by Ivy Fox
“Please! Please, Ciro!” I cry, the tears rolling down my face, as the blood from James’ wound flows through my fingers.
“Come home, Selene.” Ciro beckons, before vanishing from my sight with my screaming son in his arms, leaving me alone with my beloved dying friend in mine.
TWENTY
Dominic
I drive like a mad man on a mission, with a hysterical Selene at my side.
“We’re almost there, baby.” I try and soothe her with one hand on the steering wheel and another holding her trembling body close to mine.
When we finally get to Vincent’s cabin, I’m relieved to see Gio’s Porsche is already in the driveway. I get out of the car and run to help Selene on the other side. She’s shaking all over, hardly able to take a step, and it’s tearing me apart. I put my arm under her knees, and she immediately wraps her arms around my neck, her tears never once waning though.
“Jesus, you’re killing me, Red,” I mumble under my breath as I run to Vincent’s door and bang on it hard enough its hinges almost break loose.
“The fuck, Dom!” I hear Gio howl on the other side, but the minute he opens the door and sees a broken Selene in my arms, his own panic rises.
“Principessa? Bella? What’s wrong? Bella, talk to me!” he begs, panicking, his hands desperately searching her body for whatever wound is ailing her.
There is blood on her shirt and jeans, and when she arrived this morning at the club, I too thought she was shot. After inspecting every part of her, I realized the blood wasn’t hers, but she hasn’t been coherent enough to tell me whose it is.
“Gio, get Lourdes to go out and buy her some clothes. I need to get her out of this filth,” I groan, making my way upstairs to Vincent’s room, taking two steps at a time. “And where the hell is Vincent?!” I yell, entering his ensuite, still cradling my love in my arms.
“We have to save him, Dom. We have to,” she pleads, her grip on me is so ferocious that I feel her nails break into my skin.
“Who, Red? What happened to you, baby?” I implore.
“He took him. He took him away from me. He took him,” she cries again, the same sentence she’s been repeating for the past hour.
“Shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I’m here,” I tell her, as I turn on the shower faucet, and start to take the blood-tainted clothes off my girl. She slaps my hands away and falls to her knees on the cold, white-tiled floor.
“You wanted me on my knees, Dominic? Well, here I am. Please help him,” she hiccups against my chest.
“You should never beg for anything, Red. Not one goddamn thing,” I proclaim. “I never saw you as a principessa. You were always a queen to me. And queens do not bow,” I confess, while I take her hands in mine and usher her to her feet. I then place my hand on the nape of her neck and touch my temple with hers.
“Please,” she sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Hang on to me,” I choke out. I lift her off once more and sit her down next to the sink. “Hold tight,” I instruct, placing her fierce grip on the edge of the marble counter.
She doesn’t fight me, which I’m glad for, but her tears and hiccupped sobs don’t lessen either. With her panicked state, it’s a miracle she didn’t have an accident driving the eight hours from Nashville to Chicago. Pure adrenaline must have pushed her through, but now that she’s reached her destination, shock has taken over her every thought.
Once I’ve made sure the water is warm enough, I take off my own clothes and carry her beneath the rainforest shower, to wash away every inch of blood on her. My stomach drops when I watch the shine in my girl’s green-jeweled eyes being replaced by a vacant stare. After I’ve made sure she’s no longer trembling and she’s clean of whatever nightmare she’s endured, I switch off the water and pick her up once more before opening the opaque glass door.
Gio stands with a towel in his hands and wraps her up, unnerved with the same blank gaze in her eyes. He looks at me for answers, but unfortunately, I have none to give him.
“Where’s Vincent?” I growl beneath my breath.
“I’m here,” my best friend hushes from under the threshold of the bathroom door, true fear embedded in his eyes. He bridges the gap between him and our girl and lovingly caresses her cheeks with his hands.
“Vita mia?” he whispers in pain, witnessing how broken our love is in my arms.
“He took him,” she hushes so low it’s hard to understand her words. “He took him, Vincent. Our boy. He took him.”
The rush of blood rings in my ears, and before my very eyes, I watch my two pain-stricken commilitoni suddenly transform into avenging apocalyptic men, seething to rain hellfire down on the world and torch it all to ash.
I push past them, knowing they are in no frame of mind to console my girl when she is this fragile. Vincent and the arctic ice in his veins, combined with Gio’s hot temper, is not what Red needs right now. I stare them down, warning them that this is not about their sense of justice, but Selene’s well-fucking-being. I place her on Vincent’s bed, covering her up with his black duvet, and settle behind her, keeping her wrapped tightly in my arms.
“Leave,” I order them, and Vincent takes two menacing steps toward us.
“I can’t do that, Dom,” he deadpans.
“I’m not asking you, Vince. I’m telling you. Red is in shock. She’s of no use to you right now. Leave and let her rest.”
Vincent grinds his teeth but doesn’t move a muscle. Gio places his hand on his shoulder breaking our staring match.
“We’ll be downstairs,” Gio says, walking toward our girl and placing a gentle kiss on her temple. “We’re all here, bella. You’re safe. Rest,” he murmurs in her ear and falls back to leave the room as I demanded. “Vince?” he insists while standing within the doorframe.
Vincent nods stiffly.
“You have my life in your hands, Dominic. Take care of her,” he replies before following Gio out the door.
I let out a strangled breath and check how my girl is doing. Overwhelmed by either stress or shock, her ability to stay awake has been obliterated; thankfully she’s asleep. I stay with her for a few hours, hoping she feels my protection even in her slumber. But soon my joints ache from being in the same position, so I get up from the bed, get dressed, and trail downstairs to the two brothers that must be beside themselves.
I walk into Vincent’s office, and there I find two menacing capos ready to unleash hell.
“So what do we know so far?” I ask, knowing by now they should have some info.
“James is dead. I sent my Bratva informant from Knoxville to check their home out, and he called, not ten minutes ago, telling us James took one in the gut and bled to death,” Gio explains, running his fingers through his curly hair, showing signs of exasperation.
“We think this is The Butcher’s handiwork?” I question.
“No. If Bianchi had found Selene, she would have never made it to us alive,” Vincent announces, leaning against his desk, looking like a perfectly carved-out statue. “Jude was nowhere in sight either, so we can assume whoever killed James, must have him, too.”
“Am I the only one who is completely clueless to what the fuck is going on? If it wasn’t Selene’s piece of shit father, then who the hell has our kid?” Gio hollers frantically.
“Ciro,” Selene interrupts, making us all turn around to face her. “Ciro kidnapped Jude. He’s the one who has our boy,” she continues.
“Red?” I rush over to her, but she raises her hand to stop me in my tracks.
“I’m fine, Dom. Right now my only concern is getting my son back. I can have a meltdown after this is finally resolved,” she exclaims, resolute and determined—a stark contrast with the frail state in which she arrived at this house.
“Why does Ciro have our son?” Vincent asks, breaking his statuesque form to be closer to our girl.
Red picks up his hand and walks him to the leather couch to take
a seat. I stand vigilant in the center of the room, while Gio sits on the couch’s armrest beside them.
“I used to think we four were the unluckiest bunch that ever existed. We were all born with so many burdens put on us, long before we even knew they existed. We grew up knowing our lives were never our own, but as long as we had each other, then maybe, just maybe, we could survive all the chaos that landed at our feet,” she begins, looking each one of us in the eye, while her own showcase the evidence of the rotten lot we had to overcome. “I was a fool to think I could outrun our fate. I was such a stupid, arrogant fool. And now I’m paying the price,” she mumbles under her breath.
“Tesoro—”
“Let me finish, Vincent. I might not have the chance ever again.”
He takes her hand and places a small, tender kiss on her palm. “Continue, vita mia.”
“I doubt I’ll be your vita when I tell you everything I have kept hidden from you,” she chokes out nervously. She then shakes her head and straightens her spine, finding the courage to tell us whatever she so adamantly wants to confess.
“It was my father who ordered the hit on your uncle all those years ago. It was because of him that your mother and your father died so horribly in that car explosion.”
“What?” Gio bellows, but Selene just keeps on going with the sordid secrets of the past.
“He admitted it to me. It’s true. But unfortunately, the day I found out that piece of information, I also discovered that Ciro was blackmailing him. Somehow he discovered that my father was behind the unsuccessful assassination attempt on Salvatore’s life, and wielded it over his head to get what he wanted.” She shuts her eyes and takes a long intake of breath, before continuing on. “When Ciro came back to Chicago, it was never to play nice. Because he has been robbed of his legacy, he thinks that he alone, as the eldest Romano—bastardo or not—should lead the Outfit. And I think this was his main reason for killing Pietro, too.”
The stunned silence around the room is deafening. I watch as Gio takes all this information in, placing the pieces of the puzzle neatly in his mind, while Vincent just takes each confessed word as the revelation he had been haunted to obtain—who was at fault for his parents’ murder and who killed his beloved cousin. Red knew it all, yet never let on she was privy to all this ugly truth.
“Why did you leave us?” Vincent asks out of the blue, but somehow he doesn’t seem clueless anymore to what our girl’s answer will be.
She is about to say something but hesitates, apprehension finally sinking in.
“Principessa, don’t turn back now. We need to know,” Gio insists with a non-judgmental tone, letting our Red know she is blameless in regards to all this shit she’s telling us now.
“Ciro not only wants the crown, but he wants the queen, too,” she confesses, and with that one statement, a spark of enlightenment illuminates every memory I have of my underboss.
The way he volunteered to search for Selene with Vincent and me all those years ago. How, two years later, he called Big Sal every name in the book when we were ordered to return back to Chicago empty-handed. How sometimes he would ask me about my youth, growing up with Selene, and what her life under The Butcher’s rule must have been like. How he despised Bianchi, but never let on to his full hatred when amongst other made men. It was always there. His interest in the woman who I gave my heart to, and too blinded by love, I didn’t see it.
“Cazzo,” I bark out unintentionally.
“I told you both how I thought that fucker was bad news. Well, here it is boys. Ciro LaSpina wants our girl, has our kid, and holds all the fucking cards in the deck,” Gio bellows, beside himself with rage.
The only one of us who looks eerily calm is Vincent, who still has his hand clasped with one of Red’s, showing her nothing but love and his undivided attention.
“You thought The Thorn could take me down? Would take Gio and Dom down with me, didn’t you?” he questions, calm as rain.
“Yes. After he admitted in killing Pietro and learned your uncle wanted to give my hand to you next, he made certain I knew that would never happen. He promised to kill anyone who stood in his way. I ran because I thought I was protecting the people I loved most. However, I now see that the only real way I can protect anyone, and gain my life back, is to eliminate the thorn that has been in my side since I fled Chicago. But I’m not sure I can do that when he’s using Jude as his leverage. I can’t lose Jude, Vincent. He’s my whole life,” she sobs softly. Vincent, no longer content in having Red sit beside him, cradles her in his arms and over his lap.
“Look at me, tesoro,” he nudges her chin up to face him. “I’m sorry you felt you needed to sacrifice yourself for our rotten lives. If you had told us, then we would have found a way to beat Ciro at his own game. But that’s in the past, and our future is all that matters. I vow to you, we will get Jude back, and we will protect you until we take our last wretched breaths. Do you believe me, vita mia?”
Selene, mesmerized by Vincent’s certainty, nods and he presses his lips on our girl’s to seal his pledge.
There is a small bout of silence, as each one of us digests the secrets of the past while acknowledging the turbulent path that lies ahead. Only one solution is evident, and it will be the hardest to accomplish.
“Ciro must die,” I declare, breaking the pensive silence around us.
“To do that we are going to need a plan. A very good one, which, under the circumstances, I’m not sure we have enough time to come up with,” Gio states adamantly. “We don’t even know where the asshole is.”
“Yes, we do,” Selene interjects.
“Where?” Gio asks.
“He told me to go home. Repeatedly. He’ll be at my father’s house.”
“So that is where we’ll go,” Vincent states nonchalantly. “You and I will get our boy back. Tonight.”
Selene gives him another nod, sighing in relief, hoping to see Jude soon.
“You’ll be walking into a trap. You know that right?” I tell him, hoping he understands this little visit to The Butcher’s house means his chances of getting out of there alive are slim to none.
A cruel grimace rises on Vincent’s lips, and his frozen stare sends a shiver down my spine.
“Even death must be earned, Dominic, and Ciro LaSpina hasn’t merited mine. The same, however, cannot be said about him.”
TWENTY-ONE
Vincent
Once we step onto the stone path, it’s as if both of us are being transported into the past. For Selene it’s an avalanche of memories, dreading to come home after school or church and enduring her father’s wrath, while my trepidation is facing the house of horrors I was too young and powerless to help her escape from.
“You can do this, Selene. I’ll be with you every step of the way,” I affirm, giving a small squeeze to our clasped hands in reassurance.
She gives me a clipped nod, her facial features bold and steadfast. Selene might have arrived a fragile, frightened mother on my doorstep earlier today, but now the fierce, valiant survivor has taken over as she leads us both to the grim, foreboding doors of the place that, once upon a time, tried to break her spirit. It doesn’t go unnoticed by me, the familiar and new faces geared up along its boundaries, with heavy artillery at their side.
“My father’s been busy,” she quips under her breath.
“I don’t think these men owe The Butcher any loyalty. These are Il Bastardo’s men. Even the ones I don’t recognize bear his seal of approval.” I seethe.
Selene turns to me with remorse embedded in her green gems but then bites her lower lip, halting the apology she thinks I’m owed, for not telling me about the impending threat amongst my capos. The past can’t be changed, and no amount of ‘I’m sorries’ will help us in our current predicament. She knows it as well as I do.
One of the armed men opens the front door for us, and I’m met with another unexpected betrayal when I recognize one of the
men standing at the center of the luxurious foyer.
“Alonzo Fratelli, how nice to see where your true loyalties lie. I won’t forget it.” I glower at him in greeting.
“This was your own doing, Vincent. The Outfit needs to evolve, but not by taking down the Cosa Nostra as you suggested. LaSpina is exactly what the syndicate needs,” he states stoically, but beneath his armored conviction, I see a sliver of doubt.
“Tell me, Alonzo, where is our host for the evening?” I ask, not giving his statement any credence and instead, I act as if we’ve been invited to a soiree rather than the bloodbath that is most likely to occur tonight.
“Bianchi’s office. I’ll show you to it,” he replies, turning to lead the way.
“No need for such pleasantries. I remember where it is,” I add dismissively.
Selene discreetly looks up to me for clarification, but I just shake my head, showing that we are not here to discuss syndicate turmoil. We make our way to The Butcher’s study where two capos, armed to the teeth, guard it. I push them aside and open the door as I’ve done so many times before in my youth when I had to shadow the monster as part of my consigliere tutorage. What awaits inside are the two men who have taken away every person I have ever loved.
Ciro is leaning on the desk, arms crossed with a contorted, jaded smile on his face, while Silvio stands next to the fireplace with a glass of whiskey in his hand, beaming with triumph.
“So happy you took my invitation to heart, bella rosa. Although I must say, I don’t recall extending the invitation to include a plus one.” Ciro smirks, looking far too tranquil for what is about to go down.
“I would never allow Selene to be trapped in a house alone with you, bastardo,” I reply on her behalf, with the same even tone my underboss and rival is adamant in keeping.
“Tsk, tsk, cousin. Have we arrived at the name calling stage of the night already? I would think you to be more mature than that,” he mocks gloatingly.
“The boy has always been a bit headstrong where she’s involved,” Silvio announces, throwing back his drink. “Hello, daughter,” he adds menacingly, taking her in from the tip of her feet to the top of her blond hair.