My heart goes from meek stuttering to wild pounding. I see the TV on in the living area and immediately recognize the voice as Gio’s. Without a second thought, my feet carry me there.
Ling calls out, “Don’t go in there!” Then she adds a panicked, “Fuck. Don’t let her watch, Julius. It’s bad.”
My legs take me as far as the open doorway. The image on the television rocks me. I barely notice when Julius moves past me, remote in hand. I snarl, “Leave it on.”
“Ana, baby, you don’t want to see this. Let me take care of it,” he offers reasonably.
Without any heat, I return, “Shut up.”
Moving toward him, I take the remote out of his hand, and he lets me. I turn the volume up louder than is necessary, but I need it. I’m so afraid of missing even a single moment.
My eyes water at the brightness of the screen, but instead of retreating, I move closer.
I skip back to the very beginning of the video and watch the horror unfold.
Gio steps into the screen. “Is this thing on? Yes. Good. Okay.” With a sigh, he moves to sit down on the empty chair.
The chair next to my bound and bloodied brother.
Miguel sits tall, even though his breathing is labored and his brow is split open, raw to the bone. He can’t talk due to the rag tied around his gawking mouth. His eyes are duller than I have ever seen them. He can barely keep them open.
Gio shuffles around in the chair. “Okay, so I’m guessing by now, you know that word has spread.” His smile is mocking. “Congratulations to the happy couple.” He claps lightly then turns to my brother, mussing up his hair playfully. “This guy, huh? You have to love this guy. So much faith, so little brains.”
Gio stands then, beginning to pace, all signs of humor lost. Suddenly, he stops and faces the camera, arms wide before placing his hands on his hips. “What the fuck were you thinking, Alejandra?”
He blinks into the screen as if waiting for a response. “We had a good thing going, you, me, and Dino. You were good for us. I mean, you fought, but I know deep down you liked it. You didn’t make us work too hard for it. It was the same every time. You fought, you broke, and then you sat there, and you took it, like a good girl. You were quiet and meek and fucking pathetic.” He glares. “Exactly the way a woman should be.” Sitting by my brother, he shrugs. “So what happened? What changed?” He nods as if in understanding. “Okay, so you’re pregnant.” He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “So fucking what?” Leaning in, he sobers and places his fingers to his lips, before removing them and stating, “I need you to understand that this baby, this brat, is mine now. I claim it as my own, and I’m coming for you and it.” He smirks cruelly. “I need to take care of my family, after all. The boy will need his uncle.” He glances at my brother quickly before looking back at the camera, his eyes shuttered. “One of them, at least.”
He stands from his sitting position, reaches behind him and removes a large hunting knife, running his fingers gently against the sharp blade. “What did you think, that I’d let you go like nothing ever happened?” He rushes forward, stopping just before hitting the camera, his eyes blazing, and growls through gritted teeth, “You took away the only person who understood me. The only fucking person who got it. Got me.” He steps away and runs a calming hand through his short hair. “And look at who you left me with.” He throws me a what-the-fuck expression. “My baby brother, Luc? The fucking pansy? I’ll bet if you pull down his pants, you’ll find a fucking pussy where his cock should be. Mister No-Unnecessary-Violence. Mister Making-Love-Is-Dandy.” A look of disgust crosses him as he shakes his head. “You fucking bitch. I will gut you for this.”
He stills then blinks up into the camera as though he just got a better idea.
Gio takes his knife and stills. “You need to be punished, Alejandra, and since you’re not here, someone needs to fill in.”
When he moves toward my brother, I’m already sobbing. “No,” I whisper hoarsely, my body quaking as I cry. “Please don’t.”
But I know my pleas are pointless. This video is only showing me what has come to be. And in my heart, I know my brother is already dead.
Gio grips Miguel’s hair and pulls hard, getting down so they’re nose to nose. My brother winces as Gio snarls, “What are you doing talking to Falco?” He wrenches his head back harder. “You got no fucking business talking to a man like that, you fucking faggot.” In the ultimate act of insult, he releases him a moment, only to slap him across the face. “Tell me what you sent him, and I’ll let you go.”
Gio pulls down the makeshift gag and my brother’s lip curls, his response weak and breathy. “Fuck you, you sick fuck.”
Gio laughs harshly before head-butting him. As Miguel groans, Gio cricks his neck and gloats, “If I remember correctly, your sister said the same thing when I tied her to Dino’s bed and took her tight little asshole.” He grabs his crotch and shakes it lightly. “Oh yeah, she screamed all right, but you bet she liked that shit.”
At that, I hear rapid footsteps, and then something behind me shatters. Julius lets out an animalistic roar that jolts me, but not enough to look away.
The tears don’t stop as I watch Gio beat up my brother. When he plunges the knife into his chest, I let out a sobbing shriek and stumble back in the shock of what I’ve just witnessed. “No, no, no,” I cry, my entire body weak and shaking.
My eyes close in suppressed grief, but only for a moment.
At the sounds of my brother’s groan, I look at the screen and almost wish I hadn’t.
Gio, having pushed my brother’s chair to the ground, stabs him repeatedly in the stomach and chest with all his might, and I can only watch as my brother blinks sluggishly, wheezing out his last breaths.
I don’t cry anymore. I can’t. Emotion has left me. All that is left is hazy detachment.
I am numb.
I am cold.
Blood roars in my ears and I barely blink as Gio slices my brother from chest to stomach, laughing, and begins to remove his insides, disemboweling him. My brother trembles and shakes as blood drips from the corner of his mouth.
Before he finds peace, Miguel turns his face to the camera, his eyes closing in a tired darkness that will soon become permanent, and wheezes out a gurgling, “Ana… Kick… Scream… Fight.”
I find no comfort in knowing my brother died a proud man. Not when the empty vessel that carried him stares so openly at me, silently cursing me to the depths of hell.
Gio stands from his kneeling position over my brother and wipes off the blade onto his pants. “I didn’t want to do that, Alejandra.” He chuckles to himself. “Who am I kidding?” His bloodstained face grins. “Yes, I did. And I really enjoyed it. I’m fucking hard from it.”
My guts recoil at the realization it’s not his blood.
He moves to take a seat, stepping over my brother to get there. “Now, what did we learn today?” Resting his hands on his lap, he entwines his fingers and stares, unblinking, into the screen. “Newton said that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” He looks down at my brother’s body with raised brows then smiles. “I’m thinking he’s right.”
His face somber, he mutters calmly, “You take something from me, I take something from you.”
Gio stands and vows, “I’m coming for you, and you’d better be ready for me when I get there, baby.” He takes the camera into his hands. The screen shakes as he places it at eye level. “I was going to wait, but I think I’d better tell you the good news now.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “My father wants us tied together once more. He wants our families to try again. They wanted me to marry Veronica, but as it turns out, Luc wants her. Oh, I fought for what I want. You’re going to love this.” His smile darkens as he reveals quietly, toxic, “I get Rosa.”
The screen goes blank, and with it, my mind.
In the past five minutes, I’ve witnessed a madman’s rage, my brother’s death, and the promise of making my thirteen-year-old sister a constant victim o
f rape, abuse, and mental torture.
What was he thinking, that I was just going to sit by idly and let that happen?
Fuck no.
I decide right then and there.
I’m going to kill Gio.
I’m going to kill him myself.
An unexpected spell of courage blooms from deep within my gut. I will be ready for him when he comes.
My feet spin and I walk out of the room, shouting out, “Call Signor Falco. Call him right now. If my brother sent him something, it’s got to be important.”
Whatever it is, for my own sake, I pray it’s useful.
Bogdan Mihailović is a sentimental fuck. He is also third on my list of five.
Although Yugoslavia no longer exists, regardless of the fact that the breakup of the country happened back in ‘92, Mihailović still calls his crew The Yugo Boys. The Serbo-Amercian group is too chaotic to be called a firm, too organized to be called a mere gang.
They’re stuck somewhere in between. Have been since I met them.
I know a few Serbian men, and for the most part, they’re decent people, but this group of men… they are out of control. They do nothing in halves. Eating feasts every damn night, partying too hard and drinking too much. Overindulgence is a specialty of theirs.
Mihailović doesn’t know it yet, but The Yugo Boys are done. Their time has come to disband, and I don’t feel the least bit sorry for making that happen.
After taking down Neo Metaxas and the pinnacle shot that saved Black’s life, I had been given more freedom to do as I please. Not that I ever need permission.
I always was more an ask forgiveness than permission type of guy.
So when Ethan Black told me that I no longer needed to remain indoors so long as I wore sunglasses and clothes that covered my tattoos, I did what I’m sure was expected, and I laughed at him.
Had he learned nothing about me in our time in partnership?
He glared at me a whole minute before shaking his head and walking away, only to return a moment later and bark at me to decide on what I wanted for dinner.
I chose steak, and I requested it from a decent place too.
I expected a dispute and wound up surprised when Black cooled his jets and agreed. When he muttered something about wanting to chew on a nice, thick piece of meat, I bit my tongue. I mean, c’mon. He set that one up from a mile away. I really wanted to tell him that he couldn’t chew on mine but I wasn’t in the mood for a war of words with the guy who had a four-foot stick shoved up his ass.
The food arrived, and Black paid the delivery guy, moving the brown paper bags of dinner into the kitchen. We sat in silence, dishing up our own plates before sampling what was one of the best cuts of meat of my life. Either it was sincerely incredible, or it had been way too long since I had eaten a decent meal.
I was thinking a little from column A, a little from column B.
The scab on the apple of my cheek had itched almost constantly since my first session of laser tattoo removal. The skin specialist I spoke to told me that because the tattoo had been done so long ago and had already faded quite a bit that she was confident I wouldn’t need any more than five sessions, but she would judge how clean the area looked after four.
She advised me that after the session, the skin might swell or blister. I wasn’t too happy about that. She then said the area would likely scab, itch, and bleed. That kind of sucked. Then she reminded me to stay out of the sun, massage the area for ten minutes a day and drink plenty of water to stay hydrated. I was confused. They were treating me like I was going to have an amputation or some shit.
Luckily, I had only been subject to the scabbing and itching, nothing too serious. But still, I couldn’t shave and had already started to harbor a decent growth, which prickled. For the moment, I was irritated as hell.
As I lifted my hand to scratch at the area, Black coughed in warning. My hand fell back down to the table, causing my cutlery to clang loudly against my plate.
“It’s only for a little while,” he muttered unsympathetically.
My lip curled at his cool reasoning. “Gotta do this shit maybe five times over. Didn’t know it’d feel like this.” I sighed loudly, picking up my fork and jabbing a garlic green bean before shoving it into my mouth, then garbled, “I want to shave, dammit.”
Black’s lip twitched.
Motherfucker wanted a go at me. “What?”
He wheezed out a laugh, cutting his rare steak and stabbing a piece then using his fork to point at me. “You’re acting like a little bitch.”
I was dumbfounded.
Did this wrinkly ole ball sack know who the fuck he was dealing with?
I deserved respect.
At my stunned silence, he tipped his head back and laughed with glee. “Oh, I know you won’t like hearing it, but goddamn. You haven’t stopped complaining the entire time we’ve been here.” He got serious, tilting his head to the side, looking at me with pure frustration. “I have a wife. I have two sons and a daughter. Do you think I’d rather be here with your surly ass or home with them?” I didn’t answer, because if I did, I’d leave myself open to being called Captain Obvious. He went on, “You hear me finding fault with every damn thing?”
No. He wasn’t. But it wasn’t a fair comparison. “You get to see your wife and kids any time. My entire life depends on this next couple of months.” I held him with a stare. “You’ve had your family for a long time. A little time away from them can’t possibly hurt. Fuck, might even feel like a holiday to you.” I played with my food. “It ain’t the same thing.” I might’ve been sulking, but I didn’t care. “My woman mourned me. I got a son that doesn’t know his pops. He’s my world, and he doesn’t—” I stood fast, cutting myself off.
I was critically close to breaking something, and before that something became Black’s nose, I stood, carrying my almost empty plate to the sink. I dumped the rest of the food into the trash then rinsed my plate, using the running faucet to splash some cold water onto my face, careful to avoid my healing scab.
The breathing exercises I’d been taught came in handy at this very moment. I closed my eyes, inhaling deep and exhaling slowly, mentally counting out ten reps. Once I was through, my shoulders sagged in relief.
This was a means to an end. It wouldn’t last forever. I needed to calm my shit down.
But I didn’t want to calm my shit down. I wanted to brawl with a worthy opponent. I knew it would help nothing. Thing is, it was who I was. And I may not feel better after the sparring was over, but while it was happening, I was on cloud fucking nine.
I heard Black approach the sink and opened my mouth to blast sharp words at him like knives, but when I turned, the words turned to dust in my mouth.
My eyes remained glued to the spot at the center of the dining table.
Behind me, he placed his plate into the sink, pausing only a moment to lay a hand on my shoulder, squeezing firmly for a split second before heading up the stairs and into his bedroom on the first floor.
The door closed quietly and, without feeling much of anything, I moved toward the table, my bare feet padding along the cool tiled floor.
I moved to the chair I had occupied at dinnertime, reached over and snatched them up in my hand, not daring to look at them until I made it to the safety of my room, closing the door behind me and switching on the light.
The bed beckoned me to it, and I sat quietly, lifting the small bundle of photographs up to eye level.
I smiled down at the first candid photo.
AJ sitting in a shopping cart, looking decidedly shamefaced as he snuck a candy bar in with the other groceries. A young woman dressed in all black with her hair styled into a short black bob, black painted lips and smoky eyes mock glaring at my son, her hands on her hips.
I didn’t know the Goth chick, but she couldn’t have been any older than twenty-one.
The next photograph had my heart skipping a beat.
In the park, AJ playing with his trucks
as Lexi lies flat on her stomach on the plush grass. He rolls the trucks over Lexi’s jean clad bottom, using my baby’s spectacular ass as a mountain for his earthmovers to move across. It was a little thicker than I remembered, but not at all less tempting, maybe even more so. I brought the photo closer to my face and squinted, but Lexi’s smiling face was blurred. Disappointment flooded me.
Damn.
The next photo had my throat thickening.
Lexi, dressed in a white sundress, her long, wavy hair flowing around her as the wind carries it. She held herself, looking miserable as she leaned her back against the front of a white marble headstone, a single daisy tucked behind her ear.
My white marble headstone.
My everything, this woman.
The next image was taken the same day. Lexi leaning into the white marble, pressing her cheek to it, an expression of sheer longing worn on her beautiful face. The daisy now laid across what should be my eternal resting place.
Dangerously close to crying, I flipped to the next image and bit the inside of my cheek as I took in the image of my somber son placing a handful of chocolate buttons on top of that headstone.
And just like that, I crumbled.
The first of the tears fell, and my breathing hitched, echoing into the silence of the cold, sterile bedroom. The place where my heart should be ached uncontrollably. My chest heaving, I tried to take in a full breath as I clutched the photo in both hands, so hard that it wrinkled, and kissed the image of my son over and over again.
I needed to get home to him.
To them.
My purpose renewed, I reminded myself that everything I do, I do for the people I love.
Failure is not an option.
Two weeks, three days later…
Phoenix is hotter than I remember, even at night.
The black military-style convoy bounces, jolting all the occupants of the vehicle, as we travel the bumpy road into the desert.
This bust is going to be easier than the others, easy because Bogdan Mihailović was arrested this morning. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going to be without its work. My thinking is now that Mihailović is in lock-up, his shit is going to be tight. Tight, as in triple security. That’s if his crew aren’t already moving locations.