Vendetta

by Jack McSporran

  “Bastard,” spat Maggie. Killing Carlo was one thing, but trying to end them too was a big mistake.

  She and Leon raced forward and came to the end of their building. They looked at each other in silent agreement and leaped. For a moment, all that lay under Maggie’s feet was air and the hard, unforgiving ground four stories down.

  The roof was a few feet lower than the one they had jumped from, and Maggie landed in a roll to break the fall, scuffing Rebecca’s ruined suit. She reached inside her jacket and brought out her Beretta.

  Aiming as she gave chase, the shooter ran past a chimney and blocked her shot.

  They continued, narrowing the gap and springing over to the next roof. An old woman was hanging her washing out on a line from a window below and yelled at them with a wave of her fist.

  A flock of fat, tourist-fed pigeons burst from a coop as they rounded the corner their target took. The birds flapped at them with coos of surprise, flocking around them with frantic wings. Maggie charged through them, Leon swearing at them to piss off.

  “We’re going to lose him,” said Leon, as the bridge between them and the killer lengthened.

  Maggie studied his trajectory and took in the layout of rooftops around them. “No, we’re not. Take the left. I’ll go this way.” She pointed to the right. “We’ll round in on him.”

  Leon nodded and dove across to the next set of buildings, zeroing in on the shooter. Maggie ran further down until she reached her opening and sprung off the edge.

  A shooting pain shot up her leg as she landed down on the conjoined building, the impact making her muscles yell in pain. Maggie gritted her teeth and surged on.

  Across the way, Leon kept pace and narrowed in on the killer from the sidelines. Maggie pushed herself, ignoring her complaining muscles and the heat from under her brown wig.

  Focusing on the shooter, she counted two more jumps before she was on him. The killer risked a look over his shoulder and spotted them coming in from either end.

  Maggie quickened her pace.

  The first gap was nothing, and she was over to the other side with little effort, her chest heaving as sweat beaded across her forehead. The second jump approached, and her heart plummeted.

  The gap was wide. Too wide.

  Her feet sped forward, propelled with momentum and getting closer and closer to the end of the building with each step. If she tried to slow down now, she would topple over the edge. She would never make it.

  With no other option, Maggie leaped forward and soared into the air.

  She flew, inching closer towards safe ground like she was moving in slow motion.

  But it wasn’t enough. Her feet wouldn’t clear the gap.

  Below, people walked through the narrow street, smiling for photos and browsing the line of little shops selling trinkets and cheap souvenirs.

  Maggie reached out as the rooftops fell from her line of sight.

  Her fingers gripped the drainpipe running along the roof, and she clung on tight. She cried out as her fingers took on the burden of her weight.

  The metal dug into her fingers, but she fought through the pain. Her mind raced as panic threatened to take over. She squirmed in the air, her feet scrapping over the wall of the building to find purchase.

  Her foot snagged on something, and Maggie tested it, her fingers slipping from the drainpipe. It was a loose brick, the hole just wide enough to fit her shoe in.

  Maggie shifted her weight to her foot and allowed her fingers a slight reprieve, but she couldn’t just stay there. If she lost her grip, she would fall back and plummet to the street below.

  With one final push, Maggie tightened her grip on the drainpipe and pulled herself up with everything she had. Her arms shook, and fatigue settled in her muscles. She managed to swing her right arm up over the edge and elbow her way high enough to release her foot from the brick wall and kick it up over the roof. She rolled to safety, panting and struggling for air.

  With no time to lose, she stumbled to her feet and hurried along the rooftop.

  Leon was almost at the shooter now, who had come to an abrupt stop. The killer had run out of roof. The next set of buildings were far across the way, separated by the murky turquoise water of the canal below.

  Leon ran up by her side as she aimed her gun at the shooter.

  “There’s nowhere left to run,” she said. “Put your hands on your head and don’t move.”

  The shooter clung to his weapon, even though it was two against one. He stepped back until his heels hovered over the edge and peered over his shoulder. His chest heaved, and he looked as exhausted as Maggie felt.

  She and Leon stepped towards him, guns at the ready. “Don’t do it,” she warned.

  Before she even finished her sentence, the shooter stepped back into open air.

  Maggie and Leon ran to the edge as he landed in the canal with a splash.

  Two people on a boat below helped the shooter out the water. At first, Maggie assumed they were passersby, but one of them reached for their waist and sent three rounds their way.

  They dropped for cover and lay flat on the tiles as an engine roared to life. Maggie crawled to the edge and peered beyond as the boat sped off down the canal with the shooter on board.

  Chapter 7

  Maggie walked out from her second shower since the disastrous meeting. There was something about being covered in someone else’s blood that made her feel especially unclean.

  Unlike the blood, she couldn’t simply wash away the memories. There was no doubt Carlo was dead. Even if Maggie never saw the body, there was no coming back from a shot like that.

  The Rossis were short a leader. For now.

  Maggie wrapped herself in a silk robe and padded out into the lounge. Her mouth watered at the aroma filling the room.

  “I ordered room service,” said Leon, sitting at the dining table. “I figured you’d want to stay in.”

  “Thank you.” Going out for something to eat meant having to be Rebecca. After the day they’d had, being shot at and running across the rooftops of Venice after a killer, they deserved to kick back and relax for the evening.

  “Prosecco?” Leon pulled a chair out for her.

  Maggie held out her glass. “Please.”

  Leon filled her up then sat down across and raised his own flute. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” Bubbles danced over her tongue, and she drained half the glass. “Though I don’t think we’re out of hot water yet.”

  They hadn’t heard from Isabella since the meeting turned deadly. No messages were waiting for them when they returned to the hotel after stopping to change into new clothes on the way back. Arriving at a place like the Gritti Palace covered in blood and dirt was bound to raise some eyebrows.

  “You think the deal will still go ahead?” Leon asked, topping off both their glasses.

  “Carlo may be dead, but business won’t stop because of it.” If syndicates stopped their dealings every time they lost a don, there wouldn’t be any left. A new leader would rise.

  “Nothing will be done tonight. Hopefully, we’ll hear from Isabella tomorrow and we can take action from there.”

  “You’re right.” Maggie leaned back in her chair and rolled her shoulders, muscles aching from the chase. She had garnered more than a few bruises from it, too. “There’s nothing we can do for now.”

  “We can eat,” said Leon. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  Six different dishes sat between them, concealed with silver cloches. Maggie’s stomach growled. “What did you order?”

  “A bit of everything,” he replied, taking the covers off.

  Steam rose from the dishes, and Maggie’s mouth watered. Leon had ordered a selection of local specialties from squid ink risotto, thick bigoli pasta with mussels in a garlic and butter sauce, and carpaccio sliced paper thin and garnished with parmesan cheese.

  “Oh, you got prawns.” Maggie filled her plate. The hotel would have bought them fresh
from the Rialto Market that very morning. “I thought you didn’t like them?”

  “I don’t, but I know you do.” Leon skipped the shellfish, filling his plate with gnocchi.

  They ate in quiet for a while, falling into the comfortable silence gained from having known each other for years. No matter how long they were apart, things with Leon always started back like they had never ended. It felt normal. Right.

  “How did things go in Warsaw?” he asked after a while, a drop of sauce stuck to his beard.

  Maggie smiled and reached over the table to wipe it off with a thumb. “I wasn’t there long. I had to wrap things up a little sooner than expected, thanks to this. What about your job in Dubai?”

  “It got a little hairy, but it worked out in the end.”

  Knowing Leon, ‘a little hairy’ meant he almost died at least twice.

  “How have you been?” she asked, focusing on her food. “You know, aside from work?”

  What Maggie really wanted to ask was if Leon was seeing anyone, but she wasn’t sure she’d like the answer. They never agreed to be exclusive. It wasn’t fair on either of them to expect it of the other. Not when their lives were so up in the air, spending most of their time apart in separate countries. Not when they had tried and failed so many times to make it work. With no promises came no expectations, and it stopped them from getting hurt in the long run.

  Maggie knew it was better that way, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept when Leon sat across from her, their legs touching underneath the table.

  “Good,” said Leon, after a while. He stopped eating and met her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” She hadn’t realized how much until the moment he picked her up at the airport. It was vital to push her feelings aside while out on a mission. She could hide her emotions beneath the tough exterior of her aliases and forget about her own troubles.

  It was another thing entirely now she was face to face with them.

  “How are your parents?” she asked, changing the subject before the feelings of loss could take hold. They’d done well so far keeping things professional. Maggie got up and piled the empty dishes on the service cart, returning with dessert.

  “They’re doing well.” Leon tipped what was left of the bottle of prosecco into their glasses. “Mum always asks about you.”

  “I’ll need to pop round for a cuppa,” she said and meant it.

  Maggie liked Leon’s parents. Having never known her father, and losing her mother when she was a child, it was always nice to be around a real family. She’d spent many Sunday afternoons at the Frost’s house for dinner and enjoyed watching Leon’s parents fuss over their only son. They still believed Leon worked as a manager at the stationary supplier the Unit used for their cover, and they couldn’t be prouder.

  Leon took a bite of his tiramisu and moaned. He scooped another spoonful and held it to Maggie’s lips. “Taste this.”

  Maggie opened her mouth and allowed Leon to feed her the dessert. Her taste buds sparked to life with the perfect mixture of strong coffee, light sponge, and fresh whipped cream dusted with coco powder. “That’s delicious.”

  She returned the favor and fed Leon some of her panna cotta.

  Leon nodded in approval, licking lips that had kissed every inch of her. “Much better than that dodgy stew in Lebanon.”

  Maggie laughed, recollecting the mission from a few years back. “Yeah, I never want to know what was in that.”

  “You should have seen the stuff they called food back in the army.” Leon crinkled his nose.

  “I will see your army slop, and raise you expired cans of cold soup.”

  Leon conceded and raised his glass to her. “Touché.”

  While Leon had spent two years in the army before being recruited into Bishop’s covert program, Maggie had spent her time homeless on the streets of London, fighting her own kind of war. Without Bishop, the mistakes she made trying to survive would have sent her to prison for a very long time.

  “Speaking of bets,” said Leon, polishing off the rest of his tiramisu, “this stuff might beat the food at the Venetian on our Vegas mission.”

  “The view here gives it a one up, that’s for sure.” Maggie got up and took Leon’s hand, leading him to the balcony.

  “Wow,” he said, looking out over the horizon.

  It was nearing ten o’clock, and the summer sun had just set, leaving the sky a deep blue. Traffic had slowed to almost nothing along the canal, and across the way, a few straggling tourists sat on the stone steps on the Salute Cathedral. The street lamps ignited in a rose-tinted gleam that twinkled across the water like stars.

  Below, a gondola floated by with two lovers kissing as a baritone gondolier, dressed in the traditional stripped t-shirt and straw boater hat, serenaded them with a timeless song.

  “See,” said Maggie. “Gondolas on a real canal. The Venetian in Vegas doesn’t have that.”

  “But they do have poker and blackjack tables,” countered Leon, no stranger to a bet or two.

  “There’s a casino up the canal in Cannaregio,” Maggie countered. “The Lido across the lagoon has one, too.”

  Leon smiled and wrapped an arm over her shoulders. “Well you’ve got me there. You win.”

  “I always win,” she teased, nudging him.

  Maggie leaned her head on his chest and watched the night go by. “Do you ever wish we could sit back and enjoy all the places we go?” she asked, almost somber. Maggie had travelled across the world, yet never got to be tourist.

  “I’m enjoying myself right now.” Leon peered down at her. “A beautiful view with my favorite person. What’s not to like?”

  He tipped her chin up and leaned down with parted lips. Maggie didn’t bridge the gap, but before she knew it, they were kissing like lovers on vacation.

  Leon cupped her face with one hand, the other placed on the small of her back and roaming further down. Maggie reached up and ran her hand through the bristles of his cropped hair, pulling him towards her as their passion intensified.

  Maggie bit Leon’s lip, and he moaned from deep in his chest, brushing his tongue against hers. His hands travelled over her curves and slipped inside her robe to explore within. The tension built between them until it was only a matter of moments before they would reach the point of no return, neither of them willing to tear themselves away from the other.

  But they had to.

  Maggie stepped away, her lips plump and tingling from the taste of him. “Leon,” she whispered, catching her breath.

  His shoulders slumped. “I know, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too. We agreed.”

  “You’re right,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have started anything.”

  Maggie tightened her robe. “I didn’t exactly push you away, either.” Heat rushed to her cheeks.

  Leon reached out, and she laced her fingers in his. “I better go to bed,” she said, kissing him once on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

  He let their fingers untangle and watched her go. “Night, Maggie.”

  Chapter 8

  25 July

  Maggie woke to a text message from Isabella, asking to meet her and Leon by the Rialto Bridge at noon.

  They sat outside a restaurant by the bridge, a canopy covering them from the blazing sun. Maggie fanned herself, playing the role of Rebecca in shorts, a white blazer, and blacked out sunglasses that allowed her to scope out the surroundings. Being a Miami native, Rebecca may be used to the weather, but Maggie struggled against the hot, humid day. The heat hung heavy in the air and intensified the scent of salt water from the Grand Canal.

  Leon turned his neck to the side and winced in his seat across from her.

  “You okay?” asked Maggie in Rebecca’s accent.

  “Yeah, my neck hurts, that’s all.”

  Maggie lowered her voice. “I told you, you could’ve had the bed.” The street was thick with tourists wandering by
, the other diners loud and too interested in ordering to care about two strangers sitting in the corner. Nevertheless, it was prudent to be cautious.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Leon, shrugging her off. “It’s probably from all the running around we did yesterday.”

  Maggie sipped her iced coffee, in need of a cool down and a perk up. She slept uneasy knowing Leon was outside her bedroom, feeling bad about leaving him to sleep on the small couch. The temptation to invite him in was enticing, but she didn’t trust herself with him. She couldn’t share a bed with the man without wanting more. It would have been a bad move.

  Leon stared at his hands. “Listen, about last night.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie said, fighting the urge to touch him.

  “Me, too.” He sighed. “I know we talked about not falling into old habits. It was a moment of weakness.”

  Silence hung over them, each lost in their thoughts. They knew better than most that old habits die hard. Ever since their days in training, their connection was undeniable. Leon saw through the walls she’d built, a fortress constructed high to protect herself. To stop people from seeing the lost girl inside.

  Even as a young child, Maggie could be in a room full of people and still feel desperately alone. She’d had no one after her mother died. No family to run to. No one to make her feel safe or loved.

  Maggie went through countless foster families growing up. Uprooted and moved from place to place, house to house. Nowhere ever felt like home. She didn’t belong with them. She didn’t belong anywhere.

  All of that changed when Bishop recruited her to the Unit and she met Leon.

  He was open, and honest, and listened to her when she spoke. He had a genuine interest in her thoughts and opinions. Asked about her hopes and dreams; two things she never dared think about until then. Hopes and dreams weren’t for people like Maggie.

  After training, the world was open to them. They travelled all over on missions, and snuck away between jobs on secret trysts, high off young love. Making plans for a future that could never be. For a normal life that wasn’t possible given what they did.