Don’t want to know my pops. I’ll do almost anything to avoid the subject of him.
I almost understood all of what he said. “Zep?”
He blinks at me. “Yeah.” He watches me carefully and speaks with just as much caution. “Your brother.”
What the fuck? I have a brother now?
How many other siblings were going to come out of the woodwork?
“You didn’t know.”
Clearly thrown, I grunt out, “Any others?”
He tips his head back and laughs, openly amused. “Not that I know of.”
“Good.”
And the asshole laughs again. “Had a feeling I’d have liked you. You and me,” he utters a semi-sober, “we’re alike some.”
“So, Mandy and Zep, huh?” I let out a long exhale, shaking my head. “Fuck me.”
Evander’s eyes smile. “You’d best call her Manda. I’m the only one she allows to call her Mandy. Thinks it comes off unprofessional with her work.” At my raised brows, he fills me in. “She’s a doctor, my clever girl, she is.”
A doctor? Shit. Smart girl, indeed. That explains why she looked over the autopsy report.
He walks around his desk, pulls open a drawer and pulls out a cigar, holding it up to me. Never was a cigar guy myself. I decline graciously, and he purses his lips, surprised. When he pulls out a blunt, a sly grin crosses his face, and he extends his arm to me. “Homegrown. My own make.”
When a man offers you a blunt, you don’t refuse. Doubly when he tells you the shit is his own.
I take it from him and run it under my nose, inhaling deeply.
The pungent green smells so good it makes my mouth water. I want it so damn bad, but grudgingly reach out to hand it back to him. I’m not here for pleasure.
Evander inclines his head in understanding. “Take it.”
The blunt is tucked away in my jacket pocket and, reluctantly, I lay out my plea. I run a hand over my mouth and blink down at that monstrous desk of his, choosing my words wisely. “I’m a proud man, MacDiarmid.”
Then, nothing. That’s all I got.
I don’t know where to go from there.
Straightening in his chair, his brow furrows and he leans over the table, looking me in the eye. He gets me. “What do you need?”
“Two of your men are in my way. Conti and Nikulin. I need them to go away.”
He sucks in a breath through his teeth, hissing. He looks torn a moment, before he utters, “And then what?”
“Then I get to go home.” Simple.
“So I give you two of my hardest hitters, lose some major business along the way”—his brow rises in question—“and what do I get in return?”
My lips thin. This is the tricky part.
I don’t want to bullshit this guy, so I don’t. “I have nothing to offer you.”
He stares at me a long moment before his lip twitches, a look of confusion marring his face. “Mighty fucking proposition you make, mate.”
I sit in silence, cradling my whiskey, running my thumb along the delicate crystal, knowing very well I’ve just made an ass of myself. And it doesn’t feel good. In fact, it fucking sucks.
Forever passes before he speaks again. “Listen, pal, I’m a married man. And sometimes that means doing things you really don’t want to do for the sake of your missus’ happiness.” Tipping his glass back, he downs the whiskey and places the tumbler on the table in front of him then glances at me. “If Mandy finds out you came to me and I turned you away, she’d have my balls.” He throws me a knowing look. “And I like my balls, Falco.”
“Okay,” I mutter, because something tells me he wants something from me.
“I’ll help ya,” he says with a firm nod. “But…” He pauses a moment. “…when you’re done with all this, you’re going to meet with Mandy, spend time with her, let her get you out of her system.” He stands, bringing over the decanter of whiskey and pouring another then topping up mine. “You’re going to act like she’s the best thing to ever come into your life, because, fuck me, she will be. You’re going to love her like a brother should. When she calls or texts you, you will make time to answer. She’s going to hug you, and you’re going to hug her back. When she kisses you hello and good-bye, you will give your cheek willingly, because it will make her happy, understand?”
Although this makes me extremely uncomfortable, I’m happy in knowing my sister is well taken care of with this man. “I understand.”
Just when the anxious part of me begins to relax, the door swings open, and a petite, curvy redhead in white satin pajamas shoots through it, sobbing hysterically.
Evander shoots up out of his chair and rushes over to her, wrapping his arms around her. “Mandy, sweetness, what’s happened?”
She has yet to open her eyes as she rushes out, “Dad got a call from Julius. He and his guys wasted the Gambino’s, because… ‘cause—” Her voice breaks. “Gio murdered Miguel.” Another bout of gut-wrenching sobs claw up her throat, and she keens, “Gio. He… he—” But she can’t speak past the jarring pants. Finally, she chokes out, “He cut her finger off, Vander.” Anger takes hold of her as she grips his shirt front and snarls out, “He fucking took Ana.”
Evander’s body stiffens, and I spot his fury in the clenching of his jaw.
This news does not please him.
I think I just found a way to help out. Speaking quietly, so as not to spook my sister, I look to Evander MacDiarmid and ask, “Need another set of hands?”
With her back to me, Manda turns rigid before turning slowly to glance at the audience she hadn’t expected. When she spots me, her eyes search my face before recognition lights in them. “Sweet Jesus.”
I force a smile, but can’t seem to make eye contact with the short woman. “Uh, hey.”
Evander nods. “I do, but we’ve got an issue. Julius is going to want to be there.”
Who cares? “So let him.”
Evander shakes his head. “Julius Carter, you prat. Your best man, the one who thinks you’re rotting away in a cemetery somewhere. The missing girl, Ana… she’s his wife.”
Julius… married? My Julius?
Fuck, I had no idea.
What the hell is he doing in the US? Last I checked, he was still living in Sydney, Australia. “Oh.”
Manda takes a step toward me, as Evander lets out a sarcastic, “Yeah, oh is right.”
She floats over to me, completely expressionless, and when she reaches me, looks up into my face, blinking away the tears that fell only moments ago. “Is it really you, Antonio?”
God, I fucking hate that name. My voice soft, I tell her, “People call me Twitch.”
“I know,” she mumbles in a haze, and her small, cold hand comes up to stroke my cheek. “I know.” Without warning, her lip quivers. “I’m sorry. I really want to be happy right now, but I can’t.” Her hand falls to her side, and she dips her chin, lightly pushing the crown of her head into my stomach, her body shaking with silent sobs, and she croaks out, “She’s my best friend.”
I look to Evander, who mimes a hug and jerks his chin to his wife. Without another moment’s thought, I lift my arms and hesitantly snake them around her tiny body. The second I do, I feel lighter, and in the corner of my eye, I see Evander nod in approval. I allow my little sister to cry into me a short while before I stroke her back and ask, “Where do we find them?”
Evander removes his cell phone from his pocket, curls his lip, and responds, “Like all good dogs, they answer when called.”
Well into the night, a few phone calls and threats later, Evander has the address of Gio Gambino’s private estate, the one he goes to do all matters of nasty shit. A plan is sprung, and MacDiarmid explains that it’s best to see what state Ana is in before he calls Julius to give him the address.
But this is Julius’s wife we’re talking about. And I can’t help but feel that my brother needs to know what’s what.
MacDiarmid, like so many others before him, will
eventually learn that I don’t follow the path laid out for me.
I leave a trail.
As I excuse myself to the bathroom down the hall, I remove MacDiarmid’s cell from my pocket, dial the number and wait.
It rings twice, before he answers a gruff, “What?”
I want to say so many things to him, yet part of me wants to hang up without saying a word. “Ana’s alive.”
Shuffling, then a rough, “Who is this?”
“She’s alive, bro. Gambino’s got a place on Canningvale. She’s there, and she’s waiting for you.” A quick pause. “The fuck you waiting for? Go get her.”
“Who the fu—” I cut him off when I hang up.
I sit on the closed lid of the toilet seat and run my hands down my face, knowing a storm is brewing, and I’m willingly about to step into the eye of it.
Sometimes I wonder about myself. I really do.
God, help me.
My palms are sweaty, head swimming, with my long hair pasted to my dampened back, resulting in an itch that causes more agitation than it should, knowing I’ll never be able to reach it with my hands tied.
Gio hasn’t offered me food in the days I’ve been here. I don’t know how many have passed, but when he ate in front of me this morning and my stomach rumbled loudly, he laughed to himself. “Not wasting food on a dead woman.”
And there it was.
He planned to torture me until my last breath.
My stomach turned violently at the thought. The place inside of my head, the safe spot I escaped to, my happy place, had grown darker and darker until no light shone and there was no longer happiness there.
I had won a battle by framing Dino, but Gio would win the war.
In the end, the satisfaction of small victories was short lived and growing more and more stale by the second. Starvation has left me weak of both body and mind. Torture has broken my spirit. And I’m ready to die.
Craving it, more accurately.
I silently wish I could see Julius one last time, feel his kiss on my lips as I passed onto a higher plane.
It would be the happiest ending for me.
But people like me don’t have their wishes come true. People like me die in the cool silence of the night, naked and alone, without a single soul looking for them.
People like me are dispensable.
We are nothing, gone in a wisp of smoke, carried away by a moonlight shadow.
My eyes are closed and my breathing labored, a large hand grips my chin harshly, lifting it up, higher than is comfortable. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t, and a memory of the beating Gio delivered only hours ago reminds me that my eyes are swollen almost completely shut. When something cold is pressed to my temple, my body breaks out into gooseflesh.
“Like that, do you?” I recognize the voice. I attempt to remove my chin from his hold, but he grips it tighter. “Calm down. I’m here to help you. Show a little appreciation.”
My lips cracked, I try to lick them, but my mouth is just as dry. My neck painfully stretched, I rasp out, “Kill me.”
I hear his smile. “I will, baby. Gambino’s out like a log, and I’m going to slit your pretty little throat, spill all your blood with a single gash.” He presses his lax lips to my cheek, and his breath warms me, as he whispers an apologetic, “I know I said I wouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I’m… I’m not normal. I love death, love watching it, love causing it. It’s just who I am.”
Right now, I don’t care what he is, if he’ll grant me this one kindness.
“Please,” I all but beg.
The hand at my chin begins to shake, and Maxim Nikulin nips my jaw. “I’m sorry.” His lusty voice trembles. “I need to do this. I need to.”
The tip of the cool blade is pressed to the side of my forehead, just above my temple. I don’t feel much of anything, just a dull pressure. A second passes, and the pain quickly follows. My mouth parts and I let out a low keening moan.
Maxim Nikulin shushes me. “It’ll be over soon, but you have to be quiet. Just a little longer.” His shaking hand makes a mess of my face. His quiet groan barely audible, he utters a clearly aroused, “Fuck yeah.” The sharp blade slices into my skin, past my temple, down my jawline and over my lips, ending at my chin.
He takes a moment to view his handiwork before sighing in satisfaction, returning the blade to rest at the place where my head meets neck with one hand, while pushing my chin up with the other.
“It’s almost over,” he promises, and breathing in deeply, I take in my last breath.
Lost inside my head, preparing for what is to come, I miss the beginning of the commotion. Loud male voices shout and a struggle ensues, with furniture scraping along the floor, breaking and cries of pain filling the air.
It doesn’t matter.
My decision made, my mind does me this one mercy, and I stop breathing.
Painful minutes pass and my lungs burn.
It figures that dying would take such a long time.
The ground below me is crumbling. The stars above me are falling, shattering on impact. The sea rages and I feel my ship capsizing, slowly sinking to the dark depths of the furious ocean.
But then an unfamiliar voice sounds into the darkness, a light guiding me home, and I’m being lowered to the cold ground. “Ana? Ana, fuck! Stay awake. Shit, wake up. Live, goddamn it!”
The voice sounds again, and although his voice is muffled as my consciousness fades to black, his words penetrate my frozen heart. “Live. Come on, girl, breathe. Do it.” He holds me tight, rocking my limp body, his pleading words whispered directly into my ear. “If you can’t do it for Julius, do it just to spite those motherfuckers.”
An inner struggle takes place, my mind fighting my body, and those words echo throughout my head for what seems like forever.
“Live, goddamn it!”
Then something strange happens.
“Come on, girl, breathe.”
Something comes down hard on my chest, again and again, until finally, my eyes shoot open. My mouth widens in a silent scream and my lungs open up.
“Do it to spite those motherfuckers.”
Lightning strikes.
And I breathe again.
Sneaking up on a sleeping Gio Gambino was satisfying. Evander and I approached with caution, expecting the unexpected, but the asshole was actually sleeping.
When I pistol-whipped him across the head, he woke with a start, scuffling about, pulling off the covers and yelling, “What the fuck?” When he finally sat up, Evander switched on the lights to reveal a bloody-faced and manic Gio Gambino, gripping his grazed forehead like a pouting child. Gio locked his eyes on Evander and boomed, “MacDiarmid, you don’t come into a guy’s house in the middle of the night, let alone creep around his room, you ill-mannered fuck!”
With my half mask covering most of my face, Gio Gambino wasn’t able to see my lip curl, but he heard my growl, and when he looked over at me, his anger abated slightly, realizing he was in a scrape. Getting a hold of himself, he calmly asked Evander, “What’s this about?”
I kept my place, close to the foot of his bed, pistol in hand, while Evander moved about the room, speaking as he went. “I’ve always known you were a bad seed. There was always something not quite right about you. I wasn’t the only person who felt it, but you, being a Gambino, well, no one really wanted to deal with the violent temper tantrums that would come from bringing it up with your father.” He stilled then turned to face him. “Something about you is simply wrong.” He came forward, closer to the bed. “And when I heard that Alejandra Castillo was missing, there was no way I thought you’d done it.” Evander looked to me with a cool smile. “I thought, ‘He wouldn’t be so stupid. Not a chance he’d taken her.’”
My voice came out slightly muffled from behind the mask. “But he did.”
Evander nodded once in confirmation. “But he did. Mutilated her, too.”
Gio shook his head in disbelief. “That’s why you’re h
ere? Because of her?” He laughed a short moment before his face contorted. He reached up and gripped his hair with both hands, pulling in absolute fury, before roaring, “What the fuck does everyone see in her?”
“Where is she?” I asked, but we all took it for the demand it was.
Gio closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly. “You have to understand, this is her fault. She caused this. She took my brother from me, and now she’s going to die for it.”
Evander frowned. “No, Gio. All she did was end the daily torture you and Dino conditioned her to take. Had I but known…” Evander’s words were quietly spoken. “Oh aye, it’s all come out now. No hiding from it. Your family has been completely wiped out for the disrespect you’ve caused. She didn’t do this, Gio. You did. If you need to lay blame on anyone, look in a mirror and you’ll find the man responsible.”
Gio shakes his head in disagreement, and I ask once again, firmer than the last, “Where is she?”
Gio’s eyes snap open. “You want her? Fine. Take her.” His lip curls in disgust. “Take her and get the fuck out of my house.” He smirks as if his words are some kind of personal joke. “She’s in the basement.” When neither of us moves, he blinks up at Evander. “Well? Take her and fuck off.”
From his pocket, Evander pulls out a pair of black leather gloves and puts them on then removes a pistol from inside his jacket. He asks me, “What do you do with a rabid dog?”
My response is simple. “Put it down.”
Evander inclines his head. “Sure, okay. But I’m not going to kill this one.” Gio’s eyes harden, and Evander grins. “No. I’m just going to muzzle it.” Then he lifts the gun and pulls the trigger, twice.
Gambino screams in agony as his kneecaps are blown to pieces.
Ignoring his yelps and cries, Evander and I hog-tie him like the pig he is.