Vicious Minds

by J. J. McAvoy

  “I don’t,” I told her. “I’ll blow our cover and file it right now. You do it when you think the moment is right,” I said before I laid on her chest, my ear right beside her breast, and I listened to the steady beat of her heart. At times, maybe when she was thinking of something, it sounded like a thousand hummingbirds were in her chest. Other times it was as if there was barely any beating at all. Meanwhile on the outside she remained the same: calm, poised, gently running her hands through my hair. We did nothing but lie there.

  The world was chaotic outside. This was my only rest. My fortress of solitude, only better because I could be alone and together at the same time. If only…

  “Let’s take a vacation.” She spoke softly for the first time in almost an hour.

  “To where?” I asked, not moving.

  “Here.”

  I looked around the room…well better yet the bunkers, all of which I had added within the walls of the house. While other members of my family had places elsewhere in the city where they went to escape our family drama, I’d built mine right from within, further proof that something wasn’t right with me.

  “And Gigi?”

  “Will be here after her parents get themselves together.” Finally, I lifted my head, resting my chin on her skin, and she stared back at me, her hand brushing strands of hair from my face. “I’m no therapist, but I do think you and I should see what happens when we aren’t being pulled away from each other, when we are forced to wake up to each other, day in and day out, before we bring our daughter here. After all, haven’t we both changed over the years?”

  “All my changes are because of you and her. Nevertheless, I do not mind.” In fact, I welcomed it. Sitting up I ran my hand through my hair. Thinking quickly of how this would work. “I’ll have to leave Wyatt in charge. Pretend I’m so distraught over Ivy and leave?”

  “Does he still think you’re drugged up in your room?” She sat up behind me and wrapped me in her arms.

  “How did you know he was going to try to sedate me?” I turned my head slightly to her.

  She kissed my shoulder and snickered. “Your brother panics when he sees you or sister in pain. He just wants it to stop.”

  “He’s too soft for this,” I muttered, shaking my head, now doubting if I could leave him to it.

  “Maybe, but he’s smarter than we gave him credit for.” She whispered into my ear and it made me shiver. I leaned back against her as she showed me her phone. I wasn’t sure what she was showing me until I saw the flames.

  “He cremated her,” she commented, her eyebrow raised as I watched the video. “Why would be do that? I’d expect him to want to throw her some grand funeral.”

  Simple. “He’s still a child in a way. He wants the pain to go away. He thinks burning her body and getting rid of all evidence of her will make it hurt less. But it doesn’t hurt at all.” I turned and kissed her neck.

  “He doesn’t know that,” she replied, pulling away from me. “Whatever the reason for it, his instincts are good. He’s smart; he’s thinking about what’s best for the family, what’s best for you, and that’s to make it look like you didn’t care about Ivy. That you were using her.”

  “I didn’t care about Ivy. I was using her. They all picked up on it but couldn’t connect the dots.” I grinned.

  “An animal works by instinct. We use reason.”

  “Can a fish instinctively act like a lion?” she questioned before letting me go and getting off the bed. “You should hurry back before he checks in on you, give him one of your Oscar worthy performances and I’ll see you back here.”

  “Is it sex or love?”

  “What?” She walked naked towards the bathroom.

  “Is it the sex or is it love that makes husbands slaves to the demands of their wives?” I asked with a small grin on my face. She just rolled her eyes, not answering me as she went into the bathroom.

  I closed my eyes, trying to see how I was going to play this. How Wyatt would be if I wasn’t there. He hadn’t even been home for a month yet.

  Can a fish instinctively act like a lion? Calli’s question came to mind. The answer was no. A fish cannot instinctively act like a lion. Only a lion could be a lion. Wyatt, despite everything, was a Callahan. Which meant whether or not he realized it like I did, he’d do what a Callahan had to do. Defend our own.

  Let’s see what you can do, little brother.

  Chapter 18

  “Chaos is a friend of mine.”

  ~Bob Dylan

  ETHAN - AGE 28

  Chicago, Illinois

  Monday, November 3rd

  I might not have pulled the trigger myself, but I knew about and planned for Ivy’s death from the very day her name came to my mind. So why the hell was this old fool in front of me and not Calliope?

  What is she up to? How much did her grandfather know? This wasn’t part of our plan for her or Gigi’s return. That was the reason I was shocked to find Gigi here already. Calliope hadn’t spoken to me of any change of plan, which meant something happened to make her change plans. I doubted she would have told her grandfather the truth, either. So she was using him too…but to what end? Why was he taking the blame for Ivy’s death instead of the Rocha cartel like we planned?

  “Has anyone ever told you that you look like your grandfather?” he asked as he placed the cup down in front of himself.

  “Orlando?” I leaned back in my chair at the head of the table. “No, no one has ever said that to me. Though I do often get told I look like my father.”

  He chuckled and looked around the dining hall shaking his head. “Just like the Irish to take all the credit.”

  “Apparently my parents’ marriage didn’t end this perpetual blood feud between the Irish and the Italians,” I replied, placing my coffee on the table. Watching him carefully I asked, “I wonder how they would feel if they knew all their hard work and sacrifice meant nothing.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up and he pointed his finger at me. “Right there, that is your mother.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your demeanor, this conversation, that look in your eye…that’s your mother. The calm in the storm. The Irish don’t think like that. They are brutes, good at fighting, fucking, and drinking, but real genius, that is rare. Your grandfather Sedric was one of the rare ones…”

  “And my father? He didn’t make the rare genius level?” He was insulting of half me and praising the other, so I didn’t feel either way. I’d met old men like him in both the Irish and Italians, holding on to past stereotypes of the other while uplifting themselves.

  “Your father had your mother, but before her he was just like the rest of them. If your mother wanted, she could have taken control of it all. She had the genius, the foresight, the type of strength to conquer. Still today some people don’t realize it. She made it look easy; she was the first female Don of the Italian mafia. You’re a man: strong, smart, good-looking, rich, and dangerous. The position fell into your lap and that is not to take away from the fact that your job, your duty is impossibly difficult. It’s just to say the fact that you have lasted so long on your own is to your credit, but none of it will ever hold a candle to your mother.”

  Fuck, this going to be long bloody speech.

  “You sound like you were in love with her.” Which meant he didn’t realize she was still out there or else he wouldn’t dare talk like this, especially knowing my father would not let it slide.

  “I was,” he admitted and leaned back in the chair. “But not romantically. I loved her like she was my daughter. Orlando and I grew up together. Whatever he needed I did without question because that is how it is meant to be and yet when it came to his daughter, Melody, I refused nine out of ten things he told me to do.”

  “I’m surprised you’re still alive to talk about it.” I’d have killed him; I wouldn’t care if we grew up together or not. Tobias has been proof enough of that.

  “He didn’t kill me because he wanted me
to see how wrong I was about her. At first I thought she was just a child, a girl, leave her be. He’d have her woken up and thrown into the pool, he’d have men kidnap her and she’d have to escape herself, he pushed, no, tortured her…broke her until she was so strong, she was barely even human anymore. Nothing affected her and she took the power right out of his hands. Everyone who doubted her was cut down mercilessly. Her rivals, she knew when and how they would come, and before they could even make a move, they were dead. Your grandfather was right, and I was wrong. He made a Don who could not be questioned and could not be stopped…and then he regretted it and married her off to some Irish ass…he ruined her,” he huffed in anger, shaking his head.

  “You believe my mother became weak? Unable to lead because she married my father?” For some reason that comment bothered me the most. How dare he insult her? There was nothing weak about my mother.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “It wasn’t her fault. She was raised to love and trust no one but herself and then all of sudden she had a family…and in this life our greatest weakness will always be our families. Your mother was great. But she could have been greater had it not been for your grandfather. The Irish wouldn’t even exist. Just us. The Italians. I know, complex connections…I hurt your grandmother and she lost her unborn child. I’m akin to the devil in her eyes. Just like your grandfather Sedric, is the devil in mine. He took my mother, my brother, and two of my sons. That is what I was thinking of when I went after her, when I ran her off the road. My family was the only thing I saw and it is by God’s grace she is alive. Orlando ordered us to scare them, rough them up, but I was going to kill her. I was going leave the same gape in her neck that her husband left for my children, but I was stopped. And I never got the chance again because Orlando and Sedric began their little truce. I never got my vengeance—”

  “You claim you killed my wife. Excuse me if don’t play a violin for you,” I reminded him, seeing as he wasn’t going to break whatever act he was putting on.

  “You’re welcome,” he said proudly.

  “Our families go back, Fiorello, and now we are connected through a child…my child. So I’d advise you to start speaking sense—”

  “Your wife or your daughter?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He looked me without fear and said, “If you had to pick one who would you choose? Your dead wife or your daughter?”

  “I don’t have to answer that question.”

  “No, because I made it a question that no longer needs to be answered,” he stated and again I felt the urge to bust his motherfucking head in, “Ivy O'Davoren. I was disappointed when I first heard about her and not because of Giovanna; it wouldn’t be right to blame you for a daughter you didn’t even know you had. In fact, I told my granddaughter you wouldn’t wait around for her, that you would eventually find someone. But Ivy O'Davoren? That woman would have destroyed you.”

  I know. That’s why she’s dead. What I want to know is why the fuck you are here and not my real fucking wife? This why I don’t sit down and speak to old people, they never got to the damn point.

  “I noticed you said my grandfather killed your mother, brother, and two of your sons, but not a wife. You seem have problem with marriage.” I changed the subject. Calliope and I didn’t get this far just to blab our secrets now.

  “I’m happily married and have been so for a long time. In fact, from time to time I go visit her still. Her name is Siena and she’s been suffering from Alzheimer’s for some time. But the great thing is, we’ve been so close for so long, there is not a part of her memory I’m not in.” He grinned, and I put my cup down and looked him.

  “This very long story to get to what I need to know,” I complained, rubbing the side of my head.

  “How do you know what you need to know? Everything I’m telling you is connected. All the choices we made, all the things we did or did not do have led us to this table right now. I killed your wife and I detested your mother’s marriage in the beginning not because I hate marriage, I simply hate unbalanced marriages. Ivy O'Davoren was weak. You knew it, I knew it, everyone knew it. She was a baby bird on the shoulder of vulture. Your mother was a vulture and your father was like an eagle. But what was his saving grace? He grew…and changed. He became a vulture because of her. When she died, he held strong. Not like the Irish brute he was before, but like your mother would have wanted. Every time someone approached him I saw how he conducted himself, as if Melody was there beside him, and he held strong and taught you not to be like him, but her.”

  Calliope I’m going to tie you to our bed for at least two days for making me listen to this old man’s rambling.

  “I’m sure they would both be so happy to know they earned your approval. You seem to forget you aren’t the same as them. You were the help. What gives you the right to fucking judge my father?”

  “No one needs to give me the right to judge. I simply judge. Like everyone else, whether they judge to your face or behind your back. The Italians didn’t believe in your father, but next to your mother they saw him change and accepted him even when she was gone. Why? Because they judged him worthy of that. He made himself worthy. Ivy? You picked her out of fucking prison, dressed her up and displayed her in front everyone and she won over no one. Ivy didn’t make herself, you made her. You dragged that poor girl out of her cell and put her in the most dangerous position in the world, next to you, somehow expecting she, who could not even save herself when she was innocent, could rule next you? I might have pulled the trigger, but you killed her.”

  Again, I fucking know! I don’t have fucking time to hear him repeat this shit.

  “Where is Giovanna’s mother?” I asked, done with this conversation. “And why isn’t she with Giovanna?”

  He reached into his jacket, taking out a phone, making me want to kick myself for not asking before his great long speech. He pressed one number and then put the phone on speaker, setting it down on the dining table between us both. It rang once before the call went through.

  “Cal—”

  “Do you know what I have been thinking for the last five hours, Grandpa?” She spoke in Italian and I fought back a grin as I heard the annoyance in her voice. “I kept wondering what I should do when I see you. My gut tells me I shouldn’t make a big speech, I shouldn’t get upset, I should walk up and put you to sleep like a dog and move on. But then I have this rage, Grandpa, and that rage tells me not to let you off so easily and torture you a bit before ending you. What do you think I should do?”

  What the fuck did this motherfucker do?

  He grinned at the phone with a strange mixture of pride and worry. “I might be biased, Calliope, but I do prefer living.”

  “Then why would you gamble with your life like this by crossing me? You of all people should know better than that.” Even though her voice wasn’t cold or even harsh, it was perfectly pleasant, I knew with absolute certainty that she was murderous. Reaching to my side I gripped my gun.

  He sighed. “Calli, why don’t we talk when you—”

  “You abducted my daughter, Grandfather. I have nothing to talk to you about.”

  He fucking did what? I was ready to put a bullet in his skull but he just went on talking.

  “Abducted is a harsh accusation! We went on a small trip—”

  “You took my daughter out of the country without telling me. I am her mother, her guardian. That is abduction. I’m disappointed because you promised me you’d never let me down, remember?”

  Did he really abduct her? I couldn’t tell by her tone.

  “I promised I’d never betray you unless the circumstance made it impossible not to,” he explained.

  “Do tell. What circumstances would cause you to do this? I’m all ears.”

  So am I.

  “I have Alzheimer’s,” he replied. She went silent and so did I. “Seems like I’ll be joining your grandmother in that rocking chair soon.”

  “Ethan.” She said my name and I glanced a
t the phone, realizing this was it. He did truly abduct my daughter. “I’m positive you’re listening, so hear me very clearly. I’ll be in Chicago in six hours.”

  “Calli—”

  “Your disease, Grandfather,” her tone was gentle and calm, “is not a good excuse for this. And it means I can no longer trust you with my daughter.”

  “I look forward to seeing you, Calli.” I hung up the phone on her and my gaze shifted to the man I was very tempted to kill, but I’d leave him till Calliope and I could talk about this clearly.

  “You should get more men,” he muttered, pulling out a flask from his coat pocket and taking a long swig. “Because the two out there won’t last half of a second.”

  “Should I call the national guard?” I asked emotionlessly, even though I knew he was more than right.

  “Can you?” he asked seriously. “If it was your mother, and you were taken away as a child, how many men do you think it would take to stop her?”

  “There will only ever be one Melody Nicci Giovanni-Callahan,” There is only one Calliope Callahan, and both of them were not to be crossed.

  “I see your pride won’t let you accept this, so I’ll tell you. I’ve been dying to tell someone…Calliope is part of the i Libitinarii.”

  I could tell by the way he grinned at me, from the pride his voice that as it was clear the old fool really just loved the sound of his own voice and seemed to want to let all her secrets out. What he didn’t know was that despite his stupidity, he had been a great help to both Calli and I…well at least to me. Both of them were now here much earlier than we’d planned. I’d take it no matter how it came to pass.

  It was now time for my family to meet the only woman on this planet crazy enough to make me love her.

  WYATT

  “You’re fucking with me,” I whispered but he didn’t say anything. Instead he opened the black box and pulled out our father’s favorite brandy—Camus Cuvee—from the silk cloth inside and I knew then. “You’re not fucking with me. The mother of your daughter is a part of Italy’s former secret intelligence murders, i Libitinarii, created by Mussolini. The same i Libitinarii the Italian government has sworn on every bible, church, Pope, and saint has never really existed?”