In his meetings he had been taught time and time again that nothing was worth losing yourself, dying. The beer wasn't worth it, the coke wasn't worth it and certainly Adriana wasn't worth it.
But that did not stop him from snorting it all the same. Sober for over six months, for her, clean for nearly a year because of her and now it was all happening again, in slow motion, because of her.
"Stupid cunt." He slurred, wiping his nose from the stray particles of freshly cut cocaine that he had just inhaled. How could the bitch do him in like that? Wouldn't even do five years for me, cunt rag. He thought bitterly to himself, vividly remembering the exact moment when he discovered that she was a narc.
Those beautiful, strong, feminine hands in her lap, bejeweled, long, Gucci nails tapping nervously as she explained the situation. He barely let her finish before he struck and strangled her. She barely fought, knowing that she deserved it. If she wanted to die by anyone, it was Chrissy.
He pressed his palm to his head, willing himself to stop the memory, erase it from him. Erase her, though he knew that this was impossible. She was a part of him, an overpowering, beautiful and sickening part of him. He could not kill her. He had loved her, more than anything. He made particular pangs to never flirt in front of her and only have girls on the side on occasion. He wanted her in a way he never wanted anyone else. Fully and completely, body and soul. Well, he realized, leaning back into his uncomfortable chair. They've got her body, all right.
She wanted him, too. She wanted to leave the Mafia life behind and move away with him, somewhere where he could pick up his writing career without the pain and stress of being in his Family, the Don's little cousin Chrissy.
Adriana was going to be with him, going to take him with her as the folds of the Mafia in New Jersey crumbled to the ground, leaving his family, criminal and no, in the hands of the police.
In impulse he had called Tony, who arranged her death, faked his own attempted suicide. The man to kill her had informed him of her hysterics, even before she discovered her own fate. She loved me...I loved her. But, no, this wasn't true. I love her. He still did and always did, no matter what she did.
And though The Family wasn't worth his health, his soberness, she was. She was the one thing. The one thing that meant more than his own life, and she was dead.
Whoever says love ends well certainly needed to be whacked.