The car lurched into gear and screeched away.
As they careened down the serpentine streets towards the gates of the city, the driver pressed a button on his cell phone and spoke in rapid Italian:
“Allo.”
“Dante, it’s Santo. We had a visitor here. I was able to take care of it, but it got messy – they’re both hurt,” the man said into the phone, his voice almost a whisper.
“How bad?” Dante asked.
“She took a bullet in the side of her stomach, and the man’s hit in his leg and arm. It all happened before I could do anything,” Santo lamented.
“It’s a good thing you stuck around. Are you certain there was only one visitor?” Dante sounded cold, efficient.
“Yes. I spotted him this afternoon, tailing them, but I wasn’t certain. He moved so fast, it was over in less than a minute.” Santo wanted Dante to understand he’d done his best.
“I’m sure you did everything you could. Do you need anything?” Dante asked.
“No, I have it under control. He’s not bad – Antonia is…but I think she’ll live. I’m taking them to the hospital by Perugia. We should be there in ten minutes or so.” He paused while he made the turn out of the gates of Todi, flooring it once they were on the larger road.
“Dante, I know this shooter. Once I was up close I recognized him. He’s from Palermo, one of the Gambrizi group.” Santo knew many of his peers in the Italian syndicates. It was a small world.
“That’s interesting. I’ll have to give Giovanni a call in Palermo and clarify the situation. Take care of the cleanup and call me from the hospital. I don’t want anything else to happen to them while they are on my watch, capiche?” Dante sounded nothing like the good-natured elderly patriarch who had welcomed the couple to Todi. That façade was gone, replaced by a serious and menacing demeanor, a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them followed. And he was furious.
“Capiche. I’m sorry, I was just thirty seconds too late.” Santo hesitated. “Dante, I can’t stay around the hospital and answer questions. It’s probably best if I leave once they’re inside.”
There was silence on the line, then: “You got it. Just ensure they make it safely.”
Nodding, Santo disconnected and concentrated on his driving.
Santo was a sociopath, having killed his first man when he was twelve, using an ice pick, which became his instrument of choice. His mother had been accosted by the man daily while she went about her duties as a maid, and one day something had snapped in Santo’s head, and he’d had enough of the bully grabbing at her. Santo killed him the next morning, as the man relieved himself at the urinal in the restroom of the hotel where she’d worked, then had gone to school – there was a big soccer match he was supposed to play in during lunch and he didn’t want to miss it.
Twenty years later he’d lost count of how many he’d helped into the afterlife. It didn’t really matter.
It was just a number.
Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to the emergency entrance of the modern hospital at the base of Perugia. Steven jumped out cradling Antonia, while Santo darted to the emergency room, yelling in Italian to get a doctor, there’d been a shooting, a horrible accident.
The staff descended upon Antonia, who was quickly placed on a gurney. They immediately hooked her up to an IV and cut her dress away, before wheeling her through double doors into the main hospital. A nurse told Steven in broken English they would both be taken to surgery, and asked him to lay on a gurney too. He complied, and the nurse took the scissors to his pants.
The shift supervisor was speaking with Santo in the lobby area. She asked Santo what had happened, and he told her that he’d been driving by, and apparently the two of them had been the victims of a robbery gone horribly wrong. He was just a good Samaritan.
The supervisor notified the police, and Santo was asked to wait there so they could take his statement. He agreed, of course, no problem, glad to help – he’d be right outside, having a cigarette; the whole experience had unnerved him, he was sure she understood.
Santo walked outside, lit a cigarette, and returned to his now blood-soaked car. He called Dante to let him know he was going to dispose of the corpse somewhere in the countryside, somewhere it would never be found, and then he was going on a trip. Dante agreed it was a good time of year for him to take some time for himself; the job would be his when he returned.
Santo started the car, and pulled off into the night.
Checkmate: Chapter 17
Steven was in and out of surgery quickly. The bullet that grazed his shoulder had left a quarter inch groove, requiring only cleaning and bandaging; the wound to his leg was a straightforward swab-and-stitch procedure. The bone was unaffected, and no arteries had been hit; just primarily trauma to the muscle and skin.
Half an hour after going into the room, he was wheeled out. They’d never even put him under, just used local anesthesia – at his request. A CT scan of his skull came back with no excessive irregularities; he had a mild concussion from the pistol-whipping, nothing more. His temple got five stitches and his IV got some morphine, making him drowsy and killing the lion’s share of the pain. He wouldn’t be running anytime soon, but he’d live.
Steven was resting comfortably in a temporary room, awaiting the outcome of Antonia’s operation, when the police came to ask for his account of what had happened. One of them spoke marginal English, and half-heartedly questioned him. Steven made up a slurred story about a bungled robbery attempt, stating he didn’t remember much, concussion and all. The police seemed satisfied and left him to his recovery.
Several hours later, one of the nurses woke Steven from an uneasy slumber and put him into a wheelchair, IV and all, and rolled him to another room. Antonia lay on a bed, hooked up to various monitoring devices, IV flowing; pale, but alive. The surgeon who’d operated on her entered shortly thereafter, and spoke with Steven in good English.
“She’s lost a lot of blood, and we had to work for several hours to get her internal injuries mended. Fortunately the bullet didn’t bounce around, and we only had to fix the intestines along its path. With the blood loss she’s very lucky to be alive. Another twenty minutes and I’m not sure she would have made it.” The doctor looked beat. Dark circles under his eyes. Five o’clock shadow. It had been a long and grueling night.
“But she’ll live, right…she’ll be fine?” Steven demanded.
“It’s too soon to say, but she’s in remarkable physical shape and has a strong heart. I’d describe her condition as guarded, but improving by the minute.”
“Thank you for saving her, Doctor. Thank you so much.” A flood of relief had begun to course through him, even as he looked down at her pallid face. “She’ll make it. She’s a survivor.”
Dante called Giovanni at 10:00 a.m. the next day. His inside man at the hospital had given him the full report – Antonia would live, but was still in critical condition. She was stable now, and the prognosis was good, but it had been close.
“Giovanni, how are you? Long time since we spoke, no?” Dante was dead serious today, none of the usual jocularity and playfulness to his tone.
“Dante, to what can I attribute this delightful surprise?” Giovanni became suspicious, and somewhat alarmed.
“Well, I was hoping you could help me out. One of your capos was in Todi, and apparently shot my niece and her friend. Do you know anything about this?” Dante inquired.
“I know absolutely nothing about this. He must have lost his mind. Are you sure that it was one of my men?” Giovanni lied, not unexpectedly. Holy shit. What had gone wrong?
“I believe so, but we could be mistaken. My niece is very precious to me, Giovanni, like a daughter, really. She’s had such tragedy in her life, and now this. It’s inexcusable.” Dante was icy calm, and Giovanni knew from past experience that Dante speaking in this iceberg manner was not at all good. It meant that he was enraged; and when Dante was enraged, he was deeply enra
ged – striking out, in a calculated and ultimately devastating way.
“Dante…I have no knowledge about whatever he was doing. I swear, I’d never do anything to harm you or your family. You know that.” Giovanni didn’t like where this could quickly lead, and wanted to put an end to it here. He didn’t carry the weight to take on Dante. He would be squashed like a bug if he tried.
“Giovanni, perhaps this was a huge mistake, and perhaps the target was not Antonia. Her new love has had some difficulty with some characters in America, and it could be that he was the goal.” Dante wasn’t a fool. He’d figure it out.
“You should know something now, Giovanni. She is like my daughter, and he has brought her back to life, which makes him like my son. Anyone that moves against him moves against me, and anyone who would harm my children will incur my full and immediate wrath, and I will not only hold them responsible, but their wives and children responsible as well. Wouldn’t you do the same thing if someone went after your young ones?”
Dante was ready, almost spoiling to go to war, to destroy without remorse. He’d done it before. Giovanni knew he was serious, and that his reply would be the most important words he’d ever spoken.
“Of course, Dante. I would scorch the earth. I had no idea that anyone from my organization was involved with anything like this. You have my word. As a gesture of contrition that one of my men was involved in this, unbeknown to me, please, let me pay for any medical costs, and let me offer any restitution you feel is appropriate.” Giovanni had gotten the message, and wanted out of this. He got it. He didn’t want a war with Dante, or to find one of his sons decapitated or overdosed. He’d do whatever it took to stop this here and now.
“I knew you’d understand, Giovanni. If you hear of anyone that might have accepted a contract on my niece’s friend, would you share with them the relationship that he now enjoys? Again, he is like my son, and I will treat anyone wishing him ill accordingly.”
“Dante, I can’t imagine that anyone would be foolhardy enough to risk angering you. Please accept my complete and full apology if one of mine was stupidly involved in anything. I can guarantee that your family will have not only your ample protection, but mine as well, from now on.” Giovanni felt a gush of momentary relief that he wasn’t being told they were at war.
“I think maybe you should think about making a contribution to Antonia’s recovery. I’m thinking fifty thousand U.S.. She’ll be in the hospital for some time.”
Naturally, Dante wanted to kill some people, but had considered the issue, and decided that what he really wanted to achieve was an end to any attempts against Antonia and Steven – forever. So he’d make Giovanni pay, and hold him directly responsible for their safety.
“I’ll send you the money today, Dante. Again, if this idiot was involved in anything, it couldn’t have been against Antonia, and would only have involved her new friend. I’ll spread the word of his family status.” Giovanni genuinely wanted Dante to know Antonia wasn’t supposed to have been hurt. The money was nothing, a formality. He understood that he was now on the hook for their safety, and would relay the message accordingly.
“Please do. And say hello to your wife and children, Giovanni, wish them my best, eh? So many troubling incidences occurring, it should make us appreciate those we love.”
Dante hung up.
Giovanni thought it through. He’d sent his best man, with specific instructions to avoid any harm to Antonia, and the whole thing had blown up in his face. He was lucky that Dante hadn’t had his whole family taken out as retribution. Very lucky, and he knew it. Dante was one of the most powerful of the syndicate heads, and it was only due to his desire to keep from starting a full-scale war that Giovanni’s family was still allowed to flourish.
A series of calls volleyed across the Atlantic. The New Jersey family was informed of the immediate cancellation of the contract by Palermo, and the reason why. New Jersey consulted with their leadership, and it was determined that the contract couldn’t be fulfilled, that attempting to do so wasn’t worth the delicate balance of relationships that were being put on the line in the old country. Dante had powerful contacts with the New York organization, and they couldn’t risk a rift there over one lousy contract.
They would never have accepted a sanction against a member of an Italian syndicate’s family – that was way off-limits, and by invoking his protection, Dante had made Steven bulletproof. Literally. The decision to cease and desist permanently was communicated back to Palermo.
The leadership decided that they would return the hundred thousand dollar fee to the client. Some things weren’t worth rocking the boat over, and when they got calls from the old country advising a contract was dishonorable it was time to move on to something new. They’d tried, but things hadn’t gone according to plan. A shame, but what could you do?
Sometimes things just worked out that way.
Checkmate: Chapter 18
The staff gave Steven a sleeping agent, knocking him out cold for a solid six hours, dozing in the room next to Antonia. When he came to, his body felt weak and stiff – his wound protesting like someone had poured battery acid on it. The nurse assured him that was good while she gave him a stinging shot to prevent infection. He felt groggy from the painkillers and sleeping pills and sore from the fight, but was anxious to see how Antonia had fared.
He wheeled himself into Antonia’s room, relieved to see she’d regained some color overnight, looking stronger and healthier. The doctors told him she was doing amazingly well – if she continued to strengthen she could be released before the end of the week. They wanted to keep her under observation to make sure the surgery hadn’t introduced any complications; she needed to be truly mended before being discharged, but the prognosis was positive.
Uncle Dante had insisted they spend their recovery time at his villa near Florence, where Antonia could be attended to by a private nurse and a proper staff, safe from any further unpleasantness. That was fine by Steven, especially since it was obvious their location in Todi was blown.
Antonia opened her eyes when she sensed his presence by the bed. She looked alert, but drugged.
“How are you feeling?” Steven asked.
“Like a truck ran over me. How about you?”
“Same truck hit me, but not as badly. I’ll live. A little bump on the head and a few stitches; I’ve had worse.”
She smiled. And then got serious.
“It’s not over, is it?”
“It won’t be over until I take Griffen down, or he takes me down; sorry, my angel, but that’s the way it looks. It’s gone too far. This attack proves it. We’ll never be safe until he’s out of the picture and behind bars, robbed of his influence and his money.”
“Oh, Steven. Why can’t we just walk away?”
“He’s got too much on the line. I have to finish this – leave him nothing left to play for; I’d hoped we were far enough from his reach here, but apparently there’s no such thing. I’m sorry I got you into this, Antonia...”
“Caro, buon, then I think I have a way for you to get this story out in a dramatic way. I put out feelers a while ago, and I’m sure I can help make something happen. Let me talk to some people. I do own a New York-based magazine, you know.” She considered it. “I bet my senior staff know some big-game reporters in New York who’d be interested.”
Made sense. If she could get someone reputable to break the story in a big, credible paper, that would flatten Griffen. His investors would go nuts and the manipulation of Allied would be short-circuited. Then they’d be safe, as Griffen’s energy went into defending himself from criminal charges, rather than trying to silence Steven’s site. And think of the rotten apple-carts it would upset with his cartel of criminal cronies. That at least would occupy him for the foreseeable future.
Though it hurt to smile, he did. “It’s really big news, honey. This would be a death blow for Griffen – it would shut him down.”
“Buon, then I will
call my friends in New York tomorrow and see if they can get someone interested. Owning a magazine does have some, how you say, perks?” She looked a little sleepy, no doubt from the medications and the lingering effects of the blood loss. “Stay with me, caro, while I take a nap. I’m tired. We’ll deal with all of this later, okay?”
He kissed her hand. “You just concentrate on getting better. I’m not going anywhere.”
The next two days were spent peacefully at the hospital. The staff had moved a second bed into Antonia’s room, and supplied Steven with a computer and internet access to keep him amused. Steven spent considerable time agonizing over how to accomplish his objective without bringing about yet more destruction upon himself and those he loved. It had to be handled delicately.
Steven wasn’t a starry-eyed idealist, and under no illusions he could stop a concerted scheme facilitated by some of his own government’s agencies, so he focused on how he could take down the Griffen network and at least damage the bad guys enough to take some of the joy out of the game. He thought he had a pretty good plan, and now needed to execute it briskly.
Antonia exuded a remarkable resilience; the doctors were quietly amazed by her progress. On the third day she was joking with her doctor, chatting with Steven almost non-stop, and looking very much like she was ready to be out in the wide world.
Today was the day, according to the doctors, so Dante had made arrangements for a car to pick them up and take them to Chianti for an extended vacation and recovery. Neither of them resisted the suggestion; they didn’t have a pressing agenda of places to go. Antonia, true to her word, had followed up with New York, to be assured that the prospects of finding a credible journalist to break the story looked promising.
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