“Where is he now?” Damian asked.
“Place called Lucky Bar controlled by Juntasa.”
“Lucky Bar?” Damian chuckled into the phone in spite of the situation. The Thai, like many Asian countries, had a fascination with American culture. It wasn’t unusual to find strange or remedial combinations of English words on nightclubs, bars, restaurants, and clothing shops.
“Yeah,” Cole said. “If you hold off a couple days, I’ll have your back. I can be on a plane in an hour.”
“Can’t do it,” Damian said.
“You can,” Cole said. “And you should.”
The words sat between them on the phone. They were dangerously close to insubordination — no one told Damian what he should or shouldn’t do.
No one.
He exhaled. Cole was worried about him. It’s what people did when they gave a shit if you lived or died, something Damian was just beginning to experience.
“I can’t risk Juntasa taking him out,” Damian said.
“Why?” Cole asked. “Seems like a good solution to me. Juntasa takes out Gatti, you and Aria come home, problem solved.”
He couldn’t explain it to Cole — that he had to be the one to kill Gatti, that he had to be able to tell Aria he’d seen Gatti die with his own eyes.
“It has to be me,” Damian said. “But I appreciate the offer.”
Cole sighed. “I’ll text you the address and a current photo of Juntasa. Keep me posted.”
Damian disconnected the call and slid the phone into his pocket. He looked into the pool, as blue as the water off the island of Kythnos. He hoped he got the chance to take Aria someplace beautiful when this was all over — this time for nothing but R&R.
He was tired of being in incredible countries on a mission to kill.
Tired of seeing the worry in Aria’s eyes.
Most of all, he was tired of leaving her, of not knowing if he would ever see her again, if he would see their baby born.
He felt her arms slide around his waist from behind and turned around to hold her.
“Time to go?” she asked.
He kissed the top of her head. “Time to go.”
Thirty-Seven
Aria pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders as she looked out over the courtyard. She had no idea what time it was. She only knew that Damian had left after holding her for a long time, neither of them wanting to let go, both aware that this was a turning point.
Either Damian would come back with word of Malcolm’s death or he likely wouldn’t come back at all.
Finally he’d kissed her quickly and turned to leave.
She’d waited for him to disappear through the gate that shielded the courtyard to suck in a long, shuddering breath.
He didn’t need to know how terrified she was, how strong her urge to cling to him, to beg him not to go.
She’d realized then that she would have been willing to let go of her obsession with killing Malcolm if it meant Damian would be safe, if it meant their baby would be safe.
But those were two things that would never be true as long as Malcolm was alive in the world. She would always be looking over her shoulder, always be worried that Malcolm would step out of some dark alley and kill Damian, that she would go to the baby’s crib to find him or her gone.
No, Malcolm had to die.
It was inconvenient and terrifying, but true.
She wished she could have gone with Damian. At least then she would have been doing something. But that was impossible. She’d known it even as she’d made her exit from the hospital.
She could push her way onto the plane, could convince Damian to let her travel with him to Thailand, but leaving the gated house and going with him into the city where a criminal element might be waiting to gun them both down — to say nothing of the danger of Malcolm — was too much to ask.
And the truth was, it wasn’t even something she wanted to do now. A switch had flipped in her after she’d told Damian about the pregnancy. The baby had been made more real by his knowledge of it, by the beating heart they’d both witnessed on the ultrasound, the grainy image of their child in the picture.
She owed it to their baby to take care of herself, to stay safe so it could be born healthy and with every advantage.
She owed it to Damian, too.
She’d considered using it as a bargaining chip, trading his permission to stay on the plane with her willingness to stay behind once they got to Thailand, letting him know a compromise was waiting for him if he agreed.
But she’d wanted to show him he could trust her, that she would meet him halfway not because she had to in order to get her way, but because she understood that was part of the deal.
Seeing the relief in his eyes when she’d told him she was staying behind was worth the agony of waiting for his safe return.
This compromise thing was scary, but she would learn.
They both would.
She sighed and sank deeper into the lounge chair by the pool. Somewhere beyond the stone walls, the small man with hard eyes named Sarut patrolled the perimeter of the property.
She was safe, and she knew that had given Damian comfort when he’d left her.
It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.
She settled in to wait.
Thirty-Eight
Damian parked the motorcycle he’d found in the garage around the corner from Lucky Bar and paid a guy on the street a hundred U.S. dollars to watch it, promising him a hundred more when he got back. It didn’t mean the bike would still be there, but if he made it out of this alive, replacing Locke’s motorcycle would be a small price to pay.
He’d given strict instructions to Sarut not to leave Aria alone under any circumstance. Damian had also given him instructions for getting Aria out of Thailand if he didn’t return alive, telling him to get Aria to the charter terminal in Chiang Mai immediately and to see her on the Cavallo jet himself.
Then he’d headed into the city on the motorcycle.
He considered making a trip around the block before entering the bar, but if it was a Thai Mob stronghold he didn’t want to do anything to alert Juntasa’s men of his presence.
Damian wasn’t expecting a warm welcome.
The city was beautiful at night: lights strung across the trees in outdoor restaurants, motorbikes and scooters whizzing past, the smell of cooking fish and frying oil making his stomach grumble in spite of the dinner he’d just eaten with Aria.
He wished that they were here for some other reason — any other reason. He wanted to hold Aria’s hand as they walked the streets, stopping to perch on chairs in the outdoor markets like any other tourists.
Maybe someday.
He navigated through the throng of pedestrian traffic with his head down and entered a narrow street paved with stone. Lucky Bar was at the end, across from another establishment called The Yellow Bar.
Some of the bars and restaurants on the street had outdoor tables and chairs, and Damian maneuvered around them as he made his way to the end of the street.
The crowd thinned as he got closer to Lucky Bar, and he wondered if the locals knew it was controlled by Juntasa’s men or if everyone in the vicinity was picking up on some kind of vibration that screamed DANGER.
Unlike some of the bars he’d passed that were open to the street without a door to mark their entrance, Lucky Bar was fronted with a dull red door.
He hesitated only a moment before pushing his way inside.
The place was small and narrow. A room at the front led into a narrow walkway next to the bar. Beyond it, he could make out a slightly bigger and darker room, two pool tables in the center, their green felt like a flag planted in the sea of people blocking his view.
He took a moment to look around, scanning the crowd for Juntasa or Gatti before he made his way past the bar to the back room.
He’d reached the end of the bar when he spotted Gatti sitting at a table, a bottle of beer in his hand, a young T
hai man across the table from him.
Then he saw Krit Juntasa in the corner, surrounded by men in leather jackets, smoke rising from their cigarettes as they surveyed Damian through watchful eyes.
Malcolm reached inside his jacket, but Damian walked past him, stopping in front of Juntasa’s table.
He half-expected a bullet to hit him in the back, but apparently even Malcolm Gatti wasn’t reckless enough to fire a weapon in Juntasa’s establishment without his permission.
Damian nodded at Juntasa, making sure to keep his hands visible as he spoke.
“Thank you for allowing me in your fine establishment,” Damian said, feeling like he was approaching a tribal chief. “I bring only respect and regards to your organization.”
Juntasa took a drag on his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray in front of him. “I know why you’ve come, Damian Cavallo.”
Damian nodded. “I seek only your blessing.”
It wasn’t entirely true. He would gun Malcolm down and take out as many of the other men as possible if that’s what it took to make sure Aria was safe even after his death.
But he didn’t want it to go down that way.
“Ours is a family business.” Juntasa’s English was impeccable, laced with a British accent that spoke of an overseas education. “All of the men at this table are my family.”
Was Juntasa making a point about Malcolm trying to buy his way in? A point about Malcolm’s disrespect?
“I understand family,” Damian said. “And loyalty.”
Juntasa studied him. Damian forced himself not to reach for his gun when Juntasa rose to his feet. He waved a hand at the men seated around the table and they all stood.
Half of the men started for the door, followed by Juntasa, who was then followed by the other half of his men. On their way past Malcolm’s table, one of the men reached into Gatti’s jacket and removed his weapon.
Damian watched as they made their way toward the front of the bar, Juntasa secreted between them like an ancient king.
It was only then that Damian realized how quiet the bar had become. Every single person had somehow left — even the bartender.
It was just him and Malcolm now, a strand of multicolored lights blinking into the empty rooms.
Malcolm remained with his back to Damian and took a drink from the bottle in front of him, emptying it and setting it back on the table.
Damian drew his weapon as Gatti stood to face him.
“The Thai value respect,” Damian said. “You might say it’s something we have in common.”
He waited for Gatti to reach for another weapon, to rush him in an attempt to knock him off his feet.
Instead an uncanny smile rose to his lips. He raised his arms at his sides, holding them out like he was the victim of an invisible crucifixion, closing his eyes.
Damian was transfixed as an expression that could only be described as peaceful settled onto Gatti’s features.
For a split second, Damian hesitated, the unexpected surrender throwing him. Then he saw Aria’s face in the hospital, heard the beating heart of their child.
He fired a round into Gatti’s forehead, watched as surprise lit his eyes in the second before his body dropped to the floor.
Damian quickly covered the distance between them. He wanted to tell Malcolm the bullet was for every time he’d disrespected Aria, for all the years he’d manipulated Primo, taking advantage of his mental illness for money and power. He wanted to tell him it was for his child, who deserved to grow up without the specter of someone like Malcolm hovering over his or her life.
But it was too late. Malcolm Gatti was already dead.
Thirty-Nine
Aria woke with a start, reaching for the gun she’d left on the table next to the lounge chair when she realized she’d heard the gate to the courtyard click shut.
Then Damian came into view and she was on her feet, rushing toward him, throwing her arms around his neck.
He slid his arms around her waist, pressed her against him.
He was back. He was alive.
She didn’t know how long they stood that way before she pulled away to look at his face.
“Is it done?” she asked him.
He nodded.
“And?” She wasn’t sure what more she wanted, but there was something else, something she couldn’t define.
“He died alone.”
She exhaled the breath she’d been holding since Damian had left earlier that day. Since Primo died. Since Malcom had walked into their lives.
“Good.” She held his face between her hands and kissed him. “Can we go home now?”
Forty
Damian held his breath as the ultrasound technician ran the wand over Aria’s slightly rounded lower abdomen. He didn’t care if the baby was a boy or a girl. He just wanted it to be okay. Wanted it to be given another clean bill of health after the trip to Thailand.
His worry was irrational — Aria had done nothing but fly in an airplane and wait at the house while he’d gone to kill Malcolm Gatti — but a clean bill of health for the baby was the final benediction Damian needed.
The technician turned a few knobs on the machine and it crackled to life.
“Let’s take a look,” she said.
Damian looked down at Aria and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It must not have been convincing, because Aria laughed a little.
“Lighten up, Cavallo. Everything’s fine.”
“Are we a football team now?” he asked, shaking his head. “You going to call me by my last name and slap my ass?”
Before she could answer, the ultrasound technician spoke.
“Well, if you want to start a football team, I’d say you’ve got a good start here with not one, but two new players.”
“Two?” Damian blinked trying to make sense of what she was saying.
She smiled, her eyes still on the screen. “Look,” she said, pointing to one of the orbs floating on the slightly yellow screen. ”There’s a head.”
It was clearly visible as a head this time, the machine transmitting three-dimensional images instead of the two-dimensional ones they’d gotten before.
“And here’s the other one,” she continued. “It’s playing peekaboo, hiding behind its twin.”
“Its twin?” Aria tried to sit up, then realized she still had gel on her belly.
The technician nodded. “I can’t tell the genders yet, but there are definitely two babies in here. Or two new members of your team, if you prefer to think of it that way.”
“They never said anything about twins,” Damian said.
He didn’t want to be a skeptic, but it seemed too good to be true.
“Sometimes they hide behind each other, especially early on,” she said. “We don’t always spot both babies until they get a little bigger.”
He tore his gaze away from the screen. Aria was looking up at him with a question in her eyes.
He bent to kiss her. “We’re going to have twins.”
“Are you happy?” she asked him.
He looked into her eyes. “I’m happy.”
He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her that he’d been nothing before her. That he’d been a shell of a man living a shell of a life.
That he hadn’t even been breathing.
The technician spoke before he could say anything.
“It’s a good thing you’re young,” she said with a smile. “You’re going to have two times the trouble!”
Damian bent down and pulled Aria into his arms.
Two times the life.
Two times the love.
His cup runneth over.
The End
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