Bound in Love

by Alexis Abbott

  “Dios mi̇́o, I just hate standing on the sidelines, knowing I can’t do anything to help. You know? It’s awful. I want to do more, but there’s nothing I can do,” she laments, frustrated.

  “You know, we don’t have to just go sit and wait like the guys tell us to,” I begin cautiously, not wanting to upset her further. “We don’t have to just watch while the men we love go charging half-cocked into battle. We can help.”

  “How? How the hell can we do anything?” she asks, looking at me sideways.

  “We refuse to sit on our hands and wait for everything to be okay. We join the ranks and we make it okay. We fight,” I suggest.

  “What are you saying?” she says, frowning at me.

  I take a deep breath.

  “We go back.”

  17

  Bruno

  “Be straight with me, Bruno,” says Giovanni, peering out the open door with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth while he loads his pistols. “Think they’ll take the bait?”

  “Have you seen any cops roll by in the past two hours?” I reply, my arms crossed as I watch with him.

  “Nah.”

  “There’s your answer. This is a challenge, and they’ve accepted it.”

  “Fuck me,” he says, flicking his cigarette out onto the street and flashing a half-grin at me, “I forgot how dramatic things could get with you around.”

  Bathing Beauty looks like it’s back in business. We’ve torn down all the boards from the windows, dusted off everything, gotten the power back on, and even turned some of the lights on. It’s late by now, and most of the other shops on the block have shut down. The fact that this place is a glowing beacon of light makes it look conspicuous already.

  When I said it was a challenge, I meant it. There aren’t many people tied to the mafia who don’t know about this place by now. First it was the place Serena, last of the De Laurentis mob royalty, was supposed to live out a quiet life, an old front turned legit. Then it became known as the beginning of the end for Lorenzo Abruzzi after he tried to get Serena to pay protection and I showed up. When I was in jail, the Cleaners didn’t forget about this place. Seeing it all but shut down must have been like a monument to their victory after they thought they killed me.

  I couldn’t have sent a stronger message if I’d thrown a glass of wine in Don Abruzzi’s face.

  Giovanni and I walk away from the windows and move back to the main floor of the shop, where we’ve got my own little army with us. Eleven men in total, not counting me. We’ve got a scout watching the roads for us to give us the heads up.

  Most of these men are low-ranking guys. Guys I’ve done jobs with, some of them who still can’t believe their eyes when they look at me walking and breathing, still alive. One of them even saw the car bomb go off.

  And they’re my people, as far as I’m concerned. A few of them have girlfriends of their own back home who don’t know whether they’re going to come home tonight. Some of them won’t, but it’ll get even worse if we don’t take a stand now. The bosses don’t care about that. They only care about their money.

  Me, I’m interested in protecting the neighborhood.

  My phone buzzes, and I put it to my ear.

  “Three cars on their way. Get ready.”

  “Good,” I grunt, and no sooner have I hung up the phone than I realize the whole room is looking at me, waiting for a word. I’m not one to give speeches.

  “Three tin cans full of dead men are rolling our way,” I announce, taking out my guns and casting a hard gaze over all of them. “They’re on their way to try to fill this place with bullet holes and make this neighborhood their own, and they’re not gonna stop until all of you are dead. But I just dragged my ass across five thousand miles of ocean with them on my heels, and believe me when I tell you they’re not half the hot shit they think they are.”

  A few of the men give resolute nods.

  “I know you all. Lucca, I still got the smell of your uncle’s barbecue in my jacket. Frankie, I’ve still got the scar from when we worked on our first car in the junkyard. Mario, you still owe me a beer, and hell is a dry county, so we’re not going down without it.”

  They laugh, and I glance over my shoulder as the sound of rolling tires on asphalt reaches my ear. I look back to all of them with a serious expression.

  “And I sure as hell didn’t come back from the goddamn dead to get shot up by these punks again. Showtime, men, let’s give ‘em hell!”

  Dressed in a dusty leather jacket, black shirt that won’t show blood as easily, dirty blue jeans, and black boots, I move behind an island counter in the middle of the shop, feeling like I’m holding the center in a battlefield. Some of the men are behind the checkout counter. Others are behind walls, crouching or standing, all toting guns and all ready for action.

  The door is open. It looks like an invitation, but I had something else in mind.

  With headlights off, the three black sedans roll into view, windows down, men packed into them. They roll up toward the building, and before one of them can even think to lean out and start taking shots, I take action.

  I pop up from hiding and fire a round straight into a tire of the front car.

  Immediately, it skids, taking the passengers by surprise, and the men take that as cue to start firing. We won’t be sitting ducks for this one.

  As bullet holes start appearing in the cars and ricocheting off, Cleaners start pouring out of the opposite doors and taking positions behind their cars. They know they can’t stay there for long, though. It’s only a matter of time before someone hits a gas tank, and while the police might be paid off to keep clear, an explosion like that won’t be one they can ignore.

  My men are good shots. As the Cleaners dart for cover, firing rounds into the shop and shattering the glass of the windows, Giovanni downs one of them with a shot to the throat while another of my men lands a clean shot through the heart of another.

  The bullet holes appearing in the shop tell me they’re packing some heavy heat. Still, the men are managing to hold them down, and they’re not about to gain ground on us anytime soon. The only question will be whether or not they’re able to make a push inward once—

  “Bruno!” Giovanni yells, interrupting my thoughts. I look over at him as I get back down to cover, and he points to the third car.

  It’s still moving. And it’s headed around to the back of the shop.

  “Are they trying to fucking flank us?” he shouts, and I waste no time in taking aim at the moving car. Its tires are shot to hell, but it’s still heading around. Whoever’s in there is determined to get the drop on us if it’s the last thing that car does.

  Two of my rounds fire into the backseat before a bullet grazes my forearm and I’m forced to withdraw, gritting my teeth.

  “You got one, maybe two,” Giovanni shouts, “let’s get some men back there!”

  “No!” I grunt in reply. “Give any ground here, and they’ll overwhelm us. I’ll handle this one myself. Cover me!”

  I don’t give Giovanni time to reply, but the men overheard me. They start concentrating fire to give me cover as I roll out from behind the counter. When I get back to my feet, both guns are out, and I unload into the other cars, watching men taking cover behind dumpsters as the cars take heavy hits.

  It looks like I’m firing wildly, but every shot is measured. I’ve gotten skilled at this over the years, and my exercise hasn’t failed me. I watch no less than three men go down before I force myself to focus on my objective again.

  I head to the back room.

  If the third car was heading around back, they’ll be coming in from the rear entrance. I have a man back there just in case, but he won’t be enough to handle a car full of men.

  When I appear in the back room, my guard looks at me with anticipation. “I heard shit going down out front, where do you want me?”

  “Up there with them,” I say, clapping him on the back. “I’ve got this.”

  “You su
re, Bruno?”

  “I’m always sure.”

  He nods and follows my orders, leaving me alone in the room. I know I have all of about ten seconds to prepare.

  That’s enough time to reload my guns.

  I can hear feet running outside, and my eyes dart around the room. I have no time for intricate traps. What I do have is a rack full of old cleaning and soap making supplies near the door. It’s not elegant, but it’ll do. I can push it onto whoever piles inside and at least get the element of surprise on my side. I pull it away from the wall and position it to face the door from the side.

  But before I can get it just the way I want it, the door gets yanked open, and I see the arms of a man holding a gun appear in the doorway from my angle.

  Fuck it.

  I simply raise my gun and blow his hands off at the wrist.

  Through the howl of pain, I shove a large jug of lye off the shelf and into the doorway just as bullets start peppering it.

  The caustic liquid pours out, and I hear a few yelps of pain as the men scramble back, giving me just enough of an in to make my move.

  I appear in the doorway the next moment, and three shots later, the two gunmen and the one on the ground slump against the wall of the alley behind the store, blood running from shots to the head.

  Three dead here, one killed in the car…

  I’m missing one.

  And that instinct tells me to dive half a second before the fifth man springs out of hiding behind a dumpster to fire at me as he rolls, just as I did less than a minute ago.

  He’s tall, heavily built, and he knows how to move. This is no ordinary mafia soldier.

  When I get back to my feet, he’s doing the same, but we’re at too close range to shoot at each other. He tries to whip me across the head with the butt of his weapon, but I drop my guns and catch him by the wrist and deliver a hard hit to his stomach.

  He’s hard as a rock, and he brings his head crashing down to mine. It stuns me, to my surprise, but I squeeze his wrist until he drops the gun with a grunt of pain.

  He tries to bring his head down to hit mine again, but this time, I release him and back up, kicking his gun across the alley. We freeze for a moment, staring at one another with bloodlust in our eyes, arms out and ready.

  Then his face twists into a sneer.

  “Never thought I’d get to look you in the eyes, Bruno Lomaglio,” he says.

  “I look everyone I kill in the eyes,” I say as I wipe a trickle of blood away from my forehead. “Have we met?”

  “Nah,” he says with a casual laugh, “but you made me a rich man. Remember that raid on the junkyard fight all those years ago that was supposed to get your ass killed?” He winks at me. “I was the Costa insider that helped set you up. The Abruzzi family pays a hell of a lot better, you know. Not that it matters now.”

  My jaw clenches.

  “So, when I kill you, it’ll be for each of the men who died that night.” I lunge at him, and he rolls out of the way and catches me under my ribs. I grunt, but I strike back with my elbow and catch him on the chin.

  He stumbles back, then lunges at me with both hands, and we grapple. He thrusts me against the wall behind us, and he tries to land a punch on my face, but I bring my whole head forward to connect my forehead to his nose. He howls in pain and staggers back, and I take my chance.

  I rush forward and catch him around the waist, bringing him to the ground with a hard thump. But this guy’s more nimble than he looks. I try to get up on him to start pounding his face into the ground, but he twists and throws a punch right at my nose that I have to roll off him to dodge. Both of us on the ground, he swings his leg around to bring it down like an axe on me, but I catch it, holding up an immense amount of force that went into the blow, gritting my teeth.

  I twist his leg until he howls, but he lifts his other leg and lands a blow in my chest that pushes me back and off him.

  That’s when I feel something cool against my hand. It’s of the guns that I dropped when we started this fistfight.

  Moving as fast as I can force my body to, I snatch the pistol up and get to my feet, pointing the gun directly at my opponent…

  ...and I find myself looking straight back at the barrel of my other gun, held in his hands, trained on me.

  Both of us freeze. He’s on the ground, aiming up at me, and I’m not budging an inch from him. We’re locked in a standoff.

  There’s no sound in the alleyway besides our heavy panting and the ringing in our ears.

  And at the same time, both of us realize why that’s odd.

  “The fighting’s over out front,” he growls.

  “Sure is,” I grunt back, my finger on the trigger. “That means this standoff will be pointless in a few seconds.”

  “Yeah,” he says, eyes narrowing and a smirk growing on his face. “That leaves us one question: which side won?”

  On cue, a voice barks from the other end of the alley behind me.

  “Drop the gun, asshole!”

  My muscles tense for a moment.

  Then a stupid grin crosses my face while his vanishes. Slowly, he sets his gun on the ground and raises his hands as footsteps behind me approach.

  And Serena appears at my side, a gun held out in front of her in shaky hands.

  “I thought I told you to stay away,” I say, but it’s in an almost playful tone. I should have known better than to think she’d stay put. And fuck, I’m glad she didn’t.

  Still, she gives me a deserved kick in the shin. “Get your finger off the trigger too, hun.”

  “What? Why?”

  Serena takes aim at the man, fire in her eyes. “Because I don’t want you to kill him before he tells us where the fuck my mom is.”

  18

  Serena

  I can’t believe I did that.

  I cannot. Believe. I did that.

  Looking down at the shiny weapon in my lap, I gulp down my panic. I, Serena De Laurentis, a girl who used to get woozy at the sight of blood, who used to not even be able to handle watching action movies if they got too intense—I just held a man at gunpoint.

  Who the hell am I anymore?

  I look up and out the window of the back seat of the stolen car, watching the city pass by, the buildings getting smaller and farther apart until we’re way down the highway, leaving the skyscrapers behind. Leaving the shop, the one I’ve sweated and cried over, behind. Leaving the scene of a bloodbath. A battlefield.

  The words stumble out of my mouth out loud this time: “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Serena,” says Bruno softly. “Serena, look at me.”

  I slowly drag my eyes away from the window, turning to gaze at Bruno’s face in the rearview mirror. It’s still jarring to see him wearing the clothes of the man I held at gunpoint. After I finished interrogating the guy, Bruno made him switch jackets and give up his hat. He’s got the collar up and the hat pulled low, almost over his green eyes, to disguise himself.

  He looks concerned as he stares at me in the mirror, but still gleaming with something like pride. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. He’s actually proud of me for what I did back there.

  “Hmm?” I manage to mumble through my stupor of shock.

  “Are you okay? Dolcezza, talk to me.”

  “I just pointed a gun… this gun,” I begin, nodding at the weapon in my lap, “at a person. Like, a living person. I just threatened a man with a gun.”

  “Yes. You did.”

  “While I’m pregnant.”

  “Yes. That’s… that’s true.”

  “I-I can’t help feeling like that’s going to have some kind of, I don’t know, effect on the baby. Like, it’s going to be born with this inherent bloodlust or something,” I confess.

  Bruno looks at me sideways, clearly trying not to smirk.

  “Serena, you did what you had to do. And it worked. Because of you, we now know where they’re keeping your mother. We know where we have to go to rescue her. You did tha
t. You made that happen,” he says, shaking his head in awe. “Now, do I want you to ever do that shit again? No. Hell, no. After all this is over, I never want that kind of violence anywhere near you or the baby. But Serena, listen to me. You did the right thing. You got the information we need. And you didn’t shoot the guy.”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t know I wouldn’t,” I say, trembling a little. “Shit. I didn’t even know if I wouldn’t. What does that say about me?”

  “It says you’re one tough lady, and you’re loyal and brave as anyone I’ve ever known. It says that when shit gets hard, you pull yourself together and you make things happen. It means that you’d do anything for family. For love. And that, mia passerotta, is what I love most about you.”

  He looks over at me, just the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

  “Now, what I need you to do for me is stay angry. Don’t let fear or guilt overcome you right now. There will be time to reflect on your decisions later. Right now, I need for you to get really, really pissed off. These people have fucked with the wrong woman, right?” he says, trying his best to amp me up. But truthfully, he doesn’t need to. Because underneath my shaky hands and my nervousness, I am pissed. I’m furious.

  Those bastards not only destroyed my store, unhinged my life, tried to kill the man I love, terrified my friends, and put my baby in danger, but now… they’ve messed with my mom? Trading her around like some pawn, like she’s a prisoner of war, just a commodity to be tossed back and forth between both sides?

  Hell no.

  Not my mom. We may not have the closest mother-daughter relationship in the world, but we’re still family.

  Back at the women’s shelter, I saw all kinds of girls down on their luck, pushed aside, battered, whittled down, forgotten about. Nobody was going to look out for them but us. Nobody looked out for me there but my fellow women.

  I know if Bruno had been there, he would have protected me—but he hardly needed to. Those women saved me, built me back up after I thought I lost everything. If there’s one thing my time at the shelter taught me, it’s that women have to stick together, regardless of our differences.