by Anna Ray
DeLuca pales. “It was a terrible thing, but don’t dwell on that now. It’s over. They’re at peace.”
“Can anyone ever really be at peace after being so brutally murdered? My mother and Bianca were innocents; they didn’t deserve to die. Giuliani never told me why he targeted them, too. Do you ever wonder why? Do you have any idea why he’d kill two innocents?”
DeLuca gulps down a large swallow of Amaretto. “People do insane things when they’re desperate to cling to their power.”
“Indeed. It’s amazing what people are capable of when threatened. It’s amazing the lies we tell ourselves to justify our actions. What lies have you told, Carlo?”
“We all tell lies, Massimo. It’s the nature of the business.”
“Is that right? And was it ‘the nature of the business’ when you told me Giuliani murdered my family when in reality it was you?”
DeLuca places his glass down on the table and stares at me intently, his brown eyes so dark they almost appear black. “Whatever Giuliani told you, it isn’t true. He was just trying to get under your skin before you killed him.”
“Giuliani didn’t tell me anything… you did.”
“What are you talking about, Massimo?” DeLuca says, and for the first time, his voice isn’t filled with its usual confidence.
“Giuliani wasn’t alone at the warehouse when I went to meet him. Donte was there too.”
DeLuca’s eyes widen, and his skin goes ghostwhite. “Donte is a mole and double-crosser. He tricked me. He worked for Giuliani, and he tells nothing but lies. He got me drunk; he made me say things that weren’t true.”
“So, my father wasn’t a police informant? You didn’t kill him, my mother, and Bianca as punishment, but keep me alive to control me? You didn’t implicate Giuliani so that I’d take out our biggest rival? Everything you said to Donte, everything I saw on the video he filmed of you in secret was lies?”
DeLuca falls silent, studying me intently across the table. I can almost see the cogs in his head turning. Eventually, he takes a swallow of his drink, abandons all pretenses, and says, “Your father was a rat. He deserved to die.”
The truth, at last. Though not a truth I want to hear. Still, I press on. “And my mother and Bianca?”
“I did what I had to, Massimo. To protect you. To protect this business. You know you’re like a son to me —”
“I am not your son,” I bellow, slamming my glass down on the table causing it to shatter and spray glass in all directions.
“Everything you have is because of me!” Carlo says, his angry tone matching my own.
“I never asked for any of this. I never asked to be your hand picked prodigy, and I certainly never asked to have my family murdered.”
“Can’t you see... it’s for the best. Your family was holding you back. You’d never have become the man you are today if they’d lived.”
“I hate the man I am today,” I scream. “Is the price we have to pay for our money and power losing our humanity? If so, then I’d rather have nothing.”
“You would have nothing if it weren’t for me. Your parents lived in poverty before Teresa introduced your mother and father to me. You’d have grown up a poor street thug if it hadn’t been for me. You should be grateful.”
“Is Teresa grateful, knowing you murdered her best friend and her goddaughter?”
“Teresa does as she’s told, like you should. We should be celebrating. Giuliani is dead. The city is ours.”
“Again, at what cost? His daughter was innocent, and yet I kidnapped her and held her prisoner under your instruction, all for nothing. You used me. You lied to me so I’d take out your rival for you.”
“I’d hardly say she was your prisoner. You kept her in an expensive house with a cook and a housekeeper.”
“I’m not a monster. I wasn’t just going to lock her up in some basement. She deserves better.”
DeLuca laughs bitterly. “I knew you were going soft and developing feelings for the girl. That’s why I sent people to scare you and that Alexandria, or whatever her name is. You were taking too long getting Giuliani to agree to your demands because you’re soft and weak. ”
“You sent those armed men?” The penny drops, and everything falls into place. DeLuca’s plan for complete control wasn’t moving quickly enough, so he had to escalate things by making me think Giuliani had attacked. Alessandra had insisted her father’s men would never hurt her, and she was right.
She’s always been right.
I need to get back to her. I need to end this now.
I stand up from the table and pull my gun from the holster concealed under my jacket. At the same time, DeLuca stands and grabs his own gun from under the table. We both take aim and fire off a shot. I duck and roll to the left as DeLuca disappears under the table.
I catch my breath and shield my body with the leather seat.
From underneath his desk, DeLuca calls, “Stop this nonsense, Massimo. We can still work things out.”
“Like hell we can,” I say, moving carefully so I can sneak up on my foe.
But DeLuca won’t be easily beaten, and when I peer around the table, he’s moved, hiding behind the bookcase.
For a time, it’s a game of cat and mouse as DeLuca and I circle around the room. Neither of us bother firing another shot; there are too many items of furniture to use as coverage. As I edge toward the door, DeLuca jumps with surprising agility for a man his age, the butt of his gun hitting me in the jaw. Before he can get a shot off, I sweep his legs from under him.
We both crash to the floor, relying on our firsts rather than our weapons. I rain blows down on him, pummeling his face until it’s a bloody mess. While I'm distracted beating the living shit out of him, DeLuca plunges a knife into my side. I scream in pain and move away, this time being the one to use the desk as a hiding place.
I inspect my wound, and although it’s pouring blood, it’s not enough to be fatal. Hell, it’s not enough to slow me down. Wincing through the pain, I stand and take aim.
DeLuca is on the floor where I left him, his head so badly beaten you’d never know it was him. I pull the trigger, but at the last second, the bastard rolls away.
The next thing I know, a shot rings out and white hot pain rips through my shin. I look down to see DeLuca managed to shoot my leg. I drop down to one knee and fire off more shots. My vision dims, and I’m not sure if any of my shots have met their target.
Panting, I grope around on the ground until I feel flesh, and then, I start pounding again. My fists hammer down on God knows what until they’re bloody and numb. The pain in my side is eclipsed by the agony in my shin, and I don’t know how much longer I can remain conscious.
Black spots dance in my vision as I beat the last vestiges of life out of the man who murdered my family. The man who lied to me for the last ten years. The man who manipulated me most of my adult life.
As I lose consciousness, my final thought is of Alessandra. I’m not sure if I’ll ever see her again, and that’s my biggest regret.
24
Alessandra
I glance at the clock on the dashboard, and my blood turns cold. It’s been over an hour since Massimo left me.
I’m out of the car before my father and Donte are and racing toward the office building when they catch up.
“Wait,” my father calls. “You stay here. We don’t know what’s happened up there; it might not be safe.”
“No, that’s what Massimo said, and then he never came back. I’m coming with you,” I insist, heat blazing through my body. Whatever has happened, whatever state Massimo is in, I won’t leave him.
“Fine. But stay behind me, and if I tell you to run, you have to follow my orders. If Massimo has confronted DeLuca, he will be more unpredictable than ever.”
A chill goes down my spine as I imagine facing DeLuca, the man who murdered Massimo’s family then framed my father for it. If he sees us, will he try to kill us too?
When we rea
ch the office on the top floor, the door is tightly locked, and that only increases my anxiety. Massimo could be in there, bleeding to death, and we won’t be able to reach him.
“Massimo, are you there?” I call, but I’m met with no reply. I turn to my father, my eyes wide with panic. “Do something.”
“Don’t worry,” Donte says, taking a few paces back, then running at the door. He barges into it with his shoulder, pressing his full weight against the door, and it crashes open.
The scene that greets us is chaos. All the furniture is overturned, and much of it is broken. Bullet shells litter the floor along with a disturbing amount of blood. I scan the room for Massimo, and my eyes fall on a body so bloody and beaten I can’t make out who it is.
Fear grips my heart, and for a moment, the world stops.
No, he can’t be dead.
Then I realize the clothes and the body aren’t Massimo’s, and my heart starts beating again.
“I found DeLuca,” I call and continue my search of the room.
I find Massimo’s crumpled body hidden behind the sharded remains of a desk. A dark stain covers his torso, and a hole has been torn in his pants leg. Forgetting all about my father, DeLuca, and Donte, I crouch down on the floor and scoop Massimo into my arms.
“It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” I say softly, stroking his dark hair out of his sweaty face. Massimo is unconscious, but breathing weakly. I kiss him on the forehead and gently place his head back on the floor so that I can inspect his body. I suck in a deep breath when I discover the deep knife wound in his left side, just below his ribcage. Blood leaks out, staining my fingers, and my body trembles.
Stay strong, I tell myself, pushing my own discomfort aside so I can tend to Massimo.
I move down his body to examine his leg and see the tear in his pants was caused by a bullet wound in his right shin. There’s a large, bloodied, puckered hole that’s leaking blood as surely as the wound in his side.
Which do I tend to first? I wonder in a panic. But I can’t waste any time on indecision. Instinctively, I rip the material of Massimo’s pants and use it to create a crude tourniquet to stop the blood flow. Then I rip more material, packing it tightly against the bullet wound in a rudimentary bandage. Once that’s secure, I take more material and tend to the wound below his ribcage.
I’m almost done when my father comes up behind me. “How is Accardi?”
“In bad shape. He’s been stabbed and shot, but I’ve managed to bandage the wounds for now.”
“We need to get him to a doctor; there’s someone on West Division Street who had his licence revoked and now caters to a less savory clientele,” my father says, motioning for Donte to join us.
“Okay, let’s get moving.”
I bend down to lift Massimo’s body, but my father and Donte step in. Donte hooks his arms under Massimo’s, and my father takes his legs. They hoist him off the floor and start moving toward the door.
Without a backward glance, I follow behind.
When we reach my father’s car he barks, “Open the back door.”
I do as he instructs, and my father and Donte lay Massimo’s unconscious body over the back seats.
“What about Massimo’s car?” I ask.
“I’ll deal with it,” Donte says.
Surprised by this, I ask, “You’re not coming?”
“No, I need to clear up this mess. Call me once Massimo is stable.”
I want to say something, but no words form in my mouth. Instead, I close the rear doors, nod at Donte, and get into the passenger’s side.
My father speaks with Donte for a moment and slips into the driver’s seat. I take a deep breath as he starts the engine.
We travel across the city to Chicago’s West Side until we come to West Division Street. There, my father pulls up outside a red bricked building. It doesn’t look like a clinic; it’s surrounded by bars, boarded-up storefronts, coin-operated laundries, and check-cashing joints. For a moment, I hesitate. But I know we can’t take Massimo to a regular hospital. They’ll ask too many questions we can’t possibly answer. Knowing this is the only way I can get Massimo the help he needs, I get out of the car and race into the building, my father following behind.
Inside, the clinic is dingy and smells of cheap antiseptic. A young woman with patchy highlights and a tacky manicure sits behind an old desk.
“Can I help ya, sweetheart?” she drawls, sounding like she smokes fifty cigarettes a day.
“I believe Doctor Antony works here. We need his help,” my father says, taking control.
The receptionist nods. “Of course, sir. One moment, please.”
She stands from the desk and hurries off along a dark corridor. She returns a short time later followed by a man in his forties with dirty-blonde hair swept back in a ponytail. He wears a hospital coat that’s more gray than white and is dotted with a number of suspicious stains.
“You need my help?” he asks.
“Not me. My boyfriend. He’s in the car in the lot.”
My father raises his brow at this, but I’m not focused on him. Instead, I watch as Antony turns his attention to the receptionist. “Nevaeh, get the stretcher and bring it to the parking lot, please.”
Nevaeh nods and disappears down the dark corridor again. Antony turns back to me and my father with a slight grimace. “Lead the way, please.”
My father and I head outside and make our way to the car, Antony following behind us. I open the back door, turn on the overhead light, and let the doctor in to see Massimo.
Antony inspects Massimo for a moment, pulling back the material I’ve used to bandage his wounds, then replacing them. He straightens and faces me. “You did a good job with these.”
“Erm… thanks?”
Antony says nothing more, as Nevaeh arrives with the stretcher.
“Here ya go, Doc,” she drawls.
With surprising strength for a man so slight, Antony is able to take Massimo from the car and lay him on the stretcher. Then, with Nevaeh’s help, they wheel him into the clinic.
My father and I follow them back inside the clinic, and I try to go with Massimo. But when Antony starts moving up the dark corridor, Nevaeh blocks my path.
“Sorry, non-patients can’t come any further. You can take a seat back there.” She nods her head in the direction of the folding chair near the desk where a rickety coffee table stands, holding a pile of old, battered magazines.
I want to go with Massimo, to watch over him while Antony does whatever it is to save him, but Nevaeh raises a thin, penciled in eyebrow, and I know there’s no arguing with her. I do as I’m told and drop down into the chair, wondering how anyone in this godforsaken place can possibly save Massimo’s life.
My father drops into the seat beside me and takes my hand. He gives it a reassuring squeeze, and we lapse into silence as we wait.
25
Massimo
When I regain consciousness, I’m in a grimy, dimly lit room. My senses are assaulted by the acrid smells of cheap chemical cleaners, and my body aches like I've been run over by a freight train.
I try sitting up, but haven’t got the strength to do so, so instead, I gaze around in the semi-darkness. That’s when I see a figure curled on the chair beside my bed, a cascade of long, dark curls hanging down their back.
“Alessandra,” I croak.
My voice is so weak I’m unsure how she hears it, but she does and leaps up. She rushes to my side, her eyes traveling over the entirety of my body. “You’re okay?” she asks.
“I think so? Where am I?”
“A clinic on West Division Street. My father helped me to bring you here.”
“Your father?” I question, my voice regaining a little of its strength, though I desperately need a drink. Pushing aside all my other questions for a moment, I say, “Can I get some water, please?”
“Of course. Sorry, I should have given you some right away.” Alessandra turns back to the folding metal chair, and beside i
t, I notice a large bag stuffed full of items.
From the bag, she withdraws a bottle of water and brings it to me. She uncaps the water and gently tilts it toward my lips. The cold liquid is the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted, and it quenches my thirst perfectly. I want to gulp down the whole bottle, but I’m too weak to do so. When Alessandra deems I’ve had enough, she tilts the bottle upright and caps it again.
Then she gently sits on the edge of the bed and takes my hand.
“I was so worried,” she says, and I can see the tear tracks on her cheeks. I also notice her eyes are bloodshot.
“What happened? Where’s DeLuca?”
“DeLuca is dead,” Alessandra says flatly. “He was already dead when my father, Donte, and I got up to the office.”
“Tell me everything,” I say, lying back against the pillow that feels like it’s made of rocks.
“We waited for over an hour, like you told me to, but then we heard a gunshot. I was so scared. We went up to DeLuca’s office, and it was a mess in there.”
“Yeah, we had a bit of a fight,” I say with a hollow laugh.
“A bit?” Alessandra asks incredulously. “I saw what you did to DeLuca. He was unrecognizable. For a moment I thought it was you. I thought he’d murdered you, too.”
“The bastard sure as hell tried. The fucker stabbed me and shot me in the leg.”
“I know. I bandaged you up myself.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking her hand and bringing her knuckles to my lips. I kiss them gently, and for the first time since I regained consciousness, I feel warm again.
“Father and I brought you here, while Donte cleared everything up. God, Massimo, it was horrible. This place is horrible. I didn’t think you’d make it.”
“I’m difficult to kill,” I say with a shrug. “And Antony is a good doctor. It’s just a shame he had his medical licence revoked for ‘unnatural practices.’”
Alessandra shudders and I know not to say anything else. Instead I asked, “How long have I been out for?”