She returns gunfire, but her aim is much better than his. The shot hits Tony’s right shoulder, knocking the gun out of his hand. Agent Verduta rushes into the basement, kicking Tony’s gun away from him with her thick-soled boot. She proceeds to cuff him as he spits vile insults at her.
Agent Armstrong bounds down the steps toward me, eyes still watery, massive hands clutched around the gun pointed at my head.
I smile at him then turn my attention to Tony. “I’m not done with him,” I mutter through the pain as I sit up.
Once I’m standing, Armstrong glances at my gun on the floor, then back at me. He says something about bagging the gun as evidence, but I can’t hear over the roaring rush of blood whooshing through my ears. The pain in my chest disappears as my body floods with adrenaline once again.
“WHERE IS SHE?” I roar at Tony.
Verduta gently lays him on his back as his blood begins to pool on the dusty wooden floor. I rush further into the basement, but chubby Verduta surprises me with the reflexes of a cat. She draws her gun from her holster and points it at my head when I’m just a few feet away.
“Stay back!” she growls, not an ounce of fear in her eyes. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re assisting in this investigation. I will blow your fucking head off!”
We stare each other down for a moment. The air is completely still, charged with electricity. My muscles are wound so taut I can hardly breathe. I can sense Armstrong’s huge presence somewhere behind me. No doubt his gun is pointed at the back of my skull.
I grit my teeth, trying to temper the desperation. I need to find Rebecca. That was the whole fucking deal! If I gave them Tony, they’d let me question him. But I’m sure Verduta knew the moment Tony dropped the bomb that he’s my biological father, she couldn’t leave me alone with him in this basement.
She was right. If she hadn’t shot me, I was going to kill him. Even despite the deal I made with Geneva.
I offered to let Tony live if Geneva promised to keep what happened in that warehouse, and my true identity, a secret. Pregnant women are not easy to negotiate with, especially when you’ve just murdered the father of their child. But her silence in exchange for her father’s life was a small compromise to make.
And now that I know the truth about Tony Angelo’s identity, I’m sickened by another realization. By killing Nico, I killed my unborn nephew’s father. This thought only makes me want to kill Tony even more. If I don’t do something soon, I’ll explode with hatred.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?” I demand.
Tony coughs then lets out a weak cackle. “She’s dead.”
He continues to laugh. Verduta keeps her gun trained on my forehead as my fists clench at my sides.
“He’s full of shit, Savage,” Verduta tries to reassure me. “You know it and I know it. Don’t fall for this. Don’t do something you’ll regret. Think of Rebecca.”
“She’s suckin’ on seawater!” Tony cackles. “Bye-bye, Rebecca.”
Verduta can sense my patience waning as my adrenaline peaks. The lion in me is ready to pounce. Just when I’m certain she’s going to pull the trigger and blow my head off, she spins away from me and pistol-whips Tony.
He’s out.
She spins around and points her weapon at me again. “Don’t even fucking think about it. He can’t answer any more of your burning questions, so I suggest you get the fuck out of here.”
I shake my head, unable to believe this could have gone so fucking wrong.
“You said I could talk to him. That was the whole fucking deal!”
“It’s too late. Deal with it.”
Armstrong steps between Verduta and me, ready to tackle me if I make another move.
John is dead. Billy is dead. Bruno is probably dead. I’m not any closer to knowing where Rebecca is. And even if I do find her, I don’t know if she’s alive. And even if she’s alive, I’ll have to tell her that her father is dead.
Turning away from Verduta, I look at John, lying about eight feet away from Tony. I close my eyes as I take a step toward him and wait for someone to shoot.
Chapter 2
Neither Verduta or Armstrong discharge their weapons. I fall to my knees next to John, turning him onto his back so I can see his face.
His skin is pale from the loss of blood. Tony must have ambushed him from behind when he entered the basement. The gunshot entered at the base of John’s skull; there’s no exit wound. The bottom half of his jaw and his neck are covered in blood. His eyes are wide with shock.
I slam his eyelids shut, closing my eyes. Rebecca’s face materializes through the red cast on the backs of my eyelids. I clench my jaw as I take deep breaths.
“Sorry, John. I fucked up. But I won’t let you down again.”
My mind draws back to a hot summer day in Bensonhurst when I was seventeen. I’d been hustling for John for two months. He didn’t want me involved in any of his business. He promised my mom he’d never let me do anything illegal. But I was a persistent little shit.
Jerry Mainella and I entered the shop through the rear entrance, as usual, heading straight through the kitchen and into the dining area. The first booth on the left was John’s booth. And, as usual, he was sitting there with Frank and Tony, eating antipasti and sipping Peroni while John sipped limonata.
“Come. Sit,” John ordered, scooting over and nodding toward the empty spot on his right.
I took a seat next to him as Jerry pulled up a chair from a neighboring table.
“We were just discussing how you boys are gonna stop hustling when school starts.”
I looked at John, ready to protest this decision, but the stern look on his face told me I’d get nowhere with him on this subject. His mind was made up.
“I can still work weekends. You don’t gotta pay me,” I insisted, grabbing a bocconcini off the tray and popping it in my mouth.
He laughed at this suggestion, but I was dead serious. It wasn’t the extra pocket money that made me want to work for John. It was the power.
When people knew you work for John Veneto, they treated you differently. Walk into a room and people fell all over themselves trying to accommodate you. At school, even the teachers treated me differently. I cut class two days in a row and never got detention. Being known as one of John’s soldiers was a rush you couldn’t put a price on.
“Look at this kid,” John said, putting his arm around my shoulders and giving me a good shake. “He don’t wanna get paid. He does it for the love.”
Just as he said this, Rebecca walked in the front door of the restaurant, heading straight for our booth. John continued to brag to Tony and Frank about what a good kid I was and I tried not to look too pleased with myself. Jerry sometimes got jealous and made fun of me, calling me “Johnny’s pet.”
But I didn’t know what Jerry was thinking or doing right then because all I could see was Rebecca. Every step she took, her silky brown hair bounced on her bare shoulders. She was wearing a blue tube top and tiny cutoff jean shorts. Her pink lip gloss made her mouth glimmer in the dull restaurant lighting. Everything about her shined. She was beautiful.
Lowering my head, I stared at the surface of the wooden table to keep from looking at her again.
Leaning in, John whispered in my ear, “Don’t get any crazy ideas. She’s too young for you.” I swallowed hard, nodding my head. He laughed as he squeezed my shoulder. “Good things come to those who wait…. They also get to keep their legs.”
This made me laugh, giving me the courage to look up as Rebecca arrived at our table. Jerry looked away, the same way I did just moments before. Then she smiled at me.
That’s all it took. One dazzling smile. And right there I made a promise to myself: I’d wait for Rebecca. As long as it took.
I open my eyes to find someone standing over John and me. A crime scene tech. He’s waiting for me to move so he can collect his evidence. Then the coroner can come in, bag John up, and take him away. The pain in my chest returns, but this ache
has nothing to do with the gunshot.
I haven’t made many promises in my life. I try not to make promises I may not deliver on. But I know I’ll find Rebecca. And when I do, I’ll keep the promise I made to John when I asked for her hand in marriage. I promised him I’d keep her safe for at least two years before I marry her.
“I’ll wait at least two years,” I whisper to John. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
Chapter 3
Knox
The medic won’t let me leave unless I allow her to bandage my ribs. I try insisting that I’m fine. I’ve broken more ribs than a crash test dummy. But she’s not impressed with this information. I don’t bother telling her about the whiplash from the car crash. Last thing I need is this chick trying to put a neck-brace on me.
I sit on the gurney with my shirt off as she wraps the adhesive bandage across my chest, under my left arm and over my right shoulder. All I can think of as her fingers whisper over my skin is Rebecca. I stare at the flashing lights on top of the ambulance next to us. Anything not to look at her as she touches me. Finally, she finishes bandaging me up and I hop off the gurney and mutter my thanks as I walk away.
Stopping by Verduta and Armstrong’s car, I update them on my plans. Verduta still looks annoyed. The woman shoots me in the chest and she has the nerve to be annoyed with me. If that rat bastard Tony would have given up Rebecca’s location, I wouldn’t have charged her in the basement. Not that I thought Tony would just give up the information. But I expected to have more time to get it out of him.
“I’m flying out in twenty. I need to tell Marie myself.”
Armstrong nods his head and Verduta shrugs. “Not like we can stop you, right?”
“You’re a fast learner, Karen.”
She winces at the use of her first name. “Don’t ever call me Karen again.”
I slap the hood of the blue Crown Victoria. “As long as you all don’t send any units to Marie’s until morning. It’ll be past midnight by the time I get there to break the news. She needs some time to process everything and get some rest. That’s all I’m asking.”
Verduta heaves a long sigh and shakes her head. “Eight a.m. tomorrow. She better be ready to talk. We still have two missing persons on our hands.” She glances around at the flurry of cops, detectives, and medics. “And don’t go trying to find them on your own. That’s our job, remember?”
I smile and nod because I know that last line was just for show. Verduta knows if there’s anyone who’ll find Rebecca, it’s me. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. But first I have to tell Marie her husband is dead.
Shortly after finding out Bruno was transported to the hospital, just barely holding on, the helicopter arrives in a large field behind the farmhouse. I keep my chin down as I approach the chopper; then I pull myself in and breathe a sigh of relief. August is sitting there, his head in his hands as he leans forward. The door is sealed, shutting out much of the loud noise from the rotor blades.
“Relax,” I say, taking a seat next to him. “That was excellent timing on the FBI tip.”
I was going to kill August after he confessed his love for Rebecca to me a few days ago. Instead, I decided I could make August’s confused feelings work to my advantage. Besides, I didn’t think killing August would win me any favors with Rebecca. It may have even turned August into a martyr in her eyes, and I couldn’t have that.
August finally sits up and glances at me as he leans back. “They wanted to know why I’m working with you.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them what you told me to say: I can’t stand by and watch while you fuck this up. Someone has to make sure Rebecca’s found.”
I let out a hearty laugh and August smiles. “You little albino cocksucker. You always know what to say to bust my gut.”
His smile disappears. “What if you don’t find her?”
“I’ll find her.”
“You have to at least consider the possibility. What are you going to tell—”
“I’ll find her!”
He turns away to look down at the city lights as we fly over Claremont. I take a deep breath to calm myself before I throw him out of the fucking helicopter. Then I lean back and shake my head.
Ten years. I’ve spent the last ten years modeling my life into a fishing net built to catch one big fish. Making myself into someone—the most trusted someone in the world—who could get a low-life criminal like Tony out of the country to safety. I staked everything I had on my ability to lure in Tony so I could show him as much mercy as he showed my mother. I finally have him where I want him, and what do I do? I throw away the last ten years for a woman.
Not even for a woman, because Rebecca’s not sitting next to me right now. I threw away my ten-year vendetta for the mere chance of seeing Rebecca again.
Losing a loved one will make you do crazy things. But falling in love with someone will make you completely insane.
“Your uncle is being transported to Connecticut tomorrow.”
August turns to me, his blond eyebrow cocked in disbelief. “Is this another lie? Am I going to have to kill my mother or rip out my own beating heart and hand it over first? What’s the catch?”
I shake my head at his grandeur. “There no fucking catch. I said I’d bring your crook of an uncle back into the country if you did this for me, and that’s exactly what I did. I’m a man of my word.”
He nods as he looks out the window again. “Why does it still feel like I lost?”
“Because you’re a cheating piece of shit, just like your Uncle Stewart. You never should have taken that girl up to your apartment, August.” I smile as he clenches his fist, but he doesn’t look at me. “I’ve been waiting for Rebecca for ten years. This was never going to be a fair fight.”
The helicopter touches down on the rooftop of Knox Security a quarter to midnight. I look at August; he looks scared as a teenage girl in a men’s locker room.
“Buck up, August. It’s time for phase two.”
“What’s phase two?”
“Phase two is where I bring Rebecca home and you look for a new girlfriend.”
Chapter 4
Knox
The car pulls up to the two-story house on the corner of 80th Street and 19th Avenue and my gut clenches inside me. There aren’t many things that make me nervous, but knocking on Marie’s door at a quarter past midnight makes me feel like a fucking juvenile delinquent.
For some reason, I’m not at all surprised when Marie answers the door within minutes, as if she were sitting in the kitchen waiting for someone to knock on her door. She takes one look at my shirt, stained with Bruno and John’s blood, and the tears come fast.
I catch her in my arms before she can collapse. Holding her tightly against me, I can’t help but think of my mother. She would also be devastated to learn of John’s death. At least that’s one less heart I’ll have to break tonight.
Maintaining my hold on her, I close the front door and lead her into the dimly lit living room. I sit her down on the brown leather sofa where John probably used to cheer on the Yankees. I squat down in front of her so my bloody clothes don’t soil her furniture, then I grab her hand.
“I’m sorry, Marie. I tried to protect him, but you know John. He likes to do stuff on his own. He doesn’t take orders from anyone.”
She stares at her lap where my hand envelops hers. The tears stream down her face as she silently contemplates this news. Finally, she squeezes my hand and looks up at me.
“I’ve imagined this day a million times, but I never imagined you’d be the one holding my hand.” She wipes her cheeks and takes a deep breath. “I don’t think either of us will be sleeping tonight. Come have an espresso with me. I want to hear all your best stories about John.”
I sit at the breakfast table in her pristine white kitchen while she prepares us both an espresso. By the time she arrives at the table with our drinks and takes a seat next to me, there’s not a trace of mo
isture around her eyes. Just like Rebecca when she came back into my life last month. Unwilling to crumble until I showed her how good it felt to let go.
“John took me to Henry’s chop shop when I was sixteen,” I begin, and she shakes her head in dismay. “Wait, it gets better.”
“I’m sure it does. Go on.”
Sipping my espresso, I take a moment to breathe in the warm earthy aroma, then I continue. “I had just gotten my driver’s license, and I was desperate for a car of my own. My ma couldn’t afford to get me a car, and she was always working.” I glance at her to see if she’s getting uncomfortable with me talking about my mom, but she just stares at the table. “Anyway, I was itching to start hustling for John.”
“I thought this story was gonna get better,” Marie teases me.
I chuckle, then I continue telling her the story of how John helped me get my first legit car—a ’67 Ford Mustang. I spent every night and every weekend in my garage working on that car for four months until it purred like a kitten. All he wanted in return was to be the first person I took for a ride in that baby.
This story gives Marie pause. She stares at the tiny espresso cup in her hands for a moment, digesting the story of this simple gesture of kindness. As if she’s trying to reconcile the John in my story with the brutal John Veneto we see portrayed on the news or the philandering husband she’s loved since she was a teenager.
“You never really know someone, you know?” She wears a weak smile as she slowly spins the espresso cup in her hands. “I thought I knew the kind of bastard he could be. But it wasn’t until he thought he was going to prison for the rest of his life that I finally began to see the John I fell in love with twenty-nine years ago. The kid who walked me home every day after school and waited until I was seventeen before he asked me out. Who the hell was I married to all these years? Because it wasn’t that kid, and it sure as hell wasn’t the man who got you your first car.”