by Selena
“I know,” I say. “But maybe she didn’t need you to. Maybe she didn’t want that. You can’t be a hero to everyone.”
He snorts. “I’m no hero.”
“Maybe not,” I admit. “But maybe a hero doesn’t have to swoop in wearing a cape and save everyone. Maybe you can be a hero just by showing up, by being there for someone when anyone else would have walked away.”
“Eliza, I’m never leaving you,” he says, turning my face to his. “You’re my wife.”
“People leave their wives all the time.”
“I’m not one of those people,” he says. “When I make a promise, I mean it. Okay?”
I nod. “Then you’re already a hero in my eyes.”
“Hey,” he says, kissing me lightly on the nose. “Anyone would have to be crazy to walk away from this.”
“And that’s why you’re a hero,” I say, twisting to press my lips against his palm. “You save me a little bit each day just by staying.”
“Then get ready to be rescued, my little mafia princess,” he says, pressing his lips to mine. “Because you’re never getting rid of me.”
“Good,” I say. “Somehow I don’t think I could find someone else to love me even when I’m unlovable.”
“You’re not unlovable,” he says, pulling back to gaze into my eyes. “You are worthy of love, Eliza Dolce.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I must be, or you wouldn’t love me. You don’t love just anyone.”
“I’ve never loved anyone,” he corrects. “You’re the only one, Eliza. There was only ever you.”
I look away, my throat tight. “I just don’t know what I did to earn it,” I admit.
“You don’t have to do anything to earn it,” he says. “You’re worthy just by being here.”
I lean in to kiss him, and I don’t pull back. I run my hands over his chest, his abs, his thighs. I love that he’s so liberal with his body, that he lets me have all the access I want, as if it’s my body as much as it is his. I love touching him, exploring every inch of his skin.
I just wish I could give him the same in return. Someday, somehow, I’m going to do it. I don’t know how yet, but I vow right here and now that I’m going to make it happen. I will be worthy of him. He may think I am now, but I’m going to prove it to myself, and I won’t stop until I believe it, too. If I have to see a therapist, or tell my father, or make a fucking pilgrimage to the top of Mt. Everest, I’ll do it. I will do it to bring this man the gift he gives me every day, the gift he deserves—me.
twenty-three
King
“It’s time,” Il Diavolo says, nodding for me to get out of the car. We’re parked under a bridge with nothing but warehouses behind us. The river crawls sluggishly by in the other direction. I climb out of the car, pocket the keys, and join the others. The night is windy and crisp, and as I cross the lot, lit only by security lights, I scan the building ahead for signs of life.
As quietly as we can, the four of us creep toward one of the darkened warehouses. Al may have promised this one to me, but he’s not taking any chances. A guy with enough balls to make an attempt on a don needs to be taken out—now. We’ve spent the last month searching for the bastard, and we’re not going to lose him again.
We pull up short at the front of the warehouse, and I look to Joey One-Eye, who gives the signal for two of us to go ahead while he waits outside in case we flush Little Al out. Il Diavolo heads around the corner to watch the back door. I step inside with Arthur, one of Valenti’s other guys.
Any chance at stealth disappears when we find the door locked and have to crack it with a crowbar. After that little delay, we open the door and peer into the darkness. Little Al will be armed, and one of us has to take the first step inside. Since I’m the new guy, it falls to me.
I fight the urge to cross myself before stepping into the darkness. Silence greets me, and I gesture the okay for Arthur to come in. He swings his rifle in an arc, aiming the mounted light around the cavernous space. Around us, light pine boxes sit in giant stacks, with shelves containing boards in the same color along the walls.
A coffin warehouse.
If this isn’t the perfect place to die, I don’t know what is.
Arthur gestures for me to go right, and he goes left. His light bounces off the pale coffins, and shadows stretch across the room. I edge along a towering stack of the body-sized boxes, wondering how the hell we’re going to flush Little Al out of a place like this. I think about everything I know about him, everything he’s told me. A coward runs out the back. Only a desperate man, or a stupid one, fights when he knows he won’t win.
Little Al’s obviously got balls to set up a plan like that against the head of one of the most powerful crime families in New York. He’s no coward. He’s not stupid, either. But he is cocky. Again, no one else would orchestrate a plan like that. As far as how desperate his is, I’m guessing he’s gotta be pretty fucking close to the edge by now. He’s been on the run for a month, but he hasn’t gone far. He must be sticking around for a reason. Either he’s out of money, or he’s stayed for someone he cares about.
I creep along the wall, waiting for a sound, a sign that he’s here. Maybe he saw the car arrive and slipped out. He was feeding the Luciani’s information, and if that family’s leadership hadn’t changed hands and made fast alliances with us, I’d think they were protecting him. But he doesn’t have anyone in his corner now. He’s alone, and that’s a bad place to be when you’ve pissed off a criminal organization.
Suddenly, I see a shadow move. I spin that way, my finger steady on the trigger. At first, I don’t see anything. But then I see what caused the flicker in the corner of my eye. It wasn’t a person. It was a stack of coffins.
I shout a warning to Arthur, but it’s lost in the enormous crash. Coffins tumble and cascade, bouncing off each other and splintering as they smash against the concrete floor. The roar is so loud I don’t hear Arthur, so I don’t know if he screamed. I only know that I see a dark shadow streak for a small door in the side of the building, a fire exit that’s unguarded outside. Joey is at the front entrance, where the workers come and go, and Il Diavolo is at the back, where the shipments go in and out.
Unless one of them is prowling and happens to be on that side, Al’s going to have a good head start. I’m lucky to have been against the wall, unharmed by the toppling coffins, but I have to scramble over the debris to get to the fire exit door. By the time I shove through, I see his figure retreating toward the bridge. I take off at a dead sprint after him.
He’s almost to the supports on the bridge when I see that he’s got nowhere to go except into the river. I imagine him plunging into the polluted water, disappearing under the scummy surface. I pull up short, take careful aim, and get off one shot before he disappears behind the pillars supporting the bridge. I hear cursing behind me and know that at least one of the lookout guys saw him run, and they’re after me.
Without waiting for them to catch up and give me backup, I run for the spot where I saw him disappear. My chances of hitting him are slim once he’s in the water. He won’t go down without a fight, though. He’s probably behind the column, taking aim right now, so I weave in and out as I run, hoping he won’t hit me, that the guy behind me will cover me well enough. Dust and grit from the concrete sloping down toward the river blow into my face, but I blink it away, ignoring the stinging in my eyes.
When I’m nearly at the supports, I hear a crack, and I can feel the air move the bullet comes so close to my cheek. But I’m still standing, so I keep going. I could pull up and aim and wait for him to peek around his hideout. Instead, I go full force, pushing myself as hard as I can, until my thighs burn and my feet thud against the pavement. I don’t slow as I reach the massive structure. I fly around it and slam into Little Al so hard he goes flying off his feet. Together, we hit the ground with bone-splitting force.
Lucky for me, Al’s on the bottom, and he takes the brunt of that force. He groans, cussing and wheezing a
s he tries to hit me with his gun. Before he can recover himself or get air in his lungs, I grab his wrist and twist it hard. He howls, the gun skittering from his grip as his bones snap. He curses, delivering a crushing left hook to my jaw. It knocks me backwards, and he scrambles up, but I’m just as fast. I jump to my feet and level my gun at him.
“Don’t fucking move,” I warn before he can take a step toward his gun. He’s dirty, his clothes ragged, his hair unkempt and greasy, a beard darkening his jaw. Guess he’s not visiting a special someone in the city after all.
“I should have known they’d send you alone,” he snarls in disgust. “They don’t care about you, King. You’re disposable to them.”
“Is that why you tried to fucking dispose of me?” I snap. “You’re the motherfucker who sent me into an ambush, after all.”
“Don’t get all butt-hurt,” he says. “It wasn’t personal. I didn’t even know you’d be going when I tipped Luciani off.”
“But you sure as fuck didn’t discourage me from going,” I remind him. “In fact, if I remember correctly, you thought it was a splendid idea for me to go. I thought you were just being a dick because you knew I’d have to face Eliza’s father, but it wasn’t that, was it? You wanted to get rid of me and Al in one shot. You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”
“Give me a fucking break,” Little Al says. “You’re nothing, King. Just a worthless little soldier. I might have been having a little fun with you, but you were never even part of the equation.”
“Yeah, well, you should have calculated better,” I say. “Because I’m the reason Al survived.”
“And I bet he’s sucking your dick and kissing your ass for that,” the man’s grandson says in disgust. “You’ve only been at this a few months, and he probably already likes you better. I’ve been doing this my whole fucking life, and I’m still a measly little soldier, no better in his eyes than a rookie who grew up like a pampered prince and showed up barely a day over eighteen with a lollypop in his mouth, thinking he’d take my place. You never even killed a guy, you fucking pussy.”
“I never wanted your place,” I say. “And I sure as hell don’t envy it now.”
We stare at each other for a minute. And maybe he’s right about me, because I’m hoping Il Diavolo shows up and puts a bullet in his brain, puts him out of his misery so I don’t have to do it.
“He wasted my talents,” Little Al says at last. “I could have been something great, you know. I could have been a legend. Instead, I was a fucking babysitter.”
“Maybe he didn’t trust you,” I say. “Can you blame the guy?”
“I’m his fucking grandson!” Little Al throws up his hands, then howls in pain at the reminder of his broken bones. “He never respected me, never listened to me,” he rants. “I had great ideas, but he passed me over every fucking time. I’m next in line, but he didn’t teach me shit. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m still doing the same fucking job I was doing when I started.”
“Maybe he could tell you were a sneaky son of a bitch, and he was never going to let you take over. Al’s a smart man. He probably knew you were a coward.”
“I’m not a fucking coward,” Little Al growls, his eyes looking feral in the pale lights reflected off the water. “If I were, I wouldn’t have risked it all to get him out of the picture.”
“You tried to kill your own grandfather because you didn’t get a promotion?” I ask, hardly believing anyone could be so small.
“Because I’ll never get the fucking promotion I deserve,” he rages. “Al’s not going anywhere anytime soon. The guy’s sixty and still going strong. If no one took him out, he’d be around another twenty years. Was I just supposed to wait around until I’m almost fifty before I take over? It’s my rightful place! He had his turn. It’s my turn!”
“Sorry, but I don’t think so.”
“You can’t kill me,” he says, his eyes going even more wild than they already are. “I have a wife, a kid! Let me go, King. What’s it to you? Here, take my things. Bring Al my watch, tell him you killed me.” He pulls off his watch and tosses it at my feet, then starts taking off anything else he can, tossing his wallet and shoes down with them.
“You know it doesn’t work like that,” I say, but I consider it. What would it hurt if I stripped him of everything he owns, everything that identifies him, and let him run? I could tell Uncle Al I dumped his body in the river.
I think of my sister sinking into the river. What if she didn’t die that night?
But of course she did. Just like Little Al has to die tonight.
“What does it matter if you let me go?” he presses. “I was your partner, King. I did right by you. You think you’ll come back a hero if you kill me, but just watch. You’ll never move up. You’ll be stuck at the bottom forever. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself, the selfish old bastard.”
“And you did?” I ask. “That’s why you thought it would be funny to send me into a death trap that you set up yourself?”
“I told you, I wasn’t even thinking about you,” he says. “It wasn’t about you!”
“You’re right,” I say, cocking the gun. “It wasn’t about me, but you didn’t care if I died, if I left my wife a widow. It was all just a cruel joke to you, pushing me to join Al because you couldn’t handle the fact that he saddled you with a rookie.”
“Don’t shoot,” he says, holding up both hands. “I’m unarmed, man. You don’t wanna do this. Please. I’ll disappear, and no one will ever know you didn’t do it.”
“I’ll know,” I say quietly. I’ll know, and I’ll never sleep easy knowing he’s out there, that he could show up and put another hit on me so I can’t tell them he’s still out there. I think of Eliza telling me I can do it. Of my sister, at the bottom of the ocean, sleeping in peace with her boyfriend, someone she loved enough to die for. Little Al can rest easy, too, but he’s never loved anyone enough to die for them. He mentioned his wife and kid now, but he wasn’t thinking about them when he risked everything. Uncle Al has shown me more kindness in our few encounters than this shithead ever did. He’s the one who only cares about himself.
I care about someone else. Someone I need to get home to because she’ll be waiting and worrying, wondering if tonight will be the night I don’t come home. She’s been through so much, lost her brother and her mother and her childhood. She doesn’t need to lose her husband, too. I promised her I’d never leave. I intend to keep that promise.
I’d die for her if that’s what she needed. But she doesn’t. She needs me to kill for her.
I always knew this moment was coming. I knew before I even took the oath of omerta that I’d be here one day. That Uncle Al would ask me to kill, and I’d have to do it or take the target’s place. If I can’t kill a traitor, then I am a traitor. If I don’t have it in me to kill a man, then I’m a dead man myself. Little Al made his choice. I need to make mine. To prove I’m worthy of the Life, of Uncle Al’s trust, of the beautiful, broken wife they gave me.
For her.
I pull the trigger. Little Al drops to his knees, his eyes wide, as if he can’t believe I had the balls to shoot him. He clutches his chest, his bewildered gaze finding mine. The moon behind me reflects in his eyes, and I’m grateful for what it hides.
“You—You shot me,” he says in disbelief.
“You knew what you were doing,” I say, my voice hard, as empty as my chest. “You chose to turn your back on family. You know this is the way it has to be.”
I pull the trigger again, and he falls forward on his hands before crumpling to the dirty pavement. I’m relieved I don’t have to see his eyes. But I bend and swipe a hand over his face to close them, anyway. It’s the least I can do. I didn’t hate Little Al. I’d rather it ended some other way. But this is how it is.
I turn and head back up the bank, leaving his body. When I reach the pillar he hid behind, just ten feet back, a figure steps out of the shadows. I nearly shoo
t before I register the hulking giant form of Il Diavolo.
“I stand corrected,” he says. “Guess you had it in you after all.”
“You were there the whole time?” I ask. “Thanks for the fucking backup.”
“After your little hissy fit about the Luciani girl, I didn’t think you’d be able to pull this one off,” he says. “You’re soft, kid. In this business, there’s no room for that. Eat or be eaten.”
“Spare the lecture,” I say. “I did my job. What was yours? Stand there and watch him kill me if that’s the way the chips fell?”
“My job was to make sure you got the job done,” he says. “And to kill him if you didn’t have the balls. This was a test, in case you hadn’t figured it out. Big Al wants to know what you’re made of. Probably wanted to know where your loyalties lay, too. After shit like this goes down, family killing family, you have to take a good hard look at everyone in your inner circle.”
I’m not surprised. I knew he’d want to make sure I hadn’t been tainted by Little Al’s treachery. Again, that’s just the way it is. I can’t be offended. I get it.
All the way home, I repeat Il Diavolo’s words in my head.
He said everyone in Uncle Al’s inner circle. He included me in that.
When I started this job, I wanted to be the kind of man Al Valenti approves of, hard enough to survive the Life. As twisted as it is, killing his grandson is the way I proved that I am. Not just to him, but to myself. I don’t know if I’ve become a better man, but I know I’m a stronger one. I know I’m going to be okay. In the past six months, I’ve gone from a boy who thought he was a man to the real thing. Eliza turned me from a cocky high school kid who thought he was all that because girls wanted to fuck him, to a real lover. And the mafia has turned me from a scared boy wondering if he could pull the trigger to a man who’s taken lives in self-defense, for revenge, and as payment.
Once, I told myself I was closing the door to my old life and stepping into a new one. I didn’t know how true that was. Now I do. I can never go back to my old life. I wouldn’t fit. I’ve become what I was always meant to be. Not only a made guy but one worthy of Al’s inner circle. One who would do what a man has to do in this business.