Eulogy

by Rachel Van Dyken

  There was something worse than the numbness.

  Something worse than the monster inside me.

  It was the one inside him.

  Eating away at his soul while he watched, while he fed it.

  There would be no peace.

  Not for a while.

  I sent a text back to Nixon.

  Me: Let him.

  Nixon tried calling.

  And for the first time since becoming boss, I turned off my phone. I turned a blind eye, pulled my wife close, and ducked my face against her neck. I breathed in her strength.

  I breathed in her goodness.

  And prayed to God that I wasn’t just a rotting corpse with a face.

  No soul.

  No heart.

  Just lungs.

  A body.

  Just existing.

  I’d killed her.

  And I would do it again.

  I’d killed her.

  I’d killed her.

  I’d killed her.

  Blood, so much blood.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to sleep, even as the images of her crashing against the concrete filled my mind.

  My lullaby.

  My addiction.

  Blood.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Nixon Abandonato hasn’t gone soft. Anyone who says that hasn’t seen his recent body count. He’s the head of the Abandonato Family and scary as hell. He knows everyone and will manipulate whoever he needs to for his own purpose. He’s too rich. Too intelligent. And one day, someone’s going to piss him off bad enough that he’s going to lose his shit. I hope like hell I’m there to see it. Better yet, I hope I’m the one to cause it.”

  — Notes from interview with Agent P, FBI

  Nixon

  Chase was sitting in a white leather chair, blood still dripping from his fingers. Ax, one of my most trusted made men, was piling bodies into black bags while Chase drank straight from the bottle as if he hadn’t just ended seven lives for no reason other than the blood that ran through their veins was hers.

  Ax was trying not to react. I’d never seen the man scared.

  He was terrified.

  It was evident in every jerky movement, every threatening glance he sent Chase’s way.

  His wife was pregnant.

  She was a De Lange.

  And not five minutes ago, Chase had sworn to take out the entire bloodline for simply existing.

  Phoenix, the one person I thought could talk some sense into Chase, had turned off his fucking phone.

  And Dante had just enabled him by giving him more alcohol.

  This would not end well. Not for my family. Not for his. Not for anyone. And I couldn’t blame him. The sick part was that I knew if I was in his situation, I wouldn’t be acting with any sort of sane logic; I would use my gun, and I would silence anyone who dared to try to stop me.

  And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

  None of us could blame him for taking retribution.

  And yet, he couldn’t do it.

  I couldn’t allow it.

  We all had children, families to protect — everyone but Chase.

  Damn it!

  I slammed my hands against the leather couch; the plastic still covering it clung to my blood-caked palms. At least we didn’t have much to clean up.

  Chase didn’t even look up at me. Didn’t acknowledge my anger or my position as his boss.

  My heart jackhammered against my chest in rage, in confusion, in hurt, in anger. We all dealt with pain in different ways. His was wrong.

  But the Chase I used to know…

  My best friend…

  Closer than a brother?

  He was lost to me.

  And I hated him for it.

  “Chase,” I tried again. “There are rules for this sort of thing.”

  “We break rules all the time…” He took another swig and shrugged. His eyes were glassy; dark circles rimmed beneath the blue irises. He looked straight through me as if he didn’t recognize me.

  As if he was choosing not to.

  I leaned forward and held out my hand. He handed me the bottle. I took a swig of Jack, wiped my mouth, and handed it back. “Let’s talk about this.”

  “Nothing to talk about,” he said quickly, smoothly. “I’m handling it.”

  “Yeah.” I looked around the empty, haunted house he refused to leave, said it fueled his anger. Dante had found him on several occasions just breaking shit, screaming. “Looks like it.”

  “Fu—”

  “All done, boss.” Ax never dropped “boss” to me; we were related. He’d been second in command since Chase left to help Mil with the family and now… now Chase wasn’t anywhere, was he? Or anything? His identity had been killed right along with his life.

  And a man without an identity…

  Without a conscience.

  And armed man?

  Was a danger I couldn’t afford.

  “Boss,” Chase repeated the word and laughed. “You always talk to him like that?” He stood and walked casually toward Ax until they were chest to chest. “Tell me, Ax.” He spat his name. “Being married to a De Lange, does she spread her legs like the whore she is? Like all De Langes? I bet she doesn’t even feel you—”

  “Enough.” I stood, ready to do battle as Ax clenched his hands into fists, apparently ready to beat the shit out of Chase.

  He loved Chase like a brother.

  But the trust.

  The trust between all of us was fragile and, little by little, Chase was pounding the glass walls, until one day, I was afraid things would shatter beyond repair.

  It was my job to keep them safe.

  To keep us together.

  I’d never been so resentful of being boss in my entire existence.

  “Better listen to your boss,” Ax said through clenched teeth. “Before I hand you your ass, Abandonato.”

  “I’d like to see that.” Chase gave him a smug grin. “Or at least see you try.”

  “Enough!” I yelled.

  Chase didn’t back off.

  “Ax, wait outside.”

  Chase lifted his chin into the air. “Run along, Ax.”

  Ax muttered, “Asshole,” under his breath, but the door slammed behind him, leaving us alone.

  “What’s with all the yelling?” Dante rounded the corner.

  Chase lowered his head. I saw it then. The guilt. The guilt over the fact that Dante was his protégé, Chase, his mentor, and that he wasn’t himself.

  I saw the flicker of guilt.

  I saw the grief.

  And then… I saw the rage.

  I backed away and shook my head. “I don’t even know you anymore, man.”

  “Maybe you never did,” Chase whispered.

  I left it at that and went to the door.

  I could feel the tension in the house; the walls wailed with sadness, with a heaviness that wasn’t healthy for a man insane, a man like Chase.

  “If you were smart, you’d move.” I didn’t turn around.

  Chase answered immediately. “If I was smart, I’d stay and kill her ghost in the process. It haunts me, and I’m sending her to hell.”

  “I think you’ve got that wrong, man.” I hung my head and pulled open the door. “You’re the one living in hell. Not her.”

  I shut the door.

  Leaned against it and eyed my Range Rover.

  Trace was waiting inside it.

  Our one-year-old was with her. My daughter. My very soul existed outside of my body the day she was brought into this world.

  Tears filled Trace’s eyes as I approached.

  She rolled down the window. “So?”

  “It’s bad.”

  “Let me try—”

  “Hell no,” I snapped. “I’m not letting you walk in there. He just shot seven people in less than ten seconds without blinking. You’re not walking into his house and trying to calm him down.”

  She looked straight ahead. “Someo
ne has to. And it’s not going to be you, or Dante, or Phoenix. That just fuels his madness.”

  I didn’t want to tell her that there was nothing different about her or me; Chase was angry at the world, and she was living in the world he was angry at.

  It didn’t matter.

  But I knew Trace.

  Stubborn as hell.

  I wiped my face with my hands. “I’ll take Serena home, but promise me you’ll keep Dante by you at all times.”

  I opened her car door. She stood up on tiptoes and kissed my mouth with the hunger that always made my chest ache. “I promise.”

  “I love you,” I whispered against her mouth, angry at my own desperation to make her stay instead of walking into his house.

  Into his grieving arms.

  It felt wrong.

  Like I was lending the one woman he’d always loved in order to soothe the hurt of the replacement who’d broken him beyond all measure.

  “Trust me.” Trace’s eyes flickered between my mouth and eyes before locking on my gaze. “Trust us.”

  I nodded, having no confidence in my voice, as I slowly walked around to the other side and got in.

  The engine started.

  The Disney station started playing The Descendants’ soundtrack, “Ways to be Wicked.”

  And I had to shake my head and look up at the cliché.

  Wicked.

  Disney?

  Sorry guys. The mafia has that covered.

  And the bodies to prove it.

  Serena started to sing along as best she could, then, “Daaaada!”

  I clutched the steering wheel so tight my fingers lost all feeling. This, this was why I would do anything, I would stop at nothing.

  And maybe I already had my answer.

  Why Phoenix was turning a blind eye.

  We had so much more to lose now.

  So damn much.

  “Love you, baby girl.” I forced a smile in the rearview mirror then reached back and grabbed her chubby leg and gave it a shake.

  She giggled.

  Sticky hands gripped my finger.

  I’d burn down the entire fucking world for my girls.

  “Damn it, Chase,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t make me kill you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “The harsh reality of this life is that you aren’t afforded the luxury of love, and if you think you have it — you’re an idiot. She was lost to him the minute she walked in that door. Do I have any regrets? Does it look like it?” I spread my arms wide. “I own his mind right now, and soon, I’m going to own yours. Just wait… You can’t keep all your animals caged. Why not let loose your only weapon?”

  —Notes from interview with Agent P, FBI

  Chase

  6 months earlier

  St. John’s Cathedral

  “We’re here to mourn the loss of one of our own,” Tex said from his spot at the front of the church. I closed my eyes against the burn of tears and clenched my shaking hands in front of me as his words fell flat on deaf ears.

  Trace rubbed small circles on my back.

  I wanted to jerk way.

  I wanted to yell.

  I wanted so many things.

  Things Mil never gave me.

  Things the world never allowed me.

  I jerked away from Trace’s touch.

  I didn’t want her pity.

  Her love.

  I’d never needed it, had I?

  Never deserved it, had I?

  I hung my head as Tex’s words pounded into my brain: loving wife, loving sister. It was all bullshit; the only person she’d loved… had been herself.

  And me? Well, I was collateral fucking damage.

  My hands shook as Tex called out my name. “Now, Chase Abandonato will be giving the eulogy.”

  I stood.

  My legs froze in place.

  And rather than walk toward the front of the church.

  I turned on my heel.

  And walked away from us.

  From her.

  From the fantasy.

  I turned my back on her.

  Like she had turned her back on me.

  Present Day

  “Chase?” Dante snapped his fingers in front of me. “Anything I should know about what set you off with the seven dead bodies and broken glass? Or is it just a Tuesday?”

  I wanted to smile.

  My lips twitched.

  Such a smart-assed little shit.

  I held the bottle to my mouth and took another gulp as the amber liquid burned down my throat. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. Nothing but blood.

  Dante sighed and tossed a towel in my direction. “At least get some of the blood off.”

  “Blood stains,” I said hoarsely. “Let it.”

  Dante’s eyes locked with mine. I was hurting him just by existing. But I couldn’t bring myself to end my own life, not when I had so many others I needed to take.

  What did I even have left?

  What legacy?

  She’d taken it all.

  Even the heart I’d offered her on hands and knees.

  I jerked my gaze away from Dante. It was too hard to see the disappointment in his eyes, even worse to see the concern aging him every day.

  Welcome to hell.

  It aged us all.

  The door opened and closed.

  “Nixon, I already said—” I stood, ready to go head to head with him if need be, when Trace rounded the corner, arms crossed. “Trace.”

  She nodded to Dante.

  He looked between us, muttered a curse, and walked out with his hands up like he wasn’t going to be held responsible for whatever blood might be spilled.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” I took another swig. Already, my vision was blurring. I’d drunk half the bottle. Why the hell hadn’t I passed out already?

  Trace pried the bottle from my hand.

  I let her.

  With one swing, she thrust it against the wall. Amber liquid flew everywhere, and brown glass joined the glass on the floor.

  “That was wasteful,” I muttered.

  “You’re wasteful,” she fired right back, making my lips twitch.

  “Come up with that all by yourself?” I rolled my eyes. “Go home, Trace.” Home to your husband, to your child, to your fucking life.

  “Just because Nixon’s my home doesn’t mean you aren’t.” Tears filled her eyes as she glanced at my hands — my cut-up, bloody hands. Without speaking, she grabbed them both in hers and kissed the blood with her innocent lips. I tried to jerk away.

  She held fast.

  “Stop.” I clenched my teeth.

  I didn’t want it.

  I didn’t want her love.

  I rejected it.

  She’d rejected me.

  I didn’t even want her friendship.

  It hurt too much.

  She was my best friend’s wife.

  The last thing she needed to be doing was kissing my hands, kissing my sins, my mistakes, my failures as a husband.

  As a human being.

  A protector.

  I closed my eyes tight against all the voices in my head, voices that screamed my worthlessness, that fueled my rage.

  “Come on.” She pulled my hand, and for some reason, I followed her. Maybe the Jack was finally hitting me. I swayed a bit on my feet as I trailed her into the master bedroom.

  The one I was supposed to share.

  I froze at the door. “Not here.”

  Trace sighed and walked down the hall to the next room. It had a mattress on the floor and a new comforter set in blue.

  Why the hell had I picked blue?

  The thought made me cringe and then laugh out loud. Yeah, the Jack was hitting hard.

  Trace shoved me in the general direction of the mattress, and I collapsed on top of it. And then she left.

  Or I thought she did.

  Minutes later, a warm rag was getting dragged across my palms, my fingers, and then the comforter
was covering my body. My shoes were tugged off.

  She sighed and rubbed my back. “Come back to me, Chase. Come back to us.”

  “Maybe,” I slurred through a drunken haze, “I was never yours to begin with. Theirs. Hers.”

  I could feel her sadness.

  The air was heavy with it.

  But my anger won.

  It always did.

  I jerked away from her. “Go away.”

  “You’ll have to kill me first,” she challenged in a voice that sounded too sweet to be threatening.

  “Don’t tempt me,” I dared, feeling instantly guilty at the sharp intake of breath, and then, she kicked me while I was down.

  Literally dug the point of her boot into my ribs several times, until I turned around and grabbed her leg and pulled her to the mattress on the floor, hovering over her, angry, so angry.

  “Don’t ever threaten me again.” Her chest heaved, brown eyes lit up with tears. I hung my head, bracing my hands on either side of her.

  I’d been this way once with her.

  Pushing her against the ground.

  Holding her there with my body.

  I’d tasted her lips.

  I’d been hers.

  And then I’d been nothing.

  And now, now she was still there.

  I wanted her gone.

  I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “If you don’t want me to threaten you again, I suggest you get out.”

  “Or what?” The challenge hung between us.

  I wasn’t relenting.

  Neither was she.

  But she reminded me of everything I’d lost.

  Of every reason why I’d lost it.

  “Trace…” My body shook. “…understand this. You’re no longer safe with me. Get. Out.”

  I slowly moved away from her as she got to her feet and said, “I never was, jackass.”

  I fell asleep to the sound of laughter.

  Mil’s laughter.

  And wondered if she’d always haunt me that way.

  Mocking my life.

  Even in her death.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Nikolai.” I hated that the name chilled me. “We aren’t on speaking terms anymore. And the only thing I want to say to that betraying, fucking rat is, ‘Meet you in hell.’” I laughed. “He’d probably just say, ‘You first.’”