“Give Detective Modena champagne,” Coppola said. “I know it’s early, but we’re celebrating.”
Vincent took the glass, his wrists still bound with the zip tie, and pretended to sip. “Tasty. Nothing like Moet in the morning.”
Coppola arched a brow. “You’re mighty cocky for a man tied to a chair.”
“About that. Might as well release me.” He pretended to sip again, trying to figure out what was going on in the crime lord’s head. “When my people bust in, it’ll be one more thing on the list of shit that will put you away.”
“I don’t think so. You trespassed on my property,” Coppola said, “assaulted my security guards. My lawyers are drawing up the lawsuit as we speak. I’ll call the police when I’m done with you, and they can release you. You’ve already stabbed one of my guards in the foot.” His cheek kicked up when Vincent couldn’t hide his annoyance at the false charge. “I can’t risk any more violence.”
Vincent tilted his head to the side, studying the man he’d only known through his files. “What do you want from me?”
“A pound of flesh.” Coppola’s eyes flashed with fury, but his mouth smiled. “You slept with my wife.”
Vincent frowned. “Excuse me?” Only three people knew he and Avery had made love. Him, Avery, and a contract killer with a fractured skull in custody. “Who told you that?” Avery wouldn’t look at him.
“Why”—Coppola glanced at Avery—“my wife did, and now that I know, I can’t allow that to go unpunished.” Great. It occurred to Vincent that whatever this champagne might be drugged with, it was preferable to what Coppola might do to him, so he downed the alcohol in two gulps.
“Go to hell, Coppola.” He threw the fluted glass at the man, only to have Avery catch it just inches from her ex-husband’s smirking face. She held Vincent’s gaze as she placed it on the table. Millie’s eyes widened, and Vincent saw her fear. Of him. He slumped in his chair. Now I’m the scary one. Terrific.
“No doubt, Special Agent Modena.” Dante smiled, glancing at his serving staff who put food-ladened plates before him, Avery and Millie. “Until that day, let’s clear a few things up. Shall we? Avery, tell him what really happened today.”
Avery licked her lips, her gaze downcast. “Dante and I have decided to work out the problems in our marriage,” she whispered. “Millie and I have moved back into the mansion.”
Coppola took a bite of bacon and chewed. After he swallowed, he directed a smile at Vincent. “Nothing to see here. Just one big, happy family.”
“Why should I care?” Vincent said.
“I don’t care if you care, though I suspect you do. Am I right?” He chuckled. “But you’re going to tell the FBI, verbatim, what she’s said. I know your team is in their spiffy white van outside the perimeter of my property. If you and your people aren’t gone within the next ten minutes, I’ll have my lawyers—the ones you didn’t hit with a car—contact your boss’s boss.” His smile turned reptilian. “Then your illusions won’t be the only thing you’ve lost today.”
“I can’t lose something I never had,” Vincent said.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. Avery’s eyes were welled with tears, and one had spilled over and run down her cheek. It killed him that he still cared. She met his gaze, saluted him with her champagne flute, and drank it down without pausing for a breath. When it was gone, she inhaled sharply, and then slammed the glass down.
“You’re such an idiot, Vincent. Just…go,” she said.
Her tone, or the familiar complaint, triggered a memory, and he felt as if she were trying to tell him something. But Vincent had been wrong about her from the beginning and didn’t trust his instincts. Coppola’s eyes narrowed on his ex-wife, making Vincent think he wasn’t the only one who felt the vibrations of uncertainty in the air. Something was up. And for the first time since he’d learned of Avery’s identify, he felt a niggling of hope.
“Control yourself, Avery.” Coppola pushed his full plate away and lit a cigarette.
“Dante, please get rid of him. We have things to discuss,” Avery said. “And looking at the Fed is ruining my appetite.” She turned to Millie. “Do me a favor, sweetie. I’ve become chilled. Will you find me the shawl that matches my dress?”
Without a word, Millie stood and walked toward the atrium and the stairwell beyond. A guard stopped her at the dining room’s boundary, his gaze leveled on Coppola, waiting for a yeah or nay. Coppola kept his gaze on Avery, eyes narrowed, even when he waved his hand at the guard, allowing Millie’s exit. The girl hurried up the stairs.
“You seem quite intent on clearing the room, my sweet,” Coppola said. He drew his finger down Avery’s arm until he held her hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her bruised knuckles. It mirrored the many times Vincent had kissed that hand, and he didn’t like seeing Coppola touch her; it hurt, so he decided to share the pain.
“Coppola ordered the massacre of your family,” Vincent said.
“Shut up,” Avery said.
“‘Fingers’ Pinnella lifted a flash drive off one of the contract killers you murdered. There’s audio of their executions. You’re done, Avery. Coppola has immunity, but you don’t. The FBI has all the evidence we could want to indict you.” Vincent smiled at the crime lord. “Coppola, if you hadn’t sent someone to kill Pinnella in the hospital, he never would have flipped. This is on you. Now he’s testifying that you ordered the massacre of Avery’s family. Says he has proof.”
“Shut up.” Avery’s eyelid twitched, but other than that, she seemed unmoved.
That wasn’t enough. Vincent wanted her as mad as he was, as hurt as he was, as devastated as he was. “He married you, slept with you, fed you to his contract killers, and you took the abuse, because you wanted vengeance.”
“Did you say Pinnella has proof?” Avery’s expression remained blank, but her tone grew faint, as if she were waking from a dream.
Coppola suddenly looked nervous. “Avery—”
“Yes!” Vincent said.
She slowly turned her head until she was glaring at her ex-husband; the ice queen gone, replaced with fire. Though she didn’t move, her gaze seemed wild, her posture poised to spring. Vincent spilled a few facts, hoping to uncork this bottled-up rage.
“Think about it, Avery. Pinnella snitching is why Coppola made a deal with the Feds. He had no choice. Once the proof got out that he’d ordered your family massacred, had you clean up the loose ends by killing those responsible, he knew he’d have a target on his back, too. The Feds are his safety net. It’s why he lured you here.” If he could piece together the connection, Avery would, too, but would she see it in time? “He’s pointing the finger at The Stinger, feeding you to the Feds and the syndicate. His part forgiven by immunity, as the Feds tuck him away somewhere safe, leaving you to take the fall.”
Coppola glanced at Vincent, revealing a crack of fear in his composure. Avery remained still, glaring at her ex, as the room fell silent. The staff no longer seemed neutral witnesses, and the guards were watching, waiting to hear what Avery said in her defense. Everyone waited, including Vincent, because everything rested on Avery’s response; her and Millie’s future, Coppola’s future, the Feds’ case.
Coppola waved the nearest security guard forward, and the man stepped behind Avery, hand resting on his gun. The guard couldn’t hide his nervousness, as Avery, The Stinger, radiated fury. And Coppola seemed unaware that his hand trembled as he sipped from his champagne flute.
“You really should be thanking me, Avery. You’re alive, aren’t you? I ordered the Toner family dead, yes, but when it was discovered you and Millie had survived, I chose not to kill you both. You were so young, so beautiful and alone.” His smile faltered. “So, I kept you. Millie, well, she was my guarantee you’d behave. She still is.” Coppola met Avery’s gaze, his veiled threat unmistakable. From the look on Avery’s face, she hear
d his threat, too, yet still did nothing. Vincent wondered if he was missing something.
A knife planted almost to its hilt between Vincent’s thighs, and twanged as he pushed off the floor, his chair skittering back a foot. It took a heartbeat to understand where it had come from, and by then, he was slicing his zip tie bindings.
Avery lunged at Coppola. Gasps and shouts filled the dining room, staff ran out of the room as Vincent bent at the waist, and cut his binds. A hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back until he landed on the floor, resting on the chair’s back, staring at the ceiling. A guard loomed, aiming a gun at his belly, but Avery split the guard’s attention, so Vincent snuck in a kick to the gun, the groin, disabling the guard. He rolled to the left, now armed with a knife and a gun.
He ran toward Avery, and saw Coppola scurrying out from under the dining room table. Shots rang out, and tile fragments flew as bullets tore up the floor around Vincent. He dove to the side, not knowing where the shots came from, but knowing he couldn’t stay there.
When he landed, he saw Avery, wielding a table knife, claw her way over the tabletop. Dishes of food, glasses and linens fell to the floor as she slashed at guards within range. Yet, no guard seemed willing to fight her. They avoided her, looking between her and Coppola, as they backed out of the room.
Crouched, Vincent surveilled the guards as they left, and saw one aim at Avery. Vincent lay down suppressing fire, giving her time to hide. Instead, she dove from the table, and landed on Coppola, embedding her knife to the hilt behind his knee.
Coppola screamed and fell, clawing at the tile.
Avery ripped the knife free, and then planted it behind his other one, provoking another scream. A guard ran toward Coppola, gun extended, shooting at Vincent, who tucked and rolled, returning fire. The guard fell before he reached the crime lord, and then two more guards, but another got past Vincent, and landed on Avery.
He punched her, and drew his fist back, sliced to the bone. He kicked, missed, and screamed when she stuck his calf and then left the knife in his hip. The guard fell, crawling away, leaving a trail of blood. All eyes were on Avery, but no one was moving. Vincent shot at their feet, hoping to trigger their survival instincts, because death waited for them in this room. This was their chance to run.
Guards ran, dragging their wounded with them. Then it was only him, Avery, and Coppola, who was writhing in pain on the tile. Covered in other’s people’s blood, she stood above him, legs shoulder width apart…an avenging angel. Vincent had never seen a more pitiless glare as she reached beneath her dress’s hem and retrieved a small knife she’d hidden near her hip.
“Avery, enough!” Vincent shouted.
She crouched next to her ex-husband, and flipped him onto his back. Then she straddled his belly, like a lover, holding the small knife in her fist as she chambered a punch. “You, monster,” she said.
“Avery?” Millie was standing in the doorway, scared, gripping a blue shawl.
“My parents!” She punched Coppola’s face, making him bleed all over her sparkling diamond rings. “My family!” She punched him again, the stones tearing at his skin. “You ruined everything! You made me this!” She pressed her palm to her chest, trapping the knife between her palm and her heart, creating a bloody handprint, as she used her other hand to point at Millie. “You took her childhood!”
Vincent stood next to her, not wanting to touch her, fearing he might trigger more violence. “Stop, Avery.” His words fell on deaf ears. She was beyond responding to anything but her rage unleashed, and Coppola seemed dazed, on the cusp of losing consciousness.
She bared her teeth. “You need to pay for what you did.”
The Stinger’s MO was cripple her victim, then one shot to the head. Vincent didn’t know where she’d hidden her gun, but he was convinced she had it somewhere. He couldn’t allow her to murder Coppola, no matter how much her ex deserved it.
“Stop, Avery.” Vincent aimed his gun at her head. “I can’t allow you to do it.” It would make him complicit. “Stop.” Please.
As he waited to see if she’d make a move, Vincent froze as he realized he was helpless, a fraud. He couldn’t shoot her, because he loved Avery despite everything. He wanted to save her, but it had become clear she was a woman that didn’t want to be saved.
Maybe shouldn’t be saved.
Chapter 22
“Avery,” her ex-husband begged, writhing in pain, showing his palms in surrender. She saw his panic, and wished she could enjoy this change in the all-powerful Dante Coppola. There was blood everywhere, his guards were gone, and now it was just him, and her…vengeance. “Please, Avery.”
She covered her ex’s mouth, digging her finger into his cheeks to shut him up. Had her mother begged for her life? What about her cousins? Her father?
Shaking, wild-eyed, Avery knew what she must look like; blood-soaked dress, her hands and legs smeared with it. Vincent must think her insane, and maybe she was. It was impossible to think beyond the certainty that Dante had to suffer.
Vincent knew she was The Stinger, and now Millie knew, too. They’d never see her the same. Even now, her little sister sobbed as she hovered just outside of the dining room, clutching the shawl she’d been tasked to find. Millie couldn’t possibly understand this, and would only be harmed if she witnessed what Avery was about to do.
“Give me the knife, Avery.” Vincent held out his hand, palm up.
Benton, Deming, and Gilroy rushed into the room, guns drawn, and for a second, she hoped they’d take the shot. Put her out of her misery. “Avery,” Benton shouted, “put the knife down. Now!”
Knees pressed to the cold, blood-slick marble, she straddled Dante, her shoes long gone. Avery kept her ex pinned to the floor, knife to his throat. Hand shaking, she could visualize him dead. They’d shoot her, of course. She wasn’t sure which agent would pull the trigger—Deming, Benton, or Gilroy—but they would. She suspected Vincent would try to stop them, but it would be too late. Avery thought killing Dante would be worth the price. Vengeance would be served and maybe end her pain. First, she needed them to understand. She needed Millie and Vincent to know.
“He’s evil,” she said, her voice warbling. A sob caught in her throat. “He…He destroyed everything, everyone I’ve ever loved. He made me this!” She grabbed Dante’s slicked back hair, smelled the cigarettes on him and flinched, even as she pressed the flat of her knife harder against his throat. “You,” she glared at Benton, “don’t think beyond what he can give you.” She lowered her gaze to Dante, saw him swallow hard, unable to hide his fear and pain. “But he lies.” Dante spit in her face. Avery’s resolve hardened. “Deming?” she said. “Take my sister from the room, please.” Millie shouldn’t see this, or witness her sister’s death.
Vincent crouched mere feet from her. “No, Deming. Millie stays.” He tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, inching forward, his eyes on Avery’s face. “If you kill him, you do it in front of your sister. I’m not about to make this easy on you.”
She shuddered, but her grip on the knife never faltered. “Millie, do what I say. Leave the room.” A glance told her Millie was tearful, but shaking her head, unwilling to move.
“Please, Millie.” She couldn’t do it with her sister looking on.
Avery’s tears spilled down her cheeks, mixing with the blood spatter. Vincent inched closer, into Dante’s blood. The agents remained silent, guns at the ready, while Millie looked on, quietly sobbing. “Give me the knife, Avery,” Vincent said.
Trembling, her body swayed as her strength faded, as Vincent’s beautiful, busted up face grew nearer. She wanted him to hold her, because…she couldn’t make herself do it. She wanted to, but couldn’t force her hand to end Dante’s life. She wasn’t strong enough, was failing her family. Panicked sobs escaped her throat.
No one would avenge her family.
And that was her
fault, because The Stinger never existed. If The Stinger had, Avery would have killed Dante long ago. Instead, she ran when Dante killed those six men, because she’d never been more than the victim Dante created.
“You don’t know what he did to me.” Avery shook her head, blinking past tears, hating her weakness. She sounded like a little girl. Yet, her knife remained at Dante’s throat, because she saw no way forward. Her next move didn’t exist. “What he took. I’m…” She sniffed, blinking. “I’m not even human.”
Vincent reached for her, but hate for Dante had shifted to self-loathing, and the pity in Vincent’s eyes undid her. The fear in her sister’s made her decision for her. It was a tipping point, and Avery snapped. She lifted the knife to her throat, and the sting felt like freedom.
She heard a shout, saw stars, and then there was nothing.
Chapter 23
“Dammit, Benton, did you have to hit her so hard?” Vincent caught Avery as she slumped, knocked out by Benton’s right cross to her poor, bruised jaw. Coppola was complaining as Gilroy and Deming dragged the man away in cuffs, leaving a smear of blood in his wake.
Benton ran his fingers through his hair, looking more upset than he’d had ever seen him, and Vincent could have hugged him. “I didn’t think,” Benton said. “I just…” He glanced at Avery. “I hit her. Sorry, but she was about to off herself.”
Vincent never would have allowed it. “I had her by the wrist. She wasn’t offing anyone.” He cradled her in his arms, worried that she was covered in blood, and not knowing how much was hers.
Millie stood over them, sobbing. “Avery. Avery, don’t leave me.” Vincent reached for her, thinking to pull the girl close, only to have Millie drape herself over Avery.
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