Savagely (The Italian Book 2)

by Krista Holt

  Following orders, he dragged me out of the room. I wiped at the tears on my face, still sobbing as he pushed me out of the deli and deposited me back in the car.

  I took big gulping breaths and tried to stop myself from screaming again. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t process what had just happened. I kept rubbing my hands on my pants, trying to get the blood off. I couldn’t stop. But it made me feel better. Calmed me down a little.

  Until my father ripped open the door. I scrambled away from him, pressed myself as tight as I could into the cold leather. I wanted to hide, to disappear. To be invisible. I couldn’t stomach him looking at me.

  And I think what hurt the most was that he ignored me. Made no attempt to comfort me, to ease my suffering. He just sat there, ignoring my gulping breaths, the barely controlled tears. He was cold. Clinical. Detached.

  Saul climbed in and the driver pulled away from the curb like nothing unusual had just happened, like my little world hadn’t been ripped apart by violence I wasn’t old enough to comprehend.

  “Nicola, stop being a child.” My father gripped my shoulder and squeezed until I cried out. “Here.” He thrust the pocketknife at me.

  “I…I don’t want it,” I stammered, hiding my hands in my armpits.

  It was a weak attempt at resistance, and the man next to me wasn’t having it. He leaned over, yanked a hand free, and forced it open. The knife dropped into my palm and he wrapped my bloodstained fingers around the cold metal and wood.

  “Keep this as a reminder of what it means to protect the family.”

  “Uncle Donnie was our family!”

  “No! He wasn’t. He was trying to destroy your family. What I did to him is no different than what you did to that boy who picked on your sister.”

  “I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t kill him!”

  “No, you didn’t. But one day that might change. You’d be surprised who you’d be willing to kill if it meant protecting what you loved. And I love you, son, that’s why I did what I did. I love your mother, your sister, and I want nothing in my life to change. Your so-called uncle wanted to take that from me. To take you, your sister, and your mother from me. I won’t allow that.”

  I swallowed hard and angrily wiped away the lingering tears. I stared down at the pocketknife, resentment boiling in my chest. I hated him. And despite his comparison, I knew I wasn’t like him. I didn’t want to ever be like him.

  “This was your uncle’s coin,” he said, opening his palm to show me the metal circle. “It was supposed to be a symbol of his loyalty, of his devotion to me. A devotion he failed to keep pure.”

  He reached for my hand and brought the fist-clenched pocketknife close to my face. “Let this be your reminder, son, like this coin is mine, that no one is safe. Betrayal must be rooted out, no matter how close it might be to you. No matter who it might be. It’s like a disease, and it must be dealt with like one. Merciless eradication.”

  He let go of my hand, flipped that godforsaken coin in the air once before putting it into his jacket pocket. My eyes fell to the pocketknife, and I held it tight, afraid it was going to take on a life of its own and stab me somehow.

  When we arrived back at the house, I ran to my room, past my mother’s sorrowful expression. I hid behind the locked door of my closet and cried my eyes out. Every night for a week.

  I’d never looked at my father the same. Even now, seeing him flip that coin in the air stirs everything back up. The fear I felt. The guilt. The loathing.

  Tossing the partially read newspaper down, I jump to my feet.

  “Where are you going?” He glances at me.

  “Apparently, I’m going to find Saul.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  And I’ll have to find some way, ‘cause dead men don’t answer their phones, now do they?

  CHAPTER 2

  THE DOOR CLOSES BEHIND ME with a click, and my whole body sags.

  After all this time, I can’t stop the way I respond to that awful memory. Shame and disgust sweep through me as my mind replays my uncle dying in front of me for the millionth time.

  My breath catches in my throat as I try to regain control of the emotions rushing through my body, hollowing out my stomach.

  A faint thud travels down the hallway, and my spine stiffens. Unease washes over me as I hold my breath, waiting for another sound. With Enzo in D.C. keeping an eye on Reagan, and Ma sound asleep upstairs, no one else should be in the house this early. No one friendly that is…

  Pressing my back to the wall, I silently move toward the front door. Reaching under my jacket, my hand grasps the cold metal of my gun.

  My heart is pounding so hard I almost miss the faint sticking sound of wet boots on the marble floor. There’s a quick inhale, and then a mumbled curse before I finally breathe a sigh of relief.

  My sister. Gabriella.

  Re-holstering the gun at my back, I tug my jacket down, hiding the weapon again as I round the corner into the front entry.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  She freezes, eyes wide with surprise. Her boot is half on, and her face is flushed as she tugs at it.

  And then she glares at me. “Out.”

  “Out, with who?”

  “Daniel.” Her gaze drops to the floor as the boot comes loose, hitting the ground.

  “All night?”

  “What are you, a hall monitor?”

  “No, but I’m betting no one knows you’ve been out with him either.”

  In fact, I’m positive no one knows about her overnight outing, otherwise I’d have been tasked to find her instead of Saul.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I scrutinize her. “What’s going on?”

  “None of your business.” She quickly unbuttons her coat and tries to slide past me.

  With an unhurried step to the side, I block her path. “Nice try. Go again.”

  “I don’t ask you about your business. Give me the same courtesy and stay out of mine.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ. It is my business. As long as your last name is Selvaggio, where you go and what you do is family business.”

  Her expression sours. “You sound like him when you say things like that.”

  I frown, not letting myself be distracted by her dig. “How long have you been fooling around with him?”

  “Again, none of your business.”

  “Gabriella. It’s a simple question. It only requires a simple answer.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and throws her shoulders back. Displaying that proud stubbornness we’ve both inherited from our parents. We’ve had a few major standoffs in our lives, each refusing to back off. Unsurprisingly, Gabriella has never won.

  Then again, she was never schooled in manipulation. I was.

  I make a show of reaching around her and grabbing my winter coat from the hook on the wall. “It’s still early, maybe I should pay Daniel a visit. Get the answer myself.”

  “Nic…”

  “Nothing wrong with a friendly chat between your brother and your boyfriend, right? Maybe he just needs a little reminder about healthy boundaries.”

  “Don’t be a bully. I hate you when you act like that.” She smacks the coat from my hands before trying to shove me away from the door.

  “What the hell has gotten into you?”

  She sighs an apology and glances down the hallway behind me before replying, “He’s not exactly my boyfriend anymore.”

  “You broke up?”

  “No.”

  My back tenses and my eyes scan her face, struggling to read between the lines. Surely she doesn’t mean…

  Grabbing her elbow, I haul her into the nearest room before kicking the door closed so we aren’t overheard. “What the hell are you getting at? And don’t you dare insult me by lying.”

  She yanks her arm out of my grasp and stomps to the other side of the room, putting a couch between us.

  “Gabriella, what did you do?”


  “We got married, okay!”

  My jaw drops. My mind spins. And then I lose it. “Are you kidding me? Without your father’s blessing? Have you lost your mind?”

  “We have his blessing,” she argues.

  “For an engagement,” I utter. “Not to get married without telling him!”

  I didn’t see this coming. My sister has always followed the rules. Sure, she likes to push against them, complain about them, even yell about the injustice of it all on occasion, but she’s always followed them. Always. So, why now? Why would she suddenly—

  I freeze, quickly colliding with the only possible explanation. “You’re pregnant.”

  Her face pales as she bites her lip. Tears line her eyes, threatening to spill. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Merda,” I groan, gripping the back of my neck. “How far along are you?”

  “Two months.”

  “And you’ve been married for how long?”

  “A week.”

  I know, I know, the world and popular opinion have changed. People don’t have to be married to have kids, or even make them. But our world still clings to tradition. To respect. To the assumption that Daniel and my sister owed my father, our family, and whatever church hasn’t excommunicated our type yet, to wait. Until rings were involved. Until vows were spoken. So, while I can’t fault her for being led by her emotions, I also know she faces one hell of an uphill battle.

  Most families don’t let things like this go. It’s even worse in families like ours. I mean, the time my seven-year-old self got caught stealing candy from the corner market is still brought up at family dinners at least once a year. Gabriella getting pregnant, under my father’s nose, will never be left alone.

  “I know it’s bad,” she pleads. “And I know he’s going to be furious, but I’m not sorry it happened.” Tears roll down her face, and her arms wrap around her midsection, instinctively shielding her child.

  I stare at her, suddenly realizing my little sister has grown up. I’ve been distracted with my own problems, with Reagan, with everything, and now, she’s suddenly not a little kid anymore. And I don’t want to be one more obstacle she has to face.

  “Come here.” I gesture to her, holding my arms open.

  She flings herself at me, hugging me like her life depends on it.

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Don’t lie to me. He’s going to hate me. More than he already does.”

  “He does not hate you.”

  “He does,” she insists. “You don’t know what it’s like to have your own father constantly look at you with loathing, to feel like you’re a disappointment. A screw up. To feel like he has never, not for a single moment, looked at you like he loved you,” she cries into my chest.

  “That is not true.”

  “It is. You were the one he wanted. He took you under his wing, showered you with attention and respect. I just wanted a little. Just a little, and now…now, he’s never going to look at me with anything but hatred. I’ll always be the one that tainted the good name of Selvaggio.”

  “I think the good name of Selvaggio was tainted long before you came along,” I reply dryly, drawing a weak smile from her. “And as for my role in everything you just said. Did you ever consider that I was jealous of you? That maybe I wished I could hide from him too?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I thought you were happy about it.”

  “I wasn’t.” I break free and track down a handful of tissues for her. “I guess we were both disappointed in our father.” I watch as she carefully dries her eyes. “Have you told Ma?”

  “Yes.” She grabs another tissue. “Yesterday.”

  “What’s Daniel’s take on this?”

  “Besides being scared shitless?”

  An abrupt laugh escapes me. “So, he’s not a complete idiot.”

  Gabriella grins, and then it disappears as she nervously licks her lips. “He’s happy. But…”

  “Worried about Adriano?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, the sneaking around…you’ve been staying at his place?”

  She nods. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell him, Nic. It’s going to be bad. Really bad.” She inhales quickly. “What should I do?”

  I sigh. “I have no clue.”

  I silently consider every thing I’m juggling at the moment. Reagan. Garrett. My father. Trying to find Saul’s body. But, she’s my sister. I can’t let her deal with this all by herself. I’ve always protected her, and I’ll keep doing that for as long as I’m alive.

  “Can you keep it quiet for a few more days? Maybe a week?”

  “I’ll keep it a secret for as long as I have to.”

  “Give me a couple of days, I’ll try to think of something.”

  “Thank you.” She playfully jostles me with her elbow before resting her head on my shoulder. “You’re not the worst brother ever.”

  Shaking my head, I wrap an arm around her. “It’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

  “I wish I could believe that. He’s going to be so mad though…”

  “Whatever he decides to be, just make sure you’re doing what you want, Gabriella. He won’t always be around, and getting his approval is a hopeless case. So, make sure you’re happy. Because at the end of the day, that’s all you really need.”

  “I know.” She sniffles, taking another tissue from me.

  “I still reserve my right to beat the shit out of Daniel at a later date, though.”

  A faint smile briefly lights up her face. “He’s already terrified of you.”

  “As he should be.” I squeeze her tight. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah, I will be.”

  “Good, because this kid needs you. I’ll do everything I can to help you, Gabriella. I love you, sis.”

  Tears start to build again, but she pushes them back. “I know. I love you, too, Nic.”

  “I’ve got to go. I have something I need to take care of. Keep your distance from him if you can, at least until we have a plan, okay?”

  She murmurs an agreement, and after exchanging promises one more time to keep this news from our father, I leave.

  * * *

  “New York City Medical Examiner’s Office, how can I help you?” a female voice answers.

  “Yeah, have you picked up any unidentified bodies in the last couple of days?”

  “Uh, sir,” she pauses, “we don’t typically give out that information over the phone.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. But I’m looking for someone.”

  “Can I get your name?”

  “Do you need it?” I lean against the one and only payphone I managed to find in all of Brooklyn. I’d been fresh out of unused burners and I hadn’t wanted this call traced back to me, so using a payphone was my only other option. But even this comes with risks. Like how many diseases are on this thing? I’m probably going to have to burn these gloves once I hang up.

  The harsh early morning sunlight leaks around the edges of my sunglasses as I scan the deserted corner gas station. There’s no one here, but I still can’t shake this feeling that I’m being watched.

  She clears her throat, her tone more adamant this time. “Sir, I really do need a name.”

  “Okay, then, it’s Rudy. Rudy Giuliani.”

  “As in the former mayor of New York City?” She snorts. “I think we both know that’s not your real name.”

  “Fine,” I counter, “what’s your name?”

  “It’s Monica.”

  “Well, Monica, maybe you can tell me another way to do this. ‘Cause I’m not gonna give you a name, and all I need is some information.”

  “Is this in regards to a missing person case?”

  “No.”

  “I really can’t help you then. Not without some more information.”

  “I’m looking for my uncle,” I lie. “He likes to beat on my aunt, but he went missing a few days ago. I don’t want to find him. I ju
st want to know if his body has happened to turn up in one of the city’s morgues. That’s all.”

  She hesitates again, but I know I’m winning her over. Blame feminism, blame the patriarchy, but in this day and age, there’s no quicker way to get a woman to break the rules than if she believes she’s doing it to help out another woman.

  “What’s his name?” she asks after a few seconds.

  “Saul Marino.”

  The click-click of her typing echoes through the line. “No one by that name has been entered into the system.”

  “What about someone without identification. Or…” My mind jumps to bloated skin and disfigured fingertips. “…someone you couldn’t run fingerprint recognition on.”

  “There’s only a few Does in the system. Two Janes and seven Johns.”

  “Any of them look like a fat Italian bastard with a deformed knee?”

  She clicks around on her computer, and I push another quarter into the payphone when it starts to beep.

  “No,” she finally answers. “There’s no one here fitting that description.”

  “Huh, okay. You’re sure?”

  “Completely.”

  “Well, thanks for your time, Monica. My aunt appreciates it.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Giuliani.”

  I hang up and head back to the Benz, trying to ignore the nerves tightening in the pit of my stomach. Something about this doesn’t add up. Someone should have found him by now. Even if it’s only because his body washed ashore.

  So where the hell is he?

  I scratch at the beginnings of a beard in frustration, trying to connect all the dots at lightning speed. In the heat of taking of Saul’s last breath, I hadn’t planned on having to produce his dead body. Hence the whole throwing him into the Hudson thing.

  After all, my expertise lies in making bodies disappear. Not exposing them.

  I have no one to blame but myself, I guess. I should have been better prepared. More thoughtful. If this had been a normal job, I’d know exactly where to find him. Like Senator Thomas. He’s currently rotting away in some barren field in the middle-of-nowhere Virginia. But, Saul, I have no idea where his body might be. And that could be a problem.