“The garage?”
“Is evacuated as you requested. You can move in immediately, and I suggest you do as you are now trespassing.” He gave me a smarmy grin, and I scoffed at his last effort to display any power.
I stood, signalling the meeting was over. The relief was visible across the room as shoulders fell like a Mexican Wave from each man across the room.
“Pleasure doing business with you Lupe.”
“Let us both hope that neither of us has the pleasure again.”
“That’s the only thing that’s come out of your mouth that I agree with.” His mouth dropped open as I walked by him and to the door. I might have been twenty years his junior, but in the last four months since Tony’s death, I had aged and grew. I fucking helped murder two people, and I had just blackmailed one of the largest crime syndicates in the world to hand over the garage. I felt cocky and brash as hell, and I strode out of that office like a peacock in heat.
When I walked out of that car wash, I never looked back. I walked all the way to the garage, with each step feeling Tony’s chains slip off my ankles in loud clangs. Like a freed man I sucked in the air, it all felt more crisp, smelt fresher as if I was breathing it for the very first time.
I smashed through the iron door and right to my room.
Mine.
Someone else had been living there but I didn’t care, because as of that day I owned the fucking place, and I was going to make it my home.
Salvatore came over a few hours later. We quietly shared a beer, celebrating in our comfortable silence and considering what the future held.
We had time to figure that out. That night, that beer, it tasted sweeter than anything I had ever drank and the silence was filled with all the possibilities of everything that was to come. It filled me too, with hope. Maybe I was naïve, or maybe I was too young, but that night I took my first step to freedom.
Or so I thought.
When you plan a scorched earth strategy, there are two considerations: timing and the element of surprise.
In order to achieve those, I needed to be patient.
And so, I was.
A number of crucial things happened in that time and some others that are far less important, so I will only fill you in on the essentials.
The first, and perhaps most important, was that I became known. Word travelled fast of my new acquisitions.
Not just Hill Street and the garage, but Tony’s rumoured tapes were suddenly a very real reality, and suddenly I was on everyone’s radar. See, Tony led by fear but that was never my intention. I didn’t want to break the dogs—well not yet—I wanted to become their friend, gain their trust, and then destroy them.
Construction began on Hill Street a week after my acquiring the garage. Simultaneously, I began to tear down Tony’s throne and accidentally built myself an empire. I’m not talking about a castle or a fort which, in many ways, Hill Street became—a fortified palace where I would always be safe, a master of the keep hiding in the highest room in the tallest tower.
I had amassed an accidental and extremely loyal army, and all it took was telling them they owed me nothing and loyalty wasn’t something I wanted to buy. It was a lie of course. I needed them to worship me, to be prepared to die for me, and they were because I set them free and told them there were no strings attached. Thing was, they were too busy looking for strings when they should have been looking for a noose.
It started as a trickle. Men would visit me at the office, making casual conversation, probing as to my plans. Really what they wanted to know were my plans for them. I told them about Hill Street and the grand ideas I had, and they all offered to help. Of course they did—keep your enemies closer and what not. I was their enemy, one with a weapon so dangerous I could destroy them all.
I gained their trust by hiring their companies. I allowed Hill Street to be built on their greed and corruption while I laundered Tony’s money and shook their hands; while I got invited to their homes and sat at the dinner table with their now grown kids—with their hollow eyes and empty expressions. I spent months feeling sick to my stomach while I smiled in their faces, cultivating a relationship, building trust, baiting them like the feral dogs they were—a bowl of milk closer each day until they finally stepped inside.
The launch of Hill street was one of the largest events the city has seen in years. It was lavish, over the top, and exuberant in every way. Celebrities I didn’t recognize shook my hand and smiled as if they mattered. Any and all my new friends arrived with their wives pumped full of plastic and chemicals so they can look prettier and perkier. If you ask me, it was a freak show, a parade of ugliness that came from needles and doctor offices.
I greeted them all and endured their whispered come ons and too log handshakes that came with a wink or a bite of a lip behind their husband’s backs. I smiled politely and held back the sourness that rose in my throat.
The alcohol inundated their senses and the music lulled their tongues. If I was a man like Tony I would have walked away rich. Rich with information, rich with a hundred ways to blackmail and taint, rich with deviance. Instead, I gave them a space where soft flesh and hard alcohol made them feel safe, where a few perky nipples made their wallets and tongues loose. I allowed it; for a single night, I allowed them to feel safe, content, calm even. I allowed them to believe that all of Tony’s secrets were buried with him and I was a new brand of leader, one that would turn a blind eye and allow their misadventures without a cost.
But see, that’s where they were wrong. The minute their name was written in Tony’s book they were already indebted to me, to their children, and I was about to collect.
A few hours into the party I retreated into the hidden corridor and took my elevator to the Penthouse. I had never wanted to stay there, but it was necessary—at least for a short while. Keeping up appearances and such like.
I could hear the music from below, it vibrated through the entire building like a shudder.
I gazed at the crowd below as they spilt into the street like vomit. Ants running to their anthill, following a king that was about to slaughter them all.
I sipped at my whisky. It was getting warmer, the ice melting, turning the taste, diluting the alcohol and my senses. I threw it into the sink and grabbed a fresh tumbler and a new bottle. It was a gift from one of the men downstairs, a faceless ghost in the crowd. I think he thought I would accept it as payment for a transgression or two. I didn’t. I took the bottle and broke three of his fingers. The crunch was like ice against glass, a unique sound, pure and utterly satisfying.
He groveled, I forgave, and I kept the fucking whiskey.
I hoped the liquid fire would burn through my veins long enough to help me get through my task. I checked my watch again, it was nearing midnight. Problem was, when the clock struck twelve no one would turn into a pumpkin, and I would still be waiting. Waiting for the last of them to go home, unprepared, drunk, and unsuspecting.
I sucked in a long, deep breath, steeling myself, adding oxygen to the fire burning inside me, flaring the flames, and topped the rest of the alcohol into my mouth.
I took the emergency stairs two floors down and went into room 523. The boys were already waiting, sitting like sentinels, watching and preparing.
I found Salvatore leaning against the window and looking down into the world we had created.
“Is everything ready?”
“Are you?” He looked to me, his eyes set and serious.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ve been ready for this day for almost two years.”
He nodded then tipped his head to the thinning crowd, “They have no idea what’s coming.”
“That’s the idea,” my lips stretched across my face in thin line and my brow gathered, “Guess I better head back down stairs. Be seen…”
He nodded.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes, you will boss.”
I didn’t bother acknowledging, just turned my back on Salv
atore and headed back downstairs to the party.
The car glided along the bare highway, the lights too bright in the silence. I stank of booze and cheap perfume, and my sleeve bore the mark of lipstick from unwanted affection from women who should have kept their hands and mouths to themselves.
I stared out of the window, my blank eyes staring past my reflection and into the future.
I had sent teams all over the city that night and across the country. The scorched earth policy would be executed quickly—quietly and brutally.
But I wanted to be there for as many displays of violence as I could, for each retribution I could get to. Not because I had a blood lust or death wish, but because I wanted to see their faces as they were served what they deserved.
I was Troy.
I had built a giant building and those fuckers flocked to it in peace, completely unaware. They were fed, their thirst was quenched by endless alcohol. I made sure each and every one of them felt totally at ease as they headed to their homes. What those assholes didn’t know was what awaited them as they went to sleep that night.
Lucky for them, I was about to show them.
I picked Pete Monroe because I wanted to watch him suffer the most. I’ll be honest, the man was more crooked than a banker’s smile, but I didn’t care about his transgressions or indiscretions. I didn’t care that his greed surpassed his morals and that he made a living stealing and cheating. I didn’t give one fuck about all the women he messed around with behind his wife’s back.
The only thing that I cared about was that in order to achieve all his indiscretions, he needed Tony’s help. And Tony wanted payment.
See, if he had done all his business without the need to use Tony, he would have never seen my face, never known my name. But he did. The payment he offered was way too young, too pure, way too broken to ever heal. And I was about to ensure that he too would be a broken man. He was never going to recover from my visit.
Romeo turned off the headlights as we neared the long winding road to the farmhouse. He pulled onto the side road and parked the car. We were going to walk the rest of the way.
The air felt heavy, almost suffocating as it slid into my lungs and imploded in my chest with each breath. I could hear the other men breathing. It was like a singular heartbeat, shallow and uncertain. The men broke apart, slowly we rounded the property and there would be nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
My heart chugged in my chest when I walked right up to his front door. It was immaculate and white with a brass knocker, and I slammed it again and again until lights came on and Pete himself opened the door. He wore sleep on his face and a stretched greying singlet over blue boxers. His grey whiskers were already growing and his thinning hair gleamed in the porch light.
He squinted, “What the fu…” his words fell away as he recognised me. His breath stank of alcohol.
“May we come in?”
He rubbed his hands over his face, and he staggered a little as he stepped aside letting me walk inside.
“To what do I owe this late night visit?” His voice was scratched with sleep and slurry from alcohol. It was ok. He was about to sober up real quick.
“Where’s the rest of your family?”
At that he stuttered, “My family?”
“Where?”
“What are you doing here Gabriel?”
I nodded at Salvatore and the two other men. In a swift movement Salvatore kicked Pete’s legs from beneath him and he fell to the ground. A second later cold steel pressed against his temple.
“Where?”
“Up… up… upstairs,” he stuttered. “Sleeping.”
I turned to Romeo, “Go get them.”
“What’s this about Gabriel? I thought we were friends? Let’s talk about it.”
“Keep your mouth shut.”
“Gabriel, I don’t under…” Salvatore smashed the gun against his temple, and Pete swayed like a reed in the wind, then closed his mouth.
We made our way to the lounge area, our heavy boots thumping on the hardwood floor polished and shining against the glaring lights. Salvatore pushed Pete onto the floor. He knelt beside his lavish black, leather couch and hand carved coffee table; intricate designs marking the edges. Nothing in this room seemed accidental; from the ridiculous chandelier to the modern rugs, it all screamed money. A box filled with riches he had amassed on the back of his child.
We listened as feminine voices drifted from upstairs. They soon turned to cries and screams, and a few moments after that Romeo showed up dragging Pete’s wife and older son. They both struggled against him, fists swinging against his broad chest. He didn’t blink as he hauled them forwards. They froze when they saw us.
“Gabriel?” His wife’s surprise was amusing. She walked the rest of the way down on her own, her son following suit. “What’s going on?” A silk robe was wrapped around her too perfect body. Her perky tits on display though the slit. She was as opulent as the house, packed full of silicone and botox.
“Just sit down next to your son.” Salvatore answered for me.
She gasped as she saw her husband, a small trickle of blood oozed from behind his ear. “Pete? What’s going on?”
A hush fell across the room as a reedy girl that was on the cusp of being a teenager walked down the stairs, shadowed by Romeo. He didn’t touch her, as instructed. Her nightgown clung to her skeletal body and dark crescents bent below her sunken eyes.
She hesitated on the last stair, and her piercing gaze fell on the scene. I can’t imagine how it might have looked to her; five men clad in black, armed and surrounding her family, her bleeding father whimpering on his knees, her begrudged mother sitting on the couch with her son tucked under her arm huddling together.
She trembled as she took unsteady steps and stopped at the door, leaning against the frame, seemingly unafraid. I guess enduring Tony had been her worst nightmare, fear was an acquaintance she had parted with long ago.
“What’s going on?” She asked, her voice steady and sure, her eyes boring into mine.
“We’ve come to teach your father a lesson.”
At that she perked up, “Oh? what sort of lesson?”
“That every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and that being in debt will create a deficit that needs to be filled.”
“I’m not in debt to anyone! I’ve paid all my dues.” Pete shouted and Salvatore shut him up with a kick to the lower back. He crumpled, squealing. Salvatore and Romeo pulled him back up to his knees.
“But you are in debt Mr. Monroe, to your daughter here.”
He swung his gaze to her, his eyes burning with anger.
“What are you talking about?” He hissed through clenched teeth.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the photograph. The harrowed face of the girl that looked back at me scalded my very soul, it was about to do the same to her father.
I placed the photograph on the coffee table. The room fell silent, like every noise had been sucked out, as if we were suddenly encapsulated in a bubble that had frozen time itself. All eyes roamed the picture, the reactions came all at once.
Romeo swung his head away cursing. Salvatore clenched his jaw, the lines around his eyes tightening, the knuckles on his trigger hand whitening. The mother Shrieked and the son pushed away from her, his eyes growing wild as his head swung from his parents to his sister, “What the fuck is this?” He screamed. Pete’s eyes fell to the floor looking at nothing. The girl…she looked at the picture as if it wasn’t even there, like she was looking at something else. Someone else.
“See, Mr. Monroe, you are in debt to my conscious, to my very soul. To your daughter, who didn’t want to be used as payment for sick fucks like Tony.” At my words, his wife gasped, tears rolling down her eyes as she looked from her husband to her daughter. Her face transformed, I could see each muscle shift and change as comprehension set in. I bet in that last ten years she had questioned hundreds of times what had happened to her giggly five-yea
r-old girl, where the dancing disappeared to, where the smiles vanished to, where the songs and the life fell away.
She didn’t know.
She wouldn’t suffer. She would get to keep her fake tits and swollen lips.
“You fucker!” She screamed and leapt from the couch, her fists and palms smashing against her husband’s body. He took the beating like a rock in a stormy sea allowing the brutal waves to crash upon it.
She screamed as she smashed herself against him, the son joining in, feeding off her anger. He was not older than fifteen, but he was a farmer and his strong arms were used to hard labour. His shots were brutal.
We stood and watched, allowing them to feel, the hate, to take it all in. Shivering, the woman ran to her daughter who stepped out of her reach.
“Diana, why didn’t you tell me. All these years…” she cried, her body shivered, withering. She reached for the girl again and, again, she moved out of her reach.
“That’s enough.” I tipped my head to Romeo who pulled the boy away from his father, who lay bleeding in a puddle on the floor. His hands covered his head, blood leaking through his fingers. The boy fought, trying to pry himself away from Romeo’s grasp. He screamed and cursed as the bigger man held him.
“Calm down or I’ll have to put you down. I have work to do.”
The boy clenched his fists and sucked in breath, he steadied himself, then stilled. Romeo released him.
I looked to the mother and son, suddenly broken. In an instant they had transformed into new people. “I have work to do here, if you interfere, I will have to punish you too. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She whimpered a cry while the boy nodded, his eyes glazed with hatred as he looked at his father.
“Go upstairs and pack a bag. You will not have a home after tonight,” it came out as if I was telling them about the weather.
They both remained where they are.
“Go! Now!”
Broken Parts (A Dark Romance) (Parts of Me Book 3) Page 7