by J. J. McAvoy
“Dandelion. Dandelion. As you float up beautifully dying. Grant these wishes from my throat. Give me the King’s coat. Give me the Queen’s Ring. Chop the Princelings to their knees. Send a swarm of killer bees to those who try to hurt me. And oh yes! Let it always be spring.”
I couldn’t help but grin, looking up from the paper flower at the distorted mirror of the elevator doors opened on my floor. I stepped out, wondering what Tobias, or any of them would do, if they knew my wishes back then were only sweet to me and neither kind nor innocent to others.
Pushing the handle down and entering my room, I moved towards my soft pink and cream-colored circular bed, dropping the paper flower on top of it and picking up the remote control. After entering my passcode, my bed spun around to face wooden wall that split open from the middle, revealing my brother’s former master bedroom…now my closet.
Inside, I paused at the first mirror, fixing the strap of my silk emerald jumpsuit before moving to the second one near my bags, pressing my whole palm to the glass.
“Access granted,” it said before the glass slid down, inside each of my guns and knives were displayed like fine china. I lifted the gold-engraved pistol, pressing the wood panel underneath it, taking out the old flip-phone, dialing quickly before lifting it to my ear. It rang once before she answered. She didn’t speak, but I knew she was there.
“A boy named Marco Forte was killed today. Find out by who and why, Jackal, and find out fast. I need to know how deep this goes and how many people need to die.”
Her reply was to hang up immediately, and I knew that meant I'd have an answer within forty-eight hours.
Flipping the phone closed, I put it back in its place, the wood panel clicking closed. The glass of the mirror slid back up, showing my own reflection, my green eyes staring right back at me.
“All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. But remember… To win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the acme of skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill…this is The Art of War,” I said to my own reflection, a small smirk appearing on my lips. I hadn’t put the gun away.
Walking from the mirror, I wondered if I should feel insulted or grateful that my enemy, whoever it was, thought I was so stupid…
What was the fastest way to take power from my family?
It wasn’t money… Anyone with half a brain knew my family had more than enough hidden all over the world to get by for generations, if not longer. My father had taught us all The Callahan Family Rules, and the moment I’d heard Marco say he wanted to work with me, I knew that he saw Ethan as Irish. I knew something wasn’t right in that, which is why I remembered Rule 28: “Remember that it is the clan that gives us our power.”
The fastest way to take power from my family…was to destroy the clan.
In the Art of War, the greatest test of skill was to subdue the enemy without fighting… What better way to do that than to pit the Irish and the Italians against each other… To restart the blood feuds between them.
“It’s exactly what I would do…” I whispered to myself as I took a seat in my leopard-print chair, placing my gun on the side table, before reaching for the bottle of Pink Moscato at the bottom it. I filled a glass and turned the television screen to the cameras Ethan had secretly placed in the home of the man he hated so much, he had fucked his daughter just to spite him.
“I’m sure you remember the old blood feuds, Savino Moretti,” I said, bringing the glass to my lips as I watched as Moretti screw yet another woman that was far too young for him in his office… Ethan and Ivy had killed his daughter, Klarrisa Moretti, only days ago and this was apparently how he mourned.
“To each their own,” I whispered, drinking. Wine made everything, even this gag-worthy performance, bearable.
Soon—the moment I knew for sure it was him—I’d leave holes in him for the worms to fuck.
DONATELLA - 23 DAYS AGO
“Your screams are for the many and mine for the one. So, I am alien to you and you are alien to me.” I typed on my laptop from inside the gazebo overlooking the koi pond at the edge of our private property.
“Your tea, ma’am.” One of the maids filled my glass for me. However, I didn’t look up. My fingers were trying to keep up with the words racing through my mind, when all of sudden a tablet was thrust in my face. I stared at the machine for a moment before looking up at the hand holding it there; when I finally got to his face, he was smiling down at me.
“I was waiting for you to get to a break but knowing you, that could be hours,” Toby said.
“This about Marco?” I asked, lifting my hands from the keys, and taking the tablet from him.
“It is and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that it’s not what you thought.” He sighed, reaching over to press play. “There wasn’t a camera in the alley but there was one across the street.”
I watched as the blond-haired Declan, running as quickly as possible out of the alley across the street, tried to wipe the blood on his hands onto his jacket, checking behind and in front of him, panicked.
“He later ditched his clothes,” Toby explained, showing me the next video, which was a little grainier, but I could still see him as he threw his jacket into a dumpster behind a restaurant.
“No one else has these videos?” I asked him.
He nodded. “I bought it off the owners. What they’ll say to others, though, is beyond me.”
“Nothing should be beyond you,” I corrected, handing him back the tablet. “Where is he now?”
“His mother’s house. Hiding under the bed, I’m sure, which gives us time to enjoy our anniversary before paying him a visit.” He grinned, grabbing my arm and lifting me off my seat.
“Anniversary? We do not have—”
Placing a finger on my lips, he smiled then looked me dead in the eye as he said; “For tonight, forget you’re a Callahan and all the baggage that comes with that and simply have fun with me.”
He looked like a puppy…that was the excuse I gave myself as I followed him out of the gazebo and on to path towards the house, just as Greyson walked towards us. I tried to pull my hand away, but Toby held on tighter.
“Greyson, whatever it is, it can wait—”
“No, it can’t. Don’t speak for me!” I yanked harder, ripping my hand from his and turning to face Greyson, who looked between us both for a moment, glaring at Toby before looking to me.
“The new shipment has come in. However, they’re short.”
I froze, my whole-body stiffened. “How short?”
“Short enough that there needs to a very good excuse—”
“No excuses,” I cut him off, stepping closer I asked him again. “Does Ethan often give anyone a chance to give him an excuse?”
“No, ma’am.” He stood straighter.
“So, why should I?” I tilted my head to the side. He didn’t answer. “Do the major cities have enough?”
“The Golden Three paid for more this time but they haven’t gotten it,” he replied.
“Since Boston is on hold for now, have them send their shipment to the new Golden Three; Charlotte, Charleston, Jackson. Then, if anyone has anything they aren’t moving, have it sent to Miami and Savannah.”
“We have reverses—”
“No. That reeks of desperation. Do I look desperate to you?” I asked him.
“No, ma’am,” Greyson said, with a slight laugh in his voice, and I turned to Toby.
“You come with me!” I snapped, already heading off the path into the woods. I walked for at least five minutes before turning to him and bringing my hand across his face as hard as I could. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
His head was still turned to the side as if he couldn’t believe I’d hit him.
“Do you feel
good about that?” he asked, his eyes shining with rage, his fist clenched at his side. I wanted to smack him a second time. “Slapping me when you know I can’t slap you back? And believe me, if you were anyone else, I’d do it.”
“THAT IS THE PROBLEM!” I yelled. “I am not anyone else. I cannot forget I am a Callahan! Do not act upset. Do not pretend to be my victim; you are victim of yourself! You wanted to be with me and I made it clear that if we were, I was not going to treat you any different to anyone else and yet you keep insisting that I do! You keep forcing my hand. Who are you to decide whether or not I hear news about my family’s business! News YOU should be giving me! Instead, you are making me look weak!”
“YOU CAN’T BE EVERYTHING YOU WANT TO BE!” he roared back at me. “For now, you are the head of this family, but what happens when Ethan returns? You’re just going to sit in the corner with your blood boiling because he’s taken over again! What are you going to do? Never marry anyone? You said you wanted to be loved! THAT IS WHAT I AM TRYING TO DO! You don’t seem to get that you’re going to have to give up on something, Dona, because you can’t be Callahan and stand above everyone while still trying to find your equal! NOT UNLESS you plan on screwing your own—”
This time, I punched him dead on the nose, his whole head going back and for the first time, he hit me back. Something erupted between us. His fist slammed into my side.
“UGH!” I screamed, bouncing back into the ring, hopping in place, keeping my body moving and fighting the pain. He grinned, flicking the tip of his nose with his finger as he glared at me. When he came forward again, I ducked down and he shifted his punch, coming towards my face, replaying the punch he’d give my side. With an elbow right into his balls, I sent him curling forward before I grabbed his fingers and bent them back, twisting his whole arm while rising up and bringing him to his knees.
When Toby reached up, grabbed my blouse, and flipped me over him and onto my back, I couldn’t think; the pain shooting up my body like lightening in a tree.
I rolled away from him on the ground of the woods; dirt, dry leaves all in my clothes, before he could grab ahold of me. I got to my feet and charged the small distance between us, head-butting him right in the nose and mouth. I felt his teeth hit my skull, but I didn’t stop. When his head was thrown back, I punched him as quick and as many times as possible. He dropped his arm down, and I took the opportunity to hit him, but his arms wrapped around me like a snake, giving him enough time to lock his arms, pick me up off my feet, and run my back right into one of the trees. I lifted my arms to block him, but he grabbed them, holding them over my head and kissing me; his tongue in my mouth, his body pressed hard against me, and I couldn’t help it, going from pain to that…felt…
“OH…” I moaned into his mouth, grabbing on to his shirt when he let my hands go, only to hike my skirt up to my waist.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he gasped when our lips broke away for only a second. But I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to fuck, so I reached down and undid his pants, grabbing his cock.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I whispered back, before kissing him again.
THREE
“My mother always told me,
no monsters lived beneath my bed,
but she had failed to warn me,
it laid on top of it instead.
~ Poet E.h
DONATELLA - 22 DAYS AGO
I was sore.
And I wasn’t sure if it was from the sex or the fight before the sex… I had a feeling it was a bit both, but mostly the fight.
I wanted to spend the day soaking in the bath to stop the bruises from getting bad. However, at five in the morning, I found myself in the Contemporary Art section of The Art Institute of Chicago, staring at a massive abstract painting of a woman sinking underwater, her skin cracking; above her was an eagle with a crushed butterfly in its claws and below her, in the water, was the tail-end of a shark disappearing behind the rocks.
“You’re late,” I said, hearing the footsteps behind me. I didn’t bother turning around. She walked up beside me, standing at exactly my height, looking up at the painting as well. Turning to her, as she turned to me, and had anyone else had seen her, they would have flinched; her face was covered in deep, jagged-edged scars. They cut across the nose, cheek, and mouth…but none of them were as bad as the one she hid under her scarf, the one that ran right over her vocal cords. “You’re never late, Jackal, what happened?”
She didn’t answer. Not because she wouldn’t, but because she couldn’t. Not vocally, at least.
Reaching into her large tote bag, she handed me a thick yellow file.
Turning away from her completely, I walked to the bench within the exhibit and sat down.
“This is a lot of information on one kid.”
When I looked back at her, she simply shook her head.
Furrowing my eyebrows together, I tried to read her expression, but she was keeping it blank on purpose.
“I’ll just read then,” I replied, opening the page. The very first thing I saw was an imagine of Toby and Savino from last Christmas. “What is this?” I asked, knowing she couldn’t speak…but I’m sure she knew I was asking myself, not her.
The photo looked innocent enough, like Savino had accidentally bumped into him. In the back of my mind, I remembered that party. Savino had gotten drunk and started singing to the embarrassment of his daughter…something that was typical of him…and yet, in the image I could clearly see him slipping something into Toby’s hand. Turning the page, I saw another photo, this time of the same alley Toby had shown me, where he’d said Declan had killed Marco…however…he shouldn’t have been there, in that alley. Nor should he have been chasing down Declan.
Hearing her footsteps, I looked up at Jackal as she pointed to the photo of Toby.
“He killed Marco.” I wasn’t asking. I just knew. It was the only thing that made sense, and yet, seeing her nod made me inhale sharply. Swallowing the pool of saliva in my mouth, I looked down at my papers and photos again. On them, several of our suppliers…all of them from different regions of Mexico, Colombia, and Venezuela…all of whom had come short for this shipment. I remembered an old conversation Ethan had had with one of our uncles about a power struggle after the death of one of our point men.
“Toby is working with Savino,” I whispered, nodding to myself, all the pieces coming together perfectly in my mind. “The drug lords and cartels in South have been changing. The new bloods, the second generation, has no respect for us… Savino wants control of the Italians…what better way to do that than restarting the blood feuds with the Irish, over the death of a proud Italian boy. Thus, cutting off the power of the Callahan’s, especially now that Ethan’s trying to reign in Boston.”
Jackal snapped her fingers in front of my face, and when I looked back at her she held up a photo of Toby, confusion clearly on her face.
“Why would he betray us for Savino?” I asked her question and she nodded, putting the photo back down in my lap. I wish I didn’t know that answer…but I did. “Me. He did it for me.”
The fucking idiot.
“He’ll kill Savino the moment he can. Then he’ll be the Don of the Italian mafia. He’ll go to my brothers and try to broker a truce…if I marry him. The Callahan’s still have an in with the Italians; he’s my equal and Ethan’s equal. He gets everything he wants. He loves me, but he hates being under me. He hates being under my family. He’s not working for Savino, he’s working for himself. For his own ambitions.”
It was brilliant; he was close enough that we trusted him and he was already respected by association from everyone we knew. On top of that, he knew how to run the business. If it failed… He could pin it all on Savino and wait to strike again.
Jackal crouched down to her knees in front of me and she lifted up the photo of Savino and Toby again. Pointing from Savino to Toby then to me.
“Take their plan?” I asked and she nodded again.
&nb
sp; Let Toby kill Savino, then kill Toby. I’d have control over the Italians and Ethan would have the Irish…he’d already married Irish and, in doing so, caused a rift between himself and the Italian side of the family.
Do it, a voice in my mind whispered, rising from the deepest part of me. This is it. This how we can have it all. Take it from them.
I could see how I could do it. I could take it all.
The more I thought about it, the stronger that nagging feeling got, like I was missing something important. Glancing down at the folder again, I saw a picture of Ethan. He was at the same Christmas party, holding a glass to his lips, but his eyes were locked on something not in the frame. I lifted the picture of Savino and Toby and put it next to the one of Ethan.
“Ethan,” I whispered as I realized how simple it was for me to figure this all out. I was not an idiot, but I was no genius either…at least, not in the same way Ethan was. No one, not even his wife, knew him like I did. Wyatt and I were twins. But Ethan and I were closer in some ways. I knew what he was thinking just by observing the way he held his glass or sat in his chair.
People thought I blindly followed him when I was younger however, that wasn't the case. Like when he first became the Mani Di Forbice by killing a priest who’d planned to sell out my parents in order to save himself from being exposed as a child molester. Ethan had grabbed on to my arm and told me not to go to that priest for confession. When I looked at him, I saw the warning, the raging storm that was coming and I simply said okay. I’d spent almost all of my life watching him carefully which is why I knew in my heart that if I could figure this out, if I could see the big picture… Ethan had most definitely seen it months ago.
“These were hard to get…” I stated to Jackal and she nodded. “But not so hard my brother couldn’t find out if he wanted too?”
Again, she nodded.
Toby was betraying us…and Ethan knew.
This whole time, he knew.
“Thank you, Jackal,” I said to her, standing back on my feet as she stood up as well. “For reminding me I can’t count on anyone.”