Empire (Eagle Elite Book 7)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Because my young, innocent wife. Was absolutely startlingly.

  Right.

  ….and maidens call it love-in-idleness. –A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Frank

  I DIDN’T WANT to meet Xavier any more than I wanted to cut out my own heart and slam it onto the table, but he needed to be contained.

  And I needed to be the one to do it.

  Not Dante.

  Not Sergio.

  Not Tex.

  Wisdom told me that if I were to die, they would be just fine, but if they were to pass on? It would be tragic. They had so much life yet to live, and I knew that my time was slowly coming to an end, not that I wanted it to. I wanted to see great grandchildren; I wanted to see my family back on the right path.

  There were many things I wanted to see.

  But that didn’t mean I deserved to see them.

  I knew that more than anyone.

  Mistakes have a way of jarring your sense of reality, of right and wrong, because in making mistakes, or choices, your constant companion is the need to justify the rocky path you’re on in hopes that at the end of the day you’ll be able to close your eyes against your soft pillow and sleep.

  I have not truly slept in over thirty years.

  I wasn’t about to any time soon.

  Sal fidgeted next to me. “This… this will not work.”

  “It will work.” It might not work, but we could try.

  Papi and Gio were on my left, each of them with guns trained on the door just in case Xavier made things difficult.

  One knock sounded at the door.

  My associate, Joe, answered and paused.

  Joe rarely paused.

  After looking back at me, he opened the door wider.

  And four people stepped through.

  Xavier, his wife, and his two children.

  “Shit,” Gio said under his breath.

  Either Xavier was bluffing or he was about to make our jobs a hell of a lot harder.

  He wanted to be boss.

  Well, if you want something, you need to take it.

  No more threats.

  No more guns.

  No more war.

  I dropped my gun to the floor and stood. “So it is to be like this?”

  “They mean nothing to me. A means to an end. Kill them right here, right now. I still want what I want. Nothing will change that.”

  “You could be bluffing.” I tilted my head. No, his eyes flashed, this was the look of a man crazed with greed. This, sadly, was the look of justification in its truest form.

  The type you do not come back from.

  Like a sickness, it poisons the blood until all you want is more — until you are less than human.

  He was finally at the point of no return.

  And because of his choice — I was going to send him to hell.

  “No guns.” I waited while Joe patted him down. “You kill me. I will give you what you want.” I held out my hand while Sal slowly stood and approached, contract in hand. “Signed with my blood. Stamped with my ring. I will hand over the entire Alfero empire to you. But you must take it.”

  “Old man, you’re about to regret saying that.”

  I grinned. “We’ll see.”

  “Yes.” He slowly rolled up his right sleeve and then his left. “We will.”

  “First.” I handed him a pen. “You sign the dotted line.”

  “I haven’t read it.”

  “You didn’t read the last contract either. Do you not trust me?”

  “Does it matter?” He scribbled down his name. “You’ll be dead in a few minutes, and if you lie, it is of no consequence. I’ll still take your money, your home, your name, I may even take that granddaughter of yours.”

  “Hah!” I fought to keep myself from laughing out loud. “I’d like to see you get through Nixon. Hell, I’d pay to see that.”

  “He’s a child.”

  “No.” I sighed. “If you need an example of a child, simply look into a mirror. You think you deserve power, yet you don’t know what to do with it. You think you want money, but it only lasts so long. You think you want my name? When the identity does not fit any better than my shoes? You are an errant child, angry at the world, angry at me, angry at Luca.” My eyes fell to his wife.

  She was young, maybe twenty-five. Her makeup did nothing to cover up her bruised face. The children were too old to be hers, meaning, she was raising bastards, but the way she hovered over them said it all. She would die for them, blood or not. Pity, for we needed more women like that in this world, women willing to lose lung and limb, for another human being simply because it was the right thing to do.

  “You are even angry at your wife. Tell me, do you also beat your children? Kick your dogs?”

  Xavier rolled his eyes and sneered. “None of your damn business what I do.”

  “There is a code,” I said in a cold voice. “One you have not once followed. One you will die knowing even if I have to shove it down your throat as you choke on your last breath. Never…” I approached him, nearly touching his chest with mine, I had three inches on him in height alone. “Touch another man’s wife or your own in a way that is disrespectful.” I reached for his right hand before he could pull it away and twisted as hard as I could. His wrist snapped. “Or you lose the hand used to create the trauma.” He tried to lunge for me, but Joe grabbed him from behind.

  “You lied! You said no guns!”

  “Do I have a gun?” I looked around the room. “Do you?”

  “I assumed—”

  “Ahh.” I nodded thoughtfully. “Most children do. They assume they know what the parent will do. But I am not your damn parent, thank God. Nor am I your friend.” I grinned slowly. “I am your executioner.”

  Seven hours later

  “IF YOU’RE GOING to kill me, you should get it over with,” Xavier said a few hours later. I’d kept all water, sunlight, and food away from his body as his wrist continued to swell.

  His wife and kids had been given a place to stay that was safe.

  That was all that mattered. That victims were safe while the monster was chained.

  “Tell me.” I sipped my coffee. “What do you think the punishment should be for your… sins?”

  He spat at the ground.

  “Well.” I took my napkin and dabbed my mouth then nodded my head at Joe.

  Joe left the room, and then reappeared with the sledgehammer.

  Xavier didn’t move.

  But I could taste his fear.

  It was impossible not to see the way his eyes focused on the hammer like laser beams, hoping that the vision was merely a mirage and not his future.

  Joe pulled the wooden table over to where Xavier sat then freed his left hand and placed it on the table. Xavier struggled but he was too weak to put up much of a fight.

  I eyed his hand.

  “Did you know, if I let you live, you would lose all function in your fingers? The bones will splinter into tiny shards, puzzle pieces that can’t be glued back no matter how much money you throw at the doctor. A broken wrist and a broken hand.”

  Xavier glared.

  “Unless.” I toyed with the hammer, weighing the end of it as I flicked off some rust with my fingers. “You give up all associates who are vital to your plan. Names, addresses, social security numbers. I will allow you to live, with your two broken hands, if you give them to me.”

  “If I don’t, you kill me?” Xavier said in a cold voice. “Is that it?”

  “Yes, and I can promise you this. It will not be quick.” I took a step forward. “I need an answer.”

  “I’m thinking!” he yelled.

  “Think harder!”

  “I’m dead either way.” He straightened. “He will kill me either way.”

  “Who?” Hell, I had no idea he was in deep with someone else. But that would explain why he wanted money and power. Maybe it wasn’t about him but about escaping from underneath the thumb of someone else entir
ely. “Who will kill you?”

  “Petrov,” he spat the name.

  I laughed. “He has been taken care of. Haven’t you heard? He’s dead. The FBI found some interesting information about his prostitution rings. He didn’t… survive prison.”

  Xavier shook his head hard back and forth. “Not that one.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, not that one?”

  “His other son.”

  “His. Other. Son.” I took a deep breath. “His other son would be barely twenty-two. If that.”

  “His other SON!” Xavier shouted. “Is in league with Satan.”

  “Aw, he can’t be so bad.” My eyebrows arched. “Tell me, how does he kill?”

  Xavier swallowed and looked down at his feet. “He drowns you. And then revives you, only to repeat the process. And then, he lets you eat and drink. Only to slowly singe the skin off of every single square inch of your body with a torch and, when you are in so much pain he is afraid of your impending death, he injects morphine to keep you alive. But it does nothing, so when he turns the lights on, your skin begins to smoke or what is left of it. There are crowds set up, bets take place, if you survive, it is only to bring you out the next day, allow more bets to take place, and finally when you don’t think you can take it anymore, you beg for death. He tosses a gun into the ring,” Xavier’s voice shook. “And you take your own life.”

  “Give me names,” I repeated. “And I will kill you before he does.”

  Xavier glanced at me, his eyes, for the first time, betraying his fear as he slowly nodded. Joe released his hands.

  He unbuttoned his shirt two buttons then pulled a necklace from over his head and tossed it onto the table. A thumb drive in the shape of a shark was attached to a string. “I wear it at all times. To keep my secrets close to my heart.”

  “And now they are my secrets.”

  “You may kill me now.”

  I hesitated. “Do you not trust that I can protect you?”

  Xavier sneered. “Protecting me would be giving me the title of boss. Already his patience wears thin since I haven’t brought him the twins. He needs them.”

  “You never did,” I stated.

  “He did and, by giving them over, I could negotiate with you. Everyone would have won. Well except you. Then again, you’re old, why do you care? I’m a free man, the twins go to the Russians, and I become what I should have been long ago, the boss of the Alfero family.”

  “How many?” I ignored his insult. “How many associates have you stolen from my family?”

  “Ten.” He didn’t even blink. “And they will follow me to the death.”

  “Good.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my knife. “Because they will have to.” One slice across his neck, quick, swift, he grabbed his neck but his wrist was broken, improperly working. Blood oozed from his fingers as I leaned down and whispered in his ear. “May you find peace as the saints drag you to hell.” His eyes widened; the Russians always were superstitious. I smirked as he collapsed against the table, eyes open and full of fear.

  “Now what?” Gio walked in, half of a sandwich sticking out of his lips. “We go after Petrov?”

  “Hah.” I shook my head slowly. “No, we eliminate the ten associates who defied us.”

  “Well, hell,” Sal said from the doorway. “Sounds like a vacation.”

  “Highest body count buys dinner.” Papi nodded seriously. “I want cannoli.”

  …Such tricks hath strong imagination. –A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Valentina

  I WOKE UP in a haze. Sergio hadn’t said goodnight to me after the paintball war.

  It was the first night since I’d been at his home that Sergio hadn’t said goodnight. Then again, maybe that was just as hard as hi now that he’d gotten everything out into open.

  I didn’t want my heart to hurt, any more than I wanted to still be drawn to him, the impossible mourning man who had the most gorgeous blue eyes I’d ever seen.

  His pain made it impossible to hate him, because he wore it like a cloak over his muscled body. Pain does that. It makes people feel sorry for you and it does create anger, but it doesn’t create hate.

  I really wish it did.

  After putting on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve pink shirt, I slowly walked down the stairs and made my way into the kitchen.

  The coffee was brewing.

  Breakfast was on the table.

  And more importantly, Sergio was at the table, reading a freaking newspaper.

  I hesitated, maybe he was having a meeting and I wasn’t invited?

  My stomach grumbled, and my eyes darted to the coffee. Desperation won out, so I wordlessly went to the cupboard and grabbed a mug.

  I’d had to locate every fork, every plate, every scrap of food, on my own. Had I not gone to the grocery store we would have starved.

  So maybe I slammed the cupboard harder than I should have, and maybe I stomped over to the bar and sat, but I did feel slightly better about the fact that at least he could hear my irritation.

  Just as I brought my cup to my lips Sergio blurted, “Hi.”

  I nearly spewed my coffee all over the table in surprise before I gave him a sharp look. “Um… hi?”

  He set the newspaper down and leaned his bronzed forearms across the table. “How are you, Val?”

  I turned away. “Tired.”

  “Yeah well, shooting the shit out of your husband has a way of exhausting a person.”

  I would not smile. Or laugh. Or turn around.

  “So.” The sound of the chair scratching against the floor made my heart pick up like a hummingbird. And then footsteps. “What are you doing today?”

  “It’s Monday,” I said in a bored tone. “Grocery shopping and a cooking day.”

  “Can I come?”

  The olive branch may as well have been a bomb going off in that kitchen. My hurt feelings demanded I turn him down, they demanded I say something mean, something that made him feel as hurt as I’d felt. I wanted to hold on to the anger, I wanted him to feel hurt. It shouldn’t be easy for him to just come waltzing back in, because in my experience with Sergio, he almost always panicked after we got close.

  One more time.

  If he did it one more time.

  I think, no, I knew, it would completely break me.

  Shaking, I put the coffee cup down and stared into it. “No.”

  There I’d said it.

  But I didn’t feel better.

  “At least let me drive you,” he pushed, his voice gentle.

  I nodded, not trusting myself not to take it back, take it all back and launch myself into his arms — I was so starved for affection from him that it was hard to keep myself from crying into my morning cup of coffee.

  He’d become my friend.

  And something more.

  I felt him.

  I didn’t want to feel him.

  It would be so much easier if he was just another human body in that giant gourmet kitchen.

  But I felt him.

  And I had no explanation why, other than, when I was near him, it was never close enough.

  “Yeah.” My shoulders slumped in defeat. “You can drive.”

  SERGIO HAD TOO many cars.

  Way too many cars.

  It was like going to a dealership and going hmm which shiny vehicle with a max of fifteen hundred miles on its odometer do I want to use?

  I picked a shiny red Tesla — a car I’d heard about but never ridden in and tried not to look too impressed when he started the engine.

  My hands gripped the leather seat as Sergio hit the accelerator as hard as he could sending us sailing down the mile long driveway at breakneck speed.

  “Um, Sergio.” I grabbed the handle to the door, my hand getting sweatier by the minute.

  “Hmm?” He didn’t look at me.

  “Kinda fast.”

  “You need fast.”

  What the heck did that mean?

&nb
sp; He peeled out onto the main road. It was the strangest thing, knowing how fast we were going — and accelerating, but not hearing any of the road noise.

  Were all electric cars like that? Or just ones that cost more than most people’s houses?

  Faster, we were going faster, but I couldn’t tell by the sound. I felt it, though, like we were soaring without straining to get to that place.

  Like I could do anything.

  Slowly, I released my grip on the handle and the seat as Sergio kept breaking all speed laws. “How fast do you want to go?”

  It seemed like a loaded question. Like there was meaning behind it, although I couldn’t figure out what. I glanced over and noticed we were hitting over one hundred and twenty.

  “How fast can we go?”

  He grinned, shifted, and I watched in amazement as we topped out at one sixty.

  I couldn’t hold it in any longer, I burst out laughing. “This is insane! Slow down!”

  Sergio joined in my laughter. “Now you want me to slow down? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “I think I left it back there with that squirrel you took out.”

  With a low chuckle, he slowed the car down to around fifty and drove us the rest of the way into the city.

  I was still smiling when we parked at the grocery store.

  “I want you to have it.”

  “Have what?” I frowned looking around the car in confusion. What “it” was he referring to?

  “The car.” He pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them onto the console. “Technically, all of the cars are yours since we’re married, but this car, I want this car to be yours and only yours. I got it right before I came to New York. The only other time I’ve driven it that fast was right after she died.” His voice cracked. “I took a corner way too fast. I should have rolled, but I didn’t. I was so angry. So frustrated that life wouldn’t just take me. So I drove as fast as I could, I got the car up to one-sixty and just drove, thinking if I just get fast enough, maybe my heart will stop. Maybe I’ll hit a tree, maybe…” He shrugged. “This car at one point, felt like a means to an end. Nobody cares if a man like me gets into a car wreck as long as he doesn’t hurt anyone else. It would be an easy out. For everyone.”