by A. M. Geever
“Get up.”
“What?”
“Get. Up.”
Dominic scrambled to his feet. He swayed a little, but given how he smelled, Mario was surprised he could stand upright. Mario gripped his brother’s arm with one hand and shoved the Sig into his side.
“We’re walking back to your car. You’ll get in the passenger seat. I’ll drive.”
“Where are we going?”
Mario gave him a shove. “Shut up.”
Mario’s mind raced as they walked down the alley, spinning out scenarios. The safest thing to do would be to kidnap Dominic, take his car, and leave, but that wasn’t what he was going to do.
He was going home, to get his family.
30
The twin beacons of the sports car’s headlights cut into the dark mouth of the alley, door flung wide and chime ringing. Mario pressed the barrel of the Sig into Dominic’s ribs. When he shied away, he stumbled. Mario jerked him close, realizing that Dominic was far more drunk than he’d realized.
“You aren’t really—”
“Shut up,” Mario growled. “When we get to the car, you’re going to open the passenger door and get in. I don’t want to shoot you, Dom,” he said, his voice getting tight. “But if comes down to you or me, I will.”
He saw Dominic’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat. They reached the car, and Dominic reached for the handle. Mario kept the Sig against Dominic’s body, standing clear enough that his brother couldn’t shove him off using the door. Dominic’s feet tangled, and he practically fell into the car.
“Mario,” his brother began.
Mario leaned in close, cocked his arm back at the elbow, and pistol-whipped Dominic on the temple. He collapsed against the seat with a groan. Mario jabbed him, to make sure he wasn’t just dazed. He glanced around the car’s interior but didn’t see anything he could tie his hands with. He’d have to chance it.
He straightened up, shut the door, and walked around the car to get inside. He turned the ignition and the engine roared to life. He shifted into first, and the car leaped forward, the powerful engine catching Mario by surprise. He sped down the block, turning right onto Bryant, then looping back around it until he reached Webster. Then he worked his way to home, turning at almost every block to avoid taking a direct path.
Halfway down Santa Rita, before the intersection with Cowper, he pulled to the side of the road and turned it off. He checked Dominic—still out. He pulled the keys from the ignition and hurried to the trunk, hoping Dominic had some spare clothes there. He needed to bullshit his way past security at the gate, and it would be a lot easier if he didn’t look like he’d spent the night in his clothes and been hit by a car. He sighed with relief when the trunk opened, revealing a dark suit and white shirt. He snatched them from the trunk and slammed it shut, then hurriedly changed into the suit and jacket. No tie, but he couldn’t worry about that now. He wished he had an earpiece, but he couldn’t do anything about that, either.
At the corner he turned left onto Cowper. He could see the lights of the entrance gates to his home ahead. Nothing that would be considered garish, but enough to signify that there was something important about the address. Mario took a few deep breaths, checking his face in the visor mirror again and smoothing back his hair with shaking hands. His back was beginning to throb, and his shoulder ached. He moved the visor to the top of his car door window and flipped it down. He hoped the position wouldn’t seem too weird at night, but he needed to shield his face. He offered up a silent prayer as the sports car glided to a halt at the security booth.
The guard looked up, then opened the window.
“Mr. Santorello?”
Mario didn’t lean forward, trying to make the most of the lowered visor.
“Nah, he’s out cold. I’m surprised you can’t smell the gin.”
The guard squinted, lowering his head to look past Mario. Because of the partially lowered visor, the man had to hunch down lower than he’d normally need to. Sweat popped out on Mario’s forehead, the slight breeze cooling his brow, but he was so anxious he felt as hot as a blast furnace.
“He’s been hitting it pretty hard lately, hasn’t he?”
Mario chuckled, as if this was not news to him. “You’re not kidding.”
He shifted his weight, so he was leaning a little more toward Dominic. He looked at him and saw his eyelids flutter. He looked back at the guard, and realized the guard was out here on his own.
The guard said, “I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?”
“Why’s it just you out here?” Mario asked, ignoring the guard’s question, in a tone that implied the man was falling down on the job. “There should be at least two people here.”
“There was a fire in the kitchen,” the guard said, his voice slightly defensive.
“A fire?”
“The lady of the house… Turned out to be nothing, but Jones and Allemany had to go up.”
The guard’s tone implied he didn’t think much of Emily. It was all Mario could do to not whimper at this new piece of information. He didn’t know how many guards were in the house, but he knew there were two more than normal. Not realizing he’d get an opportunity to come back tonight, he hadn’t thought to ask Emily.
Then he realized he was taking just a bit too long to answer, so he said, “Fucking hell… A pyro on top of being a head case?”
The guard chuckled. Dominic groaned again.
“Come on, man, he’s waking up,” Mario said. “He’s obnoxious when he’s loaded. You know he made a pass at Allemany the last time.”
“Really?” The guard sounded surprised, and like this was the best gossip he had heard in quite a while. “He never said…but I guess he wouldn’t. I can’t wait to yank his chain.”
Mario gave a thumbs-up, a surge of relief rushing through his body when the gate opened. He eased the car through and wound up the drive. Ahead, the house was partially lit, but looked quiet enough. Mario approached the garage, wondering if the car had an RFID chip that would open it automatically. A second later, both garage doors began to open—question answered. The third spot was empty. He pulled in. Dominic was groaning again, but still not awake.
He parked the car and climbed out, snugging the Sig more securely in his waistband. The faint whiff of biodiesel exhaust filled his nose. Quickly, he walked to the storage locker at the back of the garage and opened the nearest one. Inside were gardening supplies and tools—and a bag of pins and a clothesline. Mario grabbed the thin coil, its surface smooth from regular use. He tried the driver’s door of the Mercedes sedan parked in the middle spot, breathing a sigh of relief when it opened. He reached inside and popped the trunk. He opened the passenger door of the sports car; Dominic groaned and stirred. Quickly, he bound Dominic’s hands, then pulled his feet out and turned him.
“Oooh,” Dominic groaned.
“Come on, Dom,” Mario said. “On your feet.” He caught Dominic under his armpits and dragged him upright. “Christ, you’re heavy,” he grunted.
Mario wasn’t small at six feet, and was in good shape, but Dom had been bigger and stronger since they were teenagers. Dominic took a few stumbling steps while Mario pulled and dragged. When they got to the Mercedes, he pushed Dominic into the open trunk.
“Hey,” he protested, but it was feeble at best. Mario shoved his legs and feet inside.
He loosened and stripped Dominic’s tie, then stuffed it in his mouth. He looked for something to tie it in place. He didn’t have anything to cut the clothesline and he didn’t want to waste time looking for something to use. He stuck his hand in the suit coat pocket, and it closed around a bundle of silky material, a tie wound around itself.
He fastened the second tie around Dominic’s mouth, then eased the trunk shut. He checked his watch—10:02 p.m. He took a moment to think. The Mercedes was electric, so fuel wasn’t an issue, and it was big enough that everyone would fit. He had to find Emily, collect the kids, and evade an unknown number of guards. He ran back
through his and Emily’s conversation and realized she hadn’t said what time Father Walter’s execution was. They’d been in such a hurry that he hadn’t asked.
He reached for the Sig as he walked to the mudroom door. The backs of his thighs were throbbing from where the car had hit him. His breathing felt a little constricted between his shoulder blades. The mudroom’s door was in a direct line with the kitchen door, which was made of a single pane of glass framed by a wood sash. If he opened the mudroom door at the wrong time, he’d have a few seconds at most of being mistaken for Dominic.
Mario took a deep breath, grasped the doorknob in his sweaty hand, and twisted it. He eased the door open a few inches and peeked through. Even with the door shut, the acrid smell of burned grease hit him like his face had been shoved into a charcoal grill. The kitchen ceiling was covered in greasy, black soot. The stovetop was along the wall, covered in white powder from the fire extinguishers. The combination of the two covered the front of the oven, trailing across the floor almost to the mudroom door.
A tall fire extinguisher sat on the island behind Emily, who was cleaning the stove. Two burly men were in the kitchen with her. One stood at the island, his back to Mario while he wiped a counter. The other was on Emily’s far side, the long handle of a broom sticking up from his bent form. Mario eased into the mudroom. Emily looked up. Their eyes locked, hers going so wide she reminded Mario of an owl. Before Mario could do anything, she turned around, picked up the fire extinguisher in both hands, and swung. It connected with the head of the guard standing at the island with a sickening crack. The fire extinguisher hit the tile floor with a metallic clang, along with the muffled thump of the man she’d just brained.
The other guard dropped the broom as he bolted up, his speed incongruous with his size.
“What are you doing?” he yelled.
Emily stood by the island, chest heaving, as the other man rushed past her, half-knocking her over the countertop. Mario yanked the kitchen door open at the exact moment the guard saw him. The guard charged, reaching for his firearm.
Mario backed up into the mudroom. Before he could squeeze the trigger, the guard lurched forward and tripped. Mario jumped back to avoid being dragged down by the falling man. Behind him was Emily, her arms extended in front of her. Mario kicked the man, then slammed the Sig against the back of his head. The guard slumped, unmoving.
“What are you doing here?” Emily said, breathless.
Mario looked at her flushed face and wide eyes. She’d shoved the guy at his feet to the ground after cracking another guy in the head, hard enough that he might be dead. He was not acquainted with this Emily—at all.
“I’ll tell you later,” he said. “We’re leaving. Where are the kids? How many guards are here in the house?”
“The boys are still in the yard in their tent. Maureen got scared and she’s up in her room. There are three or four more guards around the house?” she said, her answer a question.
“What is it—three or four?”
“I don’t know, it’s always changing. Alan’s here too. He and Dominic are using the guest room on the same hall as Maureen’s room. I thought I heard Dominic’s car—”
“Get the boys,” Mario said, interrupting her. “I’ll get Maureen. You don’t need to worry about Dominic.”
Emily opened her mouth to speak, a question in her eyes, then thought better of it. She turned away, running to the French doors that opened onto the veranda. She flung them wide and disappeared.
Mario hurried through the kitchen, then skulked down the short hall, stopping short of the junction with the foyer. He crouched low, hoping to avoid attracting attention at eye level, and looked around the corner. The foyer was two stories, open to the second floor’s balcony hallway directly above him. Mario crept out. When he didn’t see anyone above, he darted across the foyer to the foot of the curved staircase. He looked up, and seeing no one, took the steps two at a time.
At the top of the stairs, he looked to make sure the hallway to the south side of the house was clear. Then he went the other direction, scanning for shadows and listening for footsteps on the hardwood floors. He crept past the guest suite that Dominic shared with Alan to the room beyond. He eased the door open and slipped inside, closing it softly behind him. The nightlight cast a cozy glow at Maureen’s bedside. His daughter was sprawled across the bed crosswise, blankets tangled around her legs. Her blond hair was in a braid, the tip of her thumb in the corner of her mouth.
She’d grown so much in the past nine months. She didn’t have the babyish look of the three-year-old he left behind. She was four now, and the transformation from toddler to young child was complete. He’d missed it entirely. Her legs were thin and longer, not chubby and short. Her face had traded the softness of toddler pudge for the less pronounced softness of a very young girl. Tears prickled the corners of Mario’s eyes. His daughter was more beautiful, more precious, than he’d remembered.
He knelt beside her bed, set the Sig on the nightstand, and shook her gently. Not even an eyelid flutter. Once Maureen really fell asleep, it was hard to wake her, which would be helpful right now. Nine months was a long time for a kid Maureen’s age. She might not recognize him.
“It’s Daddy, Maureen,” he said anyway. “I’ve come for you and Mom and the boys.”
She mumbled something, but it was in her sleep. Mario lifted her up and hoisted her onto his hip. She was heavier than he remembered, but the soft, warm breath on his neck, the sunshiny smell of her hair, was the same. He picked up the Sig again, crossed the room, and eased the door open. The hallway was still clear. Mario crept past the closed doors and emerged on the balcony. Emily waited at the bottom of the staircase, relief flooding her face when she saw him. She met him halfway.
“Let me take her,” she said.
As she reached for Maureen, a voice behind him said, “Dominic?”
Mario froze. The high-pitched, nasal voice grated on his ear. It was Alan, Dominic’s husband.
“Keep moving,” Mario said, finishing the transfer to Emily. They started down the stairs.
“Emily! Dominic!” Alan demanded. “What’s going on?”
Mario heard Alan on the stairs behind them. Emily reached the foot of the staircase and ran for the kitchen.
“Dominic!” Alan cried.
When Mario turned at the foot of the staircase to cross the foyer, he heard Alan gasp.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Where’s Dominic?”
Finally, Mario looked back at his brother-in-law. Alan’s tall, thin form rushed forward. His dark eyes flashed, and his Adam’s apple jiggled up and down so quickly it looked like a fishing bobber.
“I’m leaving with my family, Alan. Don’t get in my way.”
“Dominic!” Alan yelled. “Guards! Security! Help!”
Mario sprinted for the kitchen. He entered in time to see a hulk of a man dragging Emily back through the door from the garage into the mudroom.
“Let go!” Emily shouted.
Beyond her, Mario could hear Maureen crying and Michael and Anthony shouting. A hand closed around Mario’s wrist. He tried to shake it off but was turned back by the strong grip.
“Where’s Dominic?” Alan shouted, his beady brown eyes seeming to bore through Mario’s skull. “What have you done with him?”
Mario wrenched free of Alan’s grip and ran for Emily, now fully overpowered by the man.
“Let go of me!” Emily screamed, struggling against the guard’s firm hold around her waist. “Kids, get back in the car!”
Maureen started to wail. Mario charged, hitting the huge guard in the back. He barely seemed to notice, apart from whipping his free arm back and landing a glancing blow on Mario’s cheek. Mario staggered back, colliding with Alan.
“Where’s Dominic!” Alan screeched.
“Holy shit,” the guard said, taking in who Mario was. He touched his ear and began to speak. “Need immediate ba—”
Mario didn�
�t think—he didn’t have time to. He had to stop the guard before he said anything more. He didn’t register his wife, struggling in the man’s arms, or the tear-streaked faces of his children in the doorway beyond them, or the screeching demands of his brother-in-law behind him. His focus narrowed, everything beyond the threat of the guard with his hand to his ear graying out. He raised the Sig and fired. The gunshot sounded like a thunderclap as the man’s face exploded into a spray of red and pink.
The guard sagged and fell, almost pulling Emily down with him. Mario rushed to her, his ears ringing, suddenly aware that if he’d missed, he might have killed Emily. His knees felt weak at the thought. He caught Emily’s elbow as she twisted free of her dead captor.
“You okay?” he gasped, almost unable to catch his breath. When Emily nodded, he said, “Let’s go.”
Emily ran out the door ahead of him, scooping up Maureen. A cold ring of steel pressed against the back of Mario’s head. He froze, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening.
“Where’s Dominic?”
Alan…right, he thought. How the hell had he forgotten about Alan?
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” he said. “I just want my family.”
“You’re lying,” Alan snarled, jabbing the gun harder against Mario’s head. “You couldn’t do this without getting him out of the way! What have you done with him?”
He heard the car start, saw the glow of the taillights beyond the SUV that blocked his view of the Mercedes. He heard the safety of the gun that Alan held click, and realized that this might be it. He might not get out of this one. If that happened, where could his family go? Emily didn’t know about the safe house in Fremont; he hadn’t told her. Where could they go to ground long enough to reach safety?
“Drop your gun and kick it away,” Alan said, his voice angrier than Mario had ever heard before.
Slowly, Mario set the gun on the counter and pushed it away. “Dom’s in the Mercedes,” he said. Alan gasped. “We’ll let him go if you let us go.”
The pressure of the barrel against his head lightened for a split second. Mario almost tried to twist away but thought better of it.