once more, she kicked-started it and sped off into the night, Fabrizia's blood instantly drying to her face.

The footsteps of Chelsea headed to the shower to wash the remnants of a winged bird off of her had woken Fiorenzo. He will never forget the sight of the blood all over her leathers and the sounds of the steaming hot shower as Chelsea scrubbed away the brutality still exuding off of her. There was something in the air. Chelsea was radiating energy like glowing hot poker sat in a bucket of water.  Fiorenzo wasn't hurt she had killed Fabrizia. He knew it was going to have to happen. She had always been his confidant. She was a Merlo. That alone was reason enough for her to die. He thought it was best not to disturb her; so he slipped back into bed without ever alerting his deadly seductress. Thoughts of his parents and of what had to be done now that Chelsea had broken the standstill for sure kept him awake longer than normal. Eventually, he drifted back to sleep.

Fiorenzo awoke not much later around three thirty in the morning. His mind would not let him sleep. He stared down at Chelsea sleeping with her head looking as though it was just barely touching the pillow. She slept like someone who didn't have a care in the world. She looked so peaceful and innocent. Fiorenzo's perfect piccola tortora.

First thing he did was head outside to look at her bike after grabbing a towel and a bucket of cold water. The new leather on the Triumph was not holding onto the blood at least. He had the bike looking spotless hours before the sun would even rise and eyes might notice. Why had she been so careless?

On the way in he was careful to look for blood anywhere in the apartment building on the path to their door. Luckily she only seemed to have touched their knob on the way inside. He went for the bleach and began to clean up the bathroom. Her riding leathers were a total mess. All Fiorenzo could think about was how Fabrizia must look. There were a couple of times that he went back and stared at her just to make sure Chelsea wasn't hurt. What the fuck happened in that motel room?  Her leathers had taken him a good 30 minutes to clean, and he started a shower shortly after to wash away the work.

Chelsea was now involved in something he didn't want her to be. Chelsea murdered Oreste Merlo's only child. He had been running a prominent family for eight years now in Sicily. He was a man that held grudges. He played the game. He was a problem. Fiorenzo knew one day blood would spill between his families again, he just never knew Chelsea would be along for the ride.

He turned off the shower and stood their hands on the wall as the water dripped off of him. Fiorenzo was happy with his choice to drive back to this apartment. He was happy with his choice with Chelsea. Life was about to get a lot more difficult, but it was worth the fight if his prize was her.

Fiorenzo cooked them both an egg-in-the-hole and made coffee. He sat down at the table and loosened an All Jacks from his pack and lit it while waiting on his lover to awaken. Killing always made him so tired as well. Then he heard a thud outside the door. He had been waiting for the paper. Did they stop the presses for an out of town murder? When he took a drag from his smoke he almost let it fall from his lips as his stomach churned. The more he read the wider his eyes grew. The cigarette was stuck on his lip or it would have fallen and burned a hole into the paper.

"Satanic Summerlin Slicer." He said out loud as he pushed the door shut and turned around to see Chelsea stretching innocently in the entryway smiling at him.

"Buongiorno amore mio. Are you ok?"

He said to her with a furrowed brow. He wasn't sure exactly who he was asking the question to him or her.

"Huh? I'm fine. Why do you ask?" She said, smiling when she spotted breakfast. She could get used to this. Having Fiorenzo here was like being married...and he was the wife. A really good one, with a high sex drive. Poking into her egg with her fork, she watched as he re-folded the newspaper and tossed it aside before taking a seat at the breakfast nook across from her. That was unusual; usually he went for the sports section, and gave her the comics.

"Something up? You look weird. Well not weird. You're sexy as ever," she purred, standing and leaning across the table to kiss him. When she sat again, he still looked weird.

"Baby, what's wrong?" she asked, putting her fork down. After a very long pause, he finally answered her.

"Fabrizia was murdered last night." It took her a moment to even remember who Fabrizia was. When she did, a look passed through her eyes. It was only there for a second before vanishing again.

Triumph.

On the tail of it though, concern. Was he feeling guilty? Sad? Oh God...had he really loved her??

"I'm...sorry? I know she meant something to you. Her parents must be devastated. Do you know what happened?" She asked, because she was supposed to. She never wanted Fio hurt for any reason, but as far as she was concerned, someone had just solved an enormous problem for them. Picking up her fork again, she spread some yolk onto the toasted bread, cut it with the edge of her fork, and took a bite as the burst yolk now began to spread across her plate like a slow moving, yellow pool of blood.

Chelsea seemed as if she had one of the best nights sleep of her life right now. The yolk in her plate made Fiorenzo's mind flash to the descriptions of Fabrizia's brutal unendding he had just read. He watched her as the corner of his mouth turned slightly in a smirk. His fork in hand, Fiorenzo began to make work of his own plate. He wasn't sure if Chelsea really didn't know what had happened, or if she was afraid of what he may think of her methods? As he swallowed down the first bite of the trying-to-get-cold egg and toast, Fiorenzo looked over at her and smiled warm.

"Mi hai cambiato la vita... Fabrizia must have met her match. The black bird lost her voice and won't be singing out anymore." Not to me she won't. Not to anyone. She was brutalized and defiled for her desires. Any chance of having to call her wife had been stabbed out of her, sliced away, and not soon enough buried. Fiorenzo's eyes narrowed for a split second as he wondered where Chelsea kept a knife. It was only a split second because he was lost looking at her beautiful innocent gaze. She had been staring over at him. It seemed like concern was in her eyes. Was he making that up in his head?

"Sei l’unica per me." He said after swallowing the last bite and picking up his coffee. There was still a bit of steam rolling off the top.

He took a drink of the black brew and the warmth flooded down his body. Chelsea was fighting for him. She couldn't let anyone get in the way of their love. Fiorenzo understood, and the passion she had shown at dispersing of Fabrizia as soon as she was close had sent a warmth through him. He smiled wide at her and pushed away his plate. There were going to be consequences, but he really wanted to enjoy this moment here with her. Fabrizia didn't usually travel with any escort. So that was a plus. Fiorenzo thought about freeing loose one of his All Jack's, but this morning seemed like it deserved a bit of celebration.

"Where do you hide that stash box of yours anyways, Tortora?"

He said with a chuckle. Fiorenzo took another drink of the coffee and shrugged his shoulders. "Just seems like the moment." He stared at her. He knew she would do anything for him. He was a bit puzzled as to why she wasn't talking about the murder. Did she really not remember what she did last night? He glanced over to the newspaper. His eyes quickly kept moving. Maybe it was best if he kept her away from the news for a bit? This morning was going well.