Tainted Love

by Drake, Tabatha

  I reach for my phone before realizing it’s in my clutch downstairs. I sigh and catch sight of the television remote on the bedside table. There should be a clock on the national news networks. I flick it on and channel surf until I find one.

  My lips curl. It’s only eight-thirty.

  A familiar image on the television stops me cold. A photo of a man with a black tattoo on his abdomen. A cobra, just like Dante’s.

  TERRORIST GROUP EXPOSED.

  I turn up the volume to hear the reporter as she reads from her cue cards.

  “Breaking news this morning as the FBI announces that an underground criminal organization known as Snake Eyes exists… and just might be operating on American soil. The news comes from a supposed leak of their members and clientele, a list that officials are calling absolutely startling. Senator Ronnie Lamb, the front-runner in this year’s presidential election who was brutally killed last week, was supposedly one of their targets.”

  Fear prickles down my spine as I look at the door.

  “Sources have confirmed today that members of Snake Eyes wear the same tattoo on their chests — a black cobra. A nationwide manhunt is currently underway to locate members of this group. However, authorities do urge the public to be cautious. Members should be considered armed and extremely dangerous—”

  A shadow moves in the corner of my eye and my breath catches in my throat. Dante steps into the room, his face cold and dark. He stands between the bed and the door, his eyes locked on the television screen as the reporter rambles on.

  “Dante, what is Snake Eyes?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He looks at me slowly. “You need to leave.”

  “What?”

  “Get dressed,” he says. “Go home. Forget you ever met me.”

  My heart drops. “Dante, what—”

  “Do it now.”

  I can’t read his eyes. I search them but there’s nothing there. No fear. No hatred. No affection. Just blank, black eyes.

  Like a snake.

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Lucy, go.”

  He turns and walks out, leaving me sitting alone in his bed. The television continues, listing off all the reasons for me to fear him and turn him in as a terrorist.

  It doesn’t make any sense. Dante didn’t bat an eye as he spoke about his work with the Zappias, one of the worst mafia families in all of Chicago. But Snake Eyes? One mention of them and he’s kicking me out the door.

  I slip back into my dress and walk silently down the stairs.

  “Forgetting something, Ms. Vaughn?”

  I turn to see Spencer walking toward me from the kitchen with my clutch in his hand. “Oh, right...”

  His other hand drifts into his jacket pocket.

  He pulls out a small derringer pistol and points it at my face.

  I gasp and turn away to avoid looking death in the eyes.

  Any second now, I’ll hear the bullet. It’ll fire straight at me and pierce my skull.

  Will I even feel it? Will it hurt? Or will the shock be so intense, I’ll black out dead before I even hit the floor?

  God, I fucking hope it’s that last one.

  A shadow darts into the entryway, knocking the gun out of Spencer’s old hands. I look up to see Dante standing over him with a wire twisted between his fingers. He wraps it twice around Spencer’s translucent throat and pulls hard at both ends.

  I scream and my knees give out beneath me, forcing me down to the floor. Spencer scratches at Dante’s arms but the old man can do nothing but choke on his own spit and blood. I can’t turn away, my eyes locked on Dante’s cold stare as he steals a life right in front of me.

  Finally, Spencer topples to the floor and Dante releases the wire. It peels off his skin, leaving a dripping, red smile behind on his frail, wrinkled neck.

  “Dante?” I whisper.

  He bends over to grab my arm and pull me to my feet. I stare into his eyes, dark and cold as ice. He scoops my clutch off the floor and holds it out to me.

  “Go.”

  I take it from him with trembling fingers and spin around to pull the door open.

  Get dressed. Go home. Forget you ever met me.

  What the hell is going on?

  Chapter 13

  Dante

  I knew it was too good to last.

  What the hell was I thinking in the first place? That I could be normal? That I have a place in this world other than behind the barrel of a gun? No, it was too good to last. Men like me don’t get happy endings. We don’t get the girl.

  We get the girl killed.

  I drag Spencer’s body away from the front door by his feet, leaving a line of blood along the hardwood floor as it seeps from his throat. I didn’t want to do this, but Spencer’s been in Snake Eyes since before I was even born. He was just following orders. He knows our protocols better than anybody and he wouldn’t give a shit how I felt about her. It’s not the death an agent of his caliber deserved, but it’s what he got.

  That look in her eyes. Lucy will never speak to me again but that’s where this was going to end from the start. It should have happened last night when I had the chance to control the outcome.

  I drop Spencer onto the couch and throw a blanket over him. Someone will find him eventually and he’ll get a proper burial out of it. Maybe. There’s no time to worry about that right now anyway.

  Snake Eyes is exposed. By noon, everyone in the country will know about it — the Zappia family included. They’ve seen my tattoo before. It won’t take long for them to connect the dots. I can’t wait around and chance it.

  It’s time to say goodbye to Chicago.

  I rush upstairs and grab my Code Zero kit from the closet. We all have one. Cash, clothing, burner phones, new IDs and passports — everything we need to make a clean break. There should be a text message on the phone already with instructions to tell me what I’m supposed to do next.

  I turn on the phone and wait for the message to come in.

  There’s nothing. No coordinates. No code words. No explanations.

  I dial a number. He answers before the first ring.

  “Dante? Is that you?”

  “Elijah,” I say, relieved to hear my little brother’s voice. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s over, man. Snake Eyes is finished.”

  I’ve never heard my little brother sound so worried before in my life.

  “How is that possible?” I ask.

  “He leaked everything,” he says. “Our names, aliases. Every hit, every job. Everything.”

  I push it aside. I can hunt down that traitorous prick later. Right now, I have to get out of Chicago.

  “I haven’t received my orders from Myra,” I say. “What’s she say about all this?”

  Elijah pauses. “Myra went dark, Dante. There are no orders.”

  “She went dark?”

  “It’s over,” he says again. “It’s every man for themselves now.”

  So, that’s it, then. One card slips and the entire house comes tumbling down.

  “Where’s Lilah?” I ask.

  “She’s with me.”

  I breathe a little easier. “Put her on.”

  A few seconds of noise and I hear my little sister’s voice.

  “Dante? You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Just a little surprised.”

  “Yeah, no shit.”

  There’s panic in her tone, too. Of the twins, I expected her to keep her cool better than Elijah. “Where are you?” I ask.

  “We’re on our way to you.”

  “Don’t,” I say. “Stay out of Chicago.”

  “Then, where do we go?”

  That’s a good fucking question.

  If the feds know everything about Snake Eyes, then they know everything about Snake Eyes, including our hideouts and safe zones. There’s nowhere to go but six feet under. Or a concrete cell.

  I’d rather take the former.

  �
�The house,” I tell her. “Can you two get there?”

  Her voice goes soft. I can barely make out her gentle whispers as she confers with Elijah. “Yeah,” she finally says. “We can get there. Won’t make it until after nightfall, though.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can get out of the city.” I reach down into the bag, rifling all the way to the bottom to find the pistol buried beneath the stack of clothes and money. “Get rid of your phones, too.”

  “As soon as I hang up, they’re going in the fucking river.”

  “Good.” I slide the clip free, checking to make sure it’s still loaded. “I’ll see you soon, little sister. Keep your head down.”

  “You, too, big brother.”

  The line goes dead. I flip the phone over to tug out the battery and the SIM card before smashing all of it and tossing into the trash.

  Fucking hell. This is all worse than I thought it was. Part of me knew this day would come but I never expected it to happen so soon. I thought I’d have two bullets in my eyes ages before something like this went down. It’s unprecedented and downright fucking scary. If it’s not the cops or the mafia gunning for me, it might be other Snake Eyes agents looking to turncoat and bargain out of spending the rest of their lives in prison by giving up as many of us as possible. You think there’s no honor amongst thieves? Try dropping a loaded gun into a room of desperate killers and see what that’s like.

  I throw on my suit and grab my bag as a car door slams outside on the street below. I stand up and peek outside, paranoia crawling up my spine.

  It’s just a mom piling her kids into the car. Frown lines crumble on her face. She’s clearly holding back every swear word in the English language behind her tight lips, possibly some in Italian given the neighborhood we live in. I can’t blame her. I’m tired of this shit, too.

  I scan the rest of the street and spot an unmarked black car sitting at the corner. I grip my gun a little tighter, squinting to try and make out the driver’s face.

  The door opens and Marty Zappia steps outside.

  Fucking hell.

  Watching today’s news must have been like Christmas morning for the brat. I can just imagine him sitting there, his lips curling with delight as the anchor went on and on about Snake Eyes and the black cobra tattoo that oddly looks just like mine.

  Daddy, please. Let me do him. I’ll make you proud. I promise.

  I wasn’t exactly planning on killing Marty Zappia, but I guess there are worse ways to spend a shitty morning.

  He jaunts across the street, heading straight toward my front door. I pull away from the curtains before his little, weasel eyes find me. Right now, I have the advantage and I have to keep it.

  I go back to my bag to grab the silencer hidden in the front pocket. No sense in alerting the neighbors, especially since I already have one dead body stashed in my living room. I twist it onto my gun’s barrel and sidle back to the window.

  Marty’s gone. Most likely sneaking around to the back garden to catch me by surprise. He’s an idiot, sure, but not stupid enough to knock on the front door.

  The doorbell rings.

  I may have spoken too soon on that one.

  I move down the stairs with my bag, keeping light on my toes, watching his shape behind the translucent windows. His shoulders are down, almost calm and casual. Maybe this isn’t his big day after all.

  I drop the bag in the corner and shift the gun behind my back before cracking the door open.

  “Hey, Hart!” he greets with a smile.

  “Marty…” I scan his body. Both of his hands sit by his sides, not stuffed into his pockets with his fingers wrapped around a trigger. “What’s up?”

  “I, uh…” His smile twitches on his dull face. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Can I come in?”

  Not with my dead mentor on the couch. “Now isn’t really the best time, Marty.”

  “What, you got that girl in there or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ll only take a minute.”

  My finger slides over the trigger. He’s pushing a little too hard to get in here. “Let’s talk later at the casino, all right?”

  Marty lays a hand on the door. “This is a bit too sensitive for the casino, Hart.”

  Son-of-a-bitch. If I keep resisting, he’ll know for sure something is wrong. “Fine,” I say, sliding the gun into my belt behind my back. “I can spare a minute.”

  He holds up his hands. “That’s all I need.”

  I open the door wider and he steps inside. I keep my eyes on his hands and jacket, looking for any pooches that might indicate he’s holding. If he came into my place completely unarmed, then Marty Zappia outright deserves to die. His old man might even thank me for purifying the gene pool.

  He pauses in the foyer with wide eyes. Luckily, he doesn’t notice my bag in the corner behind me and he keeps his back toward the living room. Let’s hope, for his sake, he stays that way.

  “What’s up, Marty?”

  He chews on his cheek, hesitating. “There’s no real great way to say this and I know you shooting me is a possible consequence, but I’m banking on you hearing me out before doing that…”

  I lean against the door, waiting silently for him to go on. When I say nothing, he fidgets on his feet.

  “I want to hire you to kill my father.”

  My eyebrow twitches. “You what?”

  Marty stands up a little taller, forcing all his piddly confidence into his weak voice. “I want to hire you to kill my—”

  “Don’t repeat that shit out loud, kid.”

  “Someone needs to say it,” he says. “Might as well be me.”

  “Why?”

  “My father’s a thug. Just like my grandfather was before him and my great-grandfather was before him.”

  “So, what? Why fix what ain’t broken?”

  He folds his hands in front of him, entwining his fingers together. I’ll hand it to him. He’s trying very hard to make himself look pretty badass right now and to a less savvy person, it’d probably work.

  “The system is broken, Hart. Every year, my family’s name loses a touch more of its credibility.” He turns up his nose. “I mean… calling out a hit on a man for twenty thousand in casino debt? Twenty? It’s pointless and petty and it sends the wrong message.”

  I shrug. “Not arguing with that.”

  “It’ll take a legitimate businessman to bring my family back to greatness, Hart.”

  “And you’re that businessman, I take it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why come to me?” I ask. “Why not just go to Daddy with this shit?”

  “Because you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. My father has always believed that the man with the highest body count controls Chicago. I disagree but he’s pretty set in his ways, as you yourself can probably attest to.”

  “You’re assuming Chicago wants to change,” I point out, straightening up. “There’s a reason why busting kneecaps never goes out of style. It works. Wearing a snazzy suit and shaking a few hands won’t change that.”

  “I’d like to prove that wrong, Hart. I’d like to convince this city that diplomacy still exists in this world.” He takes a step forward. “I want you by my side when I do.”

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  I barely hold in my chuckle. “You want me to be your partner-in-crime?”

  “I know what you did for the dancer man,” he says, raising his brow. “There’s no way he just stumbled on that money overnight and I don’t believe his daughter for a second when she says she paid it off. You’ve got good business sense. We may not like each other much — at all, really — but I know potential when I see it. Also…” His face twitches, like a bad poker player with an ace up his sleeve. “It’s your fault that he’s still breathing at all right now.”

  I pause, replaying the last twenty-four hours in my head, laying the pieces together. “You ordered the hit on the restaurant.”


  “I did,” he says, pride oozing off his pathetic lips.

  “And the Lutrovas?”

  “Convenient scapegoats.”

  “Figures.” I shake my head. “Shooting up a place full of people doesn’t exactly scream diplomacy-in-action to me, kid.”

  “Sacrifices are a part of every war. Once my father makes his, you and I can rebuild Chicago into something greater.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  He inhales slowly, stretching way down into his bravery to quell the tremble in his voice. “If your girl didn’t waltz over to our table at that very moment, all of this would have ended last night.”

  “You saying I owe you something?”

  “I’m saying either you do… or she does.”

  I dig my nails into my palms, deep enough to draw blood. “Leave her out of this.”

  “Gladly,” he says. “Just help me take him out and all will be forgiven.”

  “I’m not looking for a promotion, kid.”

  “Is that a no, then?”

  I pause, not even flinching at his sudden shift in patience. I really don’t have time for this crap, but I can’t burn this bridge just yet. At least not until I’m out of Illinois. Then, he can go as viva la revolution as he fucking wants.

  “Let me think it over, Marty.”

  His eyes roam my front hall again. “This can’t wait, Hart.”

  “What’s the big rush?”

  His phone rings in his pocket. “Excuse me.”

  I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to throw him out by his earlobe while he answers it. It’s only a matter of time before Spencer starts to stink up the place and I’ve got mid-morning traffic to beat. Then again, Marty’s disgusting aftershave will probably cover it up just fine for now.

  “Hello?” He looks at the floor. “No, Dad, I didn’t see the news this morning.”

  Fuck me.

  Well, it was nice knowing you, kid. I guess the revolution will have to start without you.

  I reach behind my back to grip my gun as his eyes slowly rise off the floor and land on me.