by Krista Holt
The dumpster I’m standing behind blocks his view, but Bella spins toward him like the prima donna she is, hands on her hips.
“Looking for Narnia. Leave me alone. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Narnia?” He chuckles. “You’re such a nerd.” His fist raps the metal door. “You got five minutes and I’m coming back here to get you.”
“Go screw yourself, Stefan,” she snaps. The door bangs shut seconds later, cutting off his laughter, and her eyes travel back to me. “Does this have something to do with Saul going missing?”
“You know about that?”
“Who doesn’t?” She shrugs. “Did your father take care of him?”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “If my father had wanted to take care of Saul, he would have asked me to do it. And he certainly did not ask me to kill Saul.”
“Okay then.” She takes a step back. “Well, you got your favor. See you around, Selvaggio.”
“Thanks, Bella.”
“Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t done anything.”
“How about for not slicing my throat?”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever we’ve been, and we’ve been a lot of things, we’ve never been close to killing each other. Destruction of private property, yes. Murder? No. We’re just…whatever we are.”
“Friends?”
She swears. “If I’d known we were gonna talk about our feelings, I’d have just stabbed you and got it over with.”
“Fine. Friends who hate each other a little.”
“Better.” She cracks a smile. “Later, Nic.” She walks backward, heading back toward the bar.
I wait for the door to close once more before I leave my hiding spot. Alone in the alley, the burner chooses that moment to vibrate inside my pocket. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I muffle a groan before reaching for it. A text sits on the screen from someone I haven’t spoken to in a very long time, someone I’m not sure I want to be in contact with.
You promised me this would be done by now.
I never gave you an end date, I reply.
I never said I’d let you live either.
I’m working on it.
It shows delivered, and then read instantly. The damn thought bubble taunts me for forever before he puts me out of my misery.
Your time is dwindling. Don’t be wasteful.
The pressure on my shoulders mounts, making the load I’m already carrying even heavier. The phone buzzes again and I hold my breath, glancing at the screen.
And that thing with the guy in Battery Park, it was sloppy. You should have known better.
* * *
The winter sun is slowly disappearing over the horizon as I hurriedly punch in the number for the city morgue on the closest payphone I could find. At least this one looks a little cleaner.
A soft voice answers and I breathe a sigh of relief, recognizing it immediately. At least now I won’t have to go through the usual song and dance to get the information I need.
“Monica, it’s your old friend Rudy Giuliani.”
She pauses, and then quietly clears her throat. “Ah…Mr. Giuliani, what can I do for you?”
“I’m hoping you have a different answer for me this time.”
“Uh… let me see. What was the name again?”
“Saul Marino.”
There’s a clicking noise as she searches the files on her computer. “Nope, still nothing.”
Where is he? I’m sure I killed him. Completely positive. He’s dead as a doornail. So, where the hell is his body?
“You’re sure. Completely sure?” I shift on my feet. “Even the John Does?”
“I’m sure. We don’t even have any John Does recorded at the moment. Which is weird, but it looks like they were all signed out by a government agency.”
I grip the payphone tighter. “Which government agency?”
“It doesn’t say here.” A few more clicks and then she adds, “Let me look in one more spot…huh, that’s weird. They were all checked out by the FBI about an hour ago.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask them. I mean, the former mayor of New York City should be able call in a few favors, right?”
“Yeah, that won’t be happening.”
“Thought not.”
Why would the FBI be looking for Saul’s body? How do they even know he’s missing? Then again, maybe they aren’t looking for him, maybe they’re looking for someone else. That seems like one hell of a coincidence though, and like I’ve told Enzo, there’s really no such thing.
“Uh, thanks for checking.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Giuliani.” She quickly hangs up.
I drop the phone back in its cradle, and then pick it back up. Wary now of even using the burner phone, I dial Garrett’s number, and the second he answers, my questions start spewing out.
“Why is the FBI looking for Saul Marino?”
He pauses. “Nic?”
“Who else would be asking you that?” I snap. “Now, why are they looking for him?”
“I have no idea. Why aren’t you calling from the burner?”
“You have no idea why the feds would be looking for Saul? You’re sure?”
“Again, I haven’t heard anything about this. Wait—how do you know the Bureau is trying to find him?”
“Someone told me.”
“I don’t even want to know who told you that,” he groans. “Why can’t anybody keep their mouth shut anymore?”
“That’s the least of our problems, Garrett. I need you to find him. Now. If someone else does, we’re gonna have a problem.”
He’s silent. And it’s probably a thoughtful pause on his end. He’s probably thinking things through, contemplating what I’m really trying to tell him. But from my perspective, it’s irritating as hell. I want an answer, and I want it now.
“Why?” An edge that wasn’t there before crawls into his voice. “Why is finding this one guy, a guy you have told me repeatedly that you hate, so important that you’d risk almost two years of my hard work?”
“Because it is. If the wrong person finds him, I’m a dead man.”
“Is he dead?”
I pace as far as the phone cord will let me. “If he knows what’s good for him, he is.”
“I swear,” Garrett yells, “if I find out you’ve done anything to jeopardize this—”
“You won’t do a damn thing,” I cut him off, “because you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you. Let’s make that clear, right now. You need me. Remember? I could still walk away from all of this, and then you’re exactly where I found you—working with nothing.”
A string of angry breaths work their way through the line before he finally snarls, “I’ll take a look.”
“Good. We’re still three days away?”
“Yes, asshole, we are. I’m hanging up now. Do not call me on an unprotected line again.”
I drop the phone back in the cradle and walk away, unable to ignore the nagging thought that everything is about to go off the rails.
CHAPTER 14
THE CLOCK ON THE DASH flashes 6:57.
Which means I’ve got three minutes to head inside, otherwise I’m officially late for family dinner. And there might be a few forgivable sins in my family, but being late for Friday night dinner, when you’re in town, isn’t one of them. Even if your life is slowly unraveling.
After I hit the locks on the Benz, my feet cover the familiar pathway that leads up to the house. I pass a sculpted hedge, trying to retain a sense of calm, knowing I’ll need it to get through another evening in my father’s presence. I take a deep breath, and a scream rips through the air.
My heart takes off racing. Because I recognize that scream. Gabriella.
I hit the front porch in a headlong run, just as Enzo disappears inside, gun drawn. Flinging open the front door, I prepare myself for blood. For bleeding flesh. For an attack. For somebody to be dying on my mother’s spotless floor.<
br />
What I find is so much worse.
Enzo stands at the end of the hallway, staring into the family room with his mouth open. A mixture of horror and disbelief on his face.
“What is going on?” I yell, skidding to a stop beside him.
Everything erupts at once, assaulting my eardrums. My sister sobbing hysterically. My mother yelling at my father. My father screaming at the both of them with violence and threats.
I shove Enzo’s frozen body out of the way and rush inside.
My stomach drops and bile launches up my throat, throwing my body at odds, confused and horrified. Gabriella is on the cold floor, curled into a fetal position. Her left eye is quickly swelling closed, and her lip is split. Blood trickles down her chin, dripping onto the white marble.
My mother tries to shield her with her slight frame, screaming in Italian. The words are coming so fast that my mind can’t even comprehend them. My father is rabid, practically foaming at the mouth as he yells at her.
“Someone better start goddamn talking, right now!” I shout, my voice thundering through the room.
Silence crashes down. My parents look at me. My mother’s eyes are wide with fear, and my father’s with rage.
“Did you know?” he bellows.
“Know what?” I roar back, striding toward my sister. I move my mother to the side and drop to my knees. I reach out to touch her injured face and she sobs even harder.
“That your whore of a sister got herself pregnant!”
I stop moving. Stop breathing. Everything seems to freeze around me. It’s still. Unearthly quiet. Like the calm before a storm, or the sudden drop in air pressure before a tornado makes landfall.
Pushing to my feet, I slowly face him. And then every inch of my body ignites. Heat pours through my veins, bursts through every pore. White-hot rage incinerates all thought, and I launch myself at him.
He falls back. His head slams against the stone floor, and my fist connects with his face in the most satisfying way. I’ve wanted to do that for so damn long. Since he made me leave Reagan. Since he made me hurt Reagan. Since I’ve met Reagan. Relief crashes through me like a wave, but it does nothing to quell my anger.
He grunts in pain when my fist connects with his face again. But his shock wears off, his body pitches upward, unseating me. He tosses me to the side, and my back smashes into an upholstered chair. He launches to his feet, landing a punishing kick to my stomach before I can get out of the way.
I grin maniacally at him. Drawing my leg back, I slam my heel into his shin. He goes down with a muffled cry. I scramble to my knees, and drag him to me by his shirt. I punch him in the face, right in the eye, wanting his injuries to rival the ones he gave my sister.
His right hook slams my jaw upward, popping the vertebrae in my neck like a cap gun, one after another. I moan as pain twists up my spine, roaring in my ears.
“Nic!” Enzo screams, tugging at my shirt collar. “Stop!”
I can’t. I’m beyond rage. Beyond reason.
My father lands another punch to my side, and I start heaving. But, I fight on, my fist connecting with his throat. He coughs, hands holding his neck as he backs off. It doesn’t matter though. My anger won’t let me stop. I push onto my hands and knees, intent on inflicting more pain. I want blood, his blood, on the floor with my sister’s.
Everything seems to slow to a crawl, time moves in fractions of a second. All sound fades away, leaving only blissful white noise. My hands reach for his throat. My heart slams in my chest, going insane on the flood of adrenaline roaring through my body. My mouth is salivating in anticipation, in relief. I can almost taste it. Freedom. My fingertips touch thick skin. My knee pins him to the floor. He’s coughing, struggling to breath. My hands dig into his neck, feeling the give as I press down against his trachea. It’s a position so familiar. Saul’s face mixes with my father’s. I squeeze, and he gasps. My body sags with the sensation. Victory.
And then it’s gone. The spell shatters. Time speeds up. There’s the crack of bone, and then, suddenly, I’m flying through the air. I land on my back, and pain snaps through me, announcing itself with a hoarse cry I can’t contain. My eyes close and my hands fumble for my side, bracing the cracked rib Enzo just gave me. That asshole kicked me.
Sound returns with a vengeance. My mother. My father. Enzo. Gabriella’s screams. But I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, holding my side.
When did this become my life?
“Nicola?” My mother’s face hovers over mine. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I cough, rolling over and then pushing to my feet. I clench my jaw against the pain, biting back another moan.
I turn around and see Enzo propping my father up on the couch. He shoves him away, snarling, “Don’t touch me, you imbecile.”
Enzo steps back and glances at me. His face twists in apology, but I don’t have it in me to reassure him right now. My eyes are stuck on Gabriella, who has managed to move into a small hiding space between a chair and the couch, pressing herself against the wall.
My mother sees it too, and lets out a sob, rushing toward her. She falls to her knees, drawing her only daughter into her arms, trying to reassure her with placating words that fall on deaf ears.
I take an unsteady step toward the couch, where my father is sprawled out trying to get his bearings. Enzo inches closer, anticipating another fight. But after another unsteady step, I stop. Glaring down at the man who raised me, I draw in a shallow breath, ignoring the pain and the way my body protests.
“If you ever touch her again, I will kill you.”
Once again, silence fills the room. My sister stops crying. My mother’s litany of calming words stalls in her mouth. Enzo holds his breath.
My father glares at me, anger twisting his features in the ugliest of ways. “You should get her and her bastard child out of my house then.”
Disgust and disappointment weigh my body down like an additional hundred pounds have been dropped onto my frame. Even Enzo gives my father a fleeting look of revulsion.
Turning around, I gesture for my mother to take Gabriella out of the room. I follow in their wake, stepping carefully to avoid jarring my ribs.
Once we’re safely outside the room, my mother turns to me. “What are we going to do?”
“Give her to me.” I slowly straighten, shouldering some of Gabriella’s weight when my mom hands her over. “I’m taking her to Daniel. Pack as much of her stuff as you can and bring it to the car.”
She nods, and then hurries up the stairs. Gabriella doesn’t say anything as we slowly make our way to the front door. She cries into my jacket, but barely makes a sound.
Enzo appears beside us at the door, and he hurries ahead to hold it open. “I’m sorry, boss.” He looks at me. “I had to. I couldn’t let you kill him.”
“I know.”
“What can I do?” he asks, hovering close by. The door bangs shut as we step onto the front porch.
I’d let him carry Gabriella, but she’s holding on to me like I’m her last hope of survival. Even though the pain in my side is brutal, I won’t force her to let go.
“Go help my mother. She’s packing her things.”
“Okay. Yeah…sure.” He turns around and yanks open the door.
“Enzo!” He looks back over his shoulder. “Do not let him touch my mother.”
He nods quickly and disappears inside. I hoist Gabriella up against me as she starts slipping, glancing at where the Mercedes is parked. It’s a good hundred feet away. At this rate, it’ll take too long to get there, and I just want to sit down.
With a grimace, I bend down and lift Gabriella into my arms. Groaning in pain, I take the first steps toward the car.
When we finally get there, nausea grips my stomach. The pain is so intense, I could be sick. But I don’t let myself have the luxury. I gently lower Gabriella to her feet, but she clings to me, afraid I’ll let her go.
“No,” she cries.
“It�
�s fine,” I tell her, tightening my hold on her waist. “I’m only getting the door.”
Once it’s open, I fall inside, bringing her with me, crying out when she lands on my injured rib. And it seems to set her off again, because she starts sobbing, hysterically.
“Hey,” I run my hand down the back of her head, “you’re fine. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” I repeat it over and over, repositioning myself in the seat so that her body stops pressing on my weak rib.
She keeps crying. Sobs squeeze her chest and tears soak through my jacket, hitting my skin.
As she cries, I reach around her body to grab the gun I keep in the glove box. With my hand around the grip, and my finger on the trigger, I let my hand fall to the side. Dangling it next to the seat, I squeeze the cold metal in my palm until I can feel the grooves of the etched grip cut into my skin.
“He’s horrible,” my sister sobs. “I hate him. I hate him. I wish he was dead.”
“I know. I do, too.”
CHAPTER 15
GABRIELLA IS ASLEEP IN MY arms when my mother and Enzo drag four suitcases and a duffle bag to the trunk of the Benz.
I hit the button, and it pops open. My mother watches Enzo load them into the trunk before she hurries over to us, stalling momentarily when she sees the gun in my hands.
“Is she okay?”
“No, she’s not. Would you be?”
Guilt washes over her features, and I feel the need to apologize. But I don’t. I can’t. I just want to drop Gabriella off with her husband, wrap up my ribs, and drown myself in painkillers and alcohol.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“It’s just a cracked rib. I’ll live. Here, take this.” I hold the gun out to her. “I need to get up.”
My mother takes it from my hand, and I shift in the seat, trying to ignore the pain ripping through me.
After gingerly setting Gabriella down, I carefully extricate myself from her grip, and slide out of the car.
I grind my teeth together until I confirm she’s still asleep. Then, I twist around, pitch forward, and empty the contents of my stomach onto the pressed concrete pavers beneath my feet.