Love and Chaos

by S. M. Soto

  The rest of the agents who aided Kincaid in his vendetta against me are going to pay. They all are.

  “Where are we headed?”

  Matteo and I share a look at Monte’s question. There’s only one place no one else knows about. My grandfather’s estate. The one place that has been in the famiglia for generations. Salvatore only stays there while he’s in the states, otherwise spending all his time in Italy where everyone bows down to him. He’ll need to be notified. He’ll obviously wonder what the fuck happened. But I’d worry about that tomorrow. All I wanted to worry about was my wife and my son.

  We settle into Salvatore’s estate. An Italian Tuscan styled villa that was almost a replica of his home in Sicily. This place doesn’t hold a candle to the estate, but it’s always been used for purposes like these. Being Cosa Nostra born and bred, there are certain circumstances and aspects you prepare for. Having your house bombed is always one of them.

  I’ll need to talk with Matteo soon. About the future. About rebuilding. I wasn’t going to let what happened today slide. Kincaid was dead, but I’d make sure the rest of his colleagues were dead too. And if any prosecutor even looked my way? Things were going to get messy.

  Dr. Chang arrives at the estate promptly, a slew of other doctors and assistants with him that are willing to keep their mouths shut for a big payout. Dr. Chang checks on Angel first, his hands checking his body for any wounds, then he checks his chest and lungs for smoke inhalation. The rest of the doctors look at the rest of the guys, patching up anyone who needs it, like Matteo and Giovanni.

  Once Angel is in the clear, Ben moves onto Sophia, bandaging her wounds, checking her stitches. He gives her some medication for the pain and antibiotics to prevent infection. It doesn’t take her long to fall asleep with Angel in her arms. For a while, I just sit there and watch them. I take in just how close I was today to losing everything.

  I couldn’t let it happen again.

  I couldn’t lose this.

  With my good arm, I reach, brushing the hair off Sophia’s forehead, and then I drop it down, doing the same to my son’s.

  “They’ll be fine. I can’t say the same for you,” Ben remarks smartly. “If you want full-mobility in your left arm, I need to patch you up.”

  With one last look at Sophia and Angel, I follow Dr. Chang out, letting him get to work on my bullet-riddled body. I grit my teeth in pain the whole time. I let the anger consume me. I let it fester. Because I planned on using that anger to my advantage.

  I make calls to the other families for Matteo since he’s indisposed, so, the others know what has happened on the estate. So, they know to protect themselves. So, they can prepare.

  Because war is coming. And I’m killing anyone in my way. Anyone who tries to take my family from me.

  I SLIDE MY ARM THROUGH the sleeves of my suit jacket, gritting my teeth at the sting in my chest, the soreness radiating from my whole body. I didn’t have the time or the luxury to recoup in bed. I had some people I needed to pay a visit to.

  And after what was done to my estate? The home I built for Valentina? Someone was going to pay in blood. It’d fucking run in rivers by the time I finished today.

  I kick open the door to the senator’s office, his secretary long gone for the day. It’s just the two of us, due for a much-needed chat. Richie Archibald flinches when the office door swings open. He jolts behind his desk, fiddling with his zipper and his flaccid cock as he tries to close out all his porn windows. And because the bastard is scum, I know he’s more than likely watching underage girls. That is his MO after all.

  “Mr. S-sabella,” he stutters, scrambling to his feet. He rakes a trembling hand through his toupee’d hair and his eyes dart around his office, behind the door, beyond me, probably wondering where his secretary is and probably trying to figure out how I got in. I can see the cogs churning in his head. He’s trying to think of a way out of this. A way past me.

  There isn’t one.

  With a calm, aloof stride, I walk inside his office, and I unbutton my suit jacket before I sit down across from him. Sweat beads on his brow, his fear permeating the air as he stands there. I see the tremor that rolls down his spine, likely his brain trying to tell him to make a break for it.

  “Sit.”

  He swallows. The sound is loud, echoing around us.

  Archibald slowly lowers himself back down into his chair. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he waits for me to make my move. I just sit there for a while, watching him through narrowed slits, making him uneasy. He fidgets under the intensity of my glare, just like the weak little pussy he is.

  “Richie, Richie, Richie,” I tsk, shaking my head in mock disappointment. “I thought you loved your family? Cared about your wife?”

  His face goes white as a sheet. “I-I can fix this. I’ll find a way to fix this,” he pleads.

  I rest my elbows on the arms of the chair, letting my tired body sag into the weight of it. To him, it looks like nothing more than a casual pose. For me, it’s the only fucking position that doesn’t make my chest burn.

  A cold smile pulls at my lips. “Ah. So you did know what they had planned for my son, for my estate.”

  He stutters. “Y-yes. Wait! N-no. You don’t understand. I had no s-say in this.”

  Anger boils in my veins. “Oh, I understand just fine, Richie. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to give me everything you have on Mayor Rawlings. And I think you know exactly what I’m referring to.”

  “I don’t have anything—”

  I slam my fist down on his desk, rattling the objects. He freezes, his face going slack with fear.

  “You’re making it very hard for me not to put a bullet in your skull, Archibald. Give me what I want.”

  His body trembles as he pushes up from his desk. He crosses his office, toward a picture frame that holds an old photograph of the city of Chicago. I have to refrain from rolling my eyes at how cliché it is. I probably could’ve found it myself, but that’s not all this visit is about.

  Archibald lifts the frame just enough that he’s able to reach behind it then he pulls back a drive. Men like him are all the same. Commit despicable crimes, do everything to get rid of the evidence, yet they keep a souvenir. In this case, this particular souvenir is an incriminating video of Chicago’s finest, raping an underage girl.

  He pauses before handing it over. “What are you planning, Sabella?”

  I smirk. He should know better by now.

  With a wary expression on his face, Archibald hands over the drive, and I take it from him.

  His voice shakes with fear, likely realizing the magnitude of what he’s just done, putting this drive in my hands.

  “What are you going to use it for? I have a wife and kids. I can’t let them see what’s on here.”

  With a cold smirk on my face, I pocket the drive in my suit, and I push to my feet. Buttoning up my suit jacket, I walk around the corner of his desk, leaning back against the wood, invading his personal space.

  “I’m going to ruin Mayor Rawlings with it, of course,” I say. There’s no hiding the glee in my voice. Archibald’s face blanches. A spark of anger passes over his features.

  “If you ruin him, you’ll ruin me too and that wasn’t part of the plan.”

  I grin. “The plan? Whatever do you mean? Surely, it can’t be the plan for you to pull the case and keep my son out of this mess with the FBI. Because you never followed through on that plan, did you, Richie?”

  “You son of a bitch!” he growls, taking a step toward me like he really plans on doing something about it. He decides better of it, jabbing an angry finger in my face instead. “I won’t let you ruin my reputation over this.”

  “Oh, you’re right,” I say. “I have much better plans for you, Archibald.” I reach back with my hand, keeping my movements slow and under the radar. My fingers graze the cool metal envelope cutter, and I enclose my fist around it. “See, the things is—you fucked up when you didn’t fo
llow through, Richie. And that’s bad for business. You and I both know I don’t do well with bad business.”

  Archibald tries to make a break for it, but my free-hand snakes around his throat, squeezing, keeping him in place. I yank down, forcing him into his chair. Forcing him to listen to what I have to say.

  “Because of your lack of a brain, Archibald, my son was almost indicted. My famiglia almost went up in flames. Those mistakes almost cost my son his family and your man—Kincaid—the man you and Mayor Rawlings funded with the investigation, into getting rid of my family, blew up my estate and now, you’re going to pay me in blood.”

  He chokes beneath the weight of my palm. “Y-you can’t kill m-me. I’m a-a senator.”

  A wide grin spreads across my face. “Oh, I didn’t kill you, Archibald. It’s such a sad story, see, your assistant found you passed out in your office. You had a heart attack while no one was around. You died.”

  He sputters, his mouth opening and closing, gulping at the air like a fish. Only the Devil knows what excuses he’s about to come up with. None of them will be sufficient. None of them will be enough to justify why he disobeyed me. I’ve exercised enough patience and time on this man, I’m tired of hearing his voice already.

  A numbness soars through my body as I lunge at him, sinking the letter opener into his crotch. He howls. Squealing like a pig on its way to the slaughterhouse. I yank it out, plunging it into his chest. The blade is dull; only used for paper products. It takes an extraordinary amount of pressure to force the steel through the son of a bitch’s shirt and into his body. The metal grinds against bone as it scrapes past his ribs.

  He coughs violently. Flecks of blood flying from his mouth. I keep thrusting, shanking the opener into his chest cavity. I wasn’t lying when I said his family and the office would think he died of a heart attack. Because that’s what I want everyone to believe. Once the truth comes out about his and Mayor Rawlings’ dirty deeds, no one will care if he was stabbed to death. I still don’t need the problems that will surely bring to our door. Not after yesterday.

  Images of my son flicker through my head. His family. His mother and the home she built. Everything I had left of her is gone. It all rings in my mind, flashing on repeat as I withdraw the letter opener and I plunge it back into his body again, this time lower, into his stomach. He coughs and gasps for air, eyes wild with fear. I feel nothing. Over and over again, I drive the steel into his body until he takes his last breath.

  I yank out the letter opener and slide it into my pocket, still dripping with his blood. I take a slow step back, staring down at his vile, lifeless eyes. I don’t feel bad. I did so many young girls out there a service today. And I’m just getting started.

  I wipe my bloodied hands on my already ruined suit and start dialing Giovanni. I bark orders, telling him to get some men here to clean this shit up. Just as I hang up and cross the threshold out of his office, a shadow pushes off the wall and I scowl when I see who it is.

  “Quite the show you put on in there,” my son says with a hint of amusement in his tone. “If I heard correctly, I presume Rawlings is next.”

  Feeling dampness on my cheek, I wipe it off with my thumb, not surprised when it comes back with a smear of Archibald’s blood. “That’d be correct.”

  A smirk pulls at Diavolo’s face. “When do we leave?”

  My smile is instantaneous. Stepping into Diavolo, I smack a hand on his back in comradery, leading us out of here.

  “I think it’s time we pay Rawlings a visit.”

  Mayor Eric Rawlings lives on a sprawling, custom built estate of twelve thousand square feet here in Chicago. It’s grandiose—suiting the stuffy-corrupt motherfucker. Out of the eight rooms on the estate, Matteo and I find him nursing a glass of liquor, puffing on a cigar in the top loft. He’s leaning back in his chaise, without a care in the world. Without a worry that Sabella’s will be a problem for him, because we’re supposed to be dead.

  He stiffens at the sound of my footsteps and ever so slowly, he twists his gaze, looking back at me. Surprise flashes in his depths, but it’s quickly swallowed by his rage. Did he really think he could fund the investigation against me using the sinner man? By the look on his face, I’m guessing he did.

  “So I take it you survived and Kincaid didn’t.” He grunts. “Fucking figures. He never did know how to be patient.”

  With a calm finesse, I eat up the distance between us, perching on the edge of his table that’s filled with timeless art décor. I lift one of the small red and gold ornate figurines, tossing it between my hands, just to really piss him off. It has the desired effect.

  “Get your slimy, criminal hands off my shit and get off my property, Sabella.”

  That chuckle that rumbles in my chest is deep and dark. With my hand still wrapped around his figurine, I point to myself with it. “Me?” I tsk at him in disapproval. “I think you have us mistaken, Rawlings. The only slimy criminal here is you. See, I know I’m a criminal. I have one face. But you, oh, no, not you. You thrive on having two faces. One for the city of Chicago and the other for your…darker desires. Young girls, right?”

  His eyes narrow, his grip tightening on his glass tumbler. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I push off the table, stepping closer to him. I drop my voice. “You don’t?”

  Just then, the sound of sobbing and grunts fills the air. Harsh words against a young girl’s body as she’s being used erupts over his built-in surround sound. Eric’s face goes white as a paper and he starts to stutter. At the sound of a second pair of footsteps, he whirls around in his seat, facing Matteo.

  “How the fuck did you get this?” he growls.

  “Senator Archibald was very accommodating just before he passed from…a heart attack. Such a tragic event.” Matteo drawls blandly, getting closer with each step.

  Rawlings’ face—his entire demeanor—morphs with fear. He’s panicking. “What the fuck do you want?”

  Matteo’s hands suddenly dig into Eric’s shirt, dragging him from his chaise and slamming him onto the ground. When he tries to right himself, my arm springs out, my hands wrapping around the fat column of his neck. He chokes beneath the weight, staring up at both of us with fear in his eyes.

  “You’re going to get rid of everything. And when I say everything, Rawlings,” Matteo growls, getting into his face. “I mean everything.”

  Rawlings opens his mouth to say something, but I squeeze harder, causing him to sputter beneath the force of my hold.

  “On top of that, you’re going to fund the rebuilding of the estate. Understand me? I run this shit now, Rawlings. Fuck with me, and I fuck with you. You get me?”

  “You’re i-insane-e,” he chokes.

  Matteo’s fist slams into his face, the sound of his nose crunching beneath the force is like music to my ears. “I said do you fucking understand me? Because if they don’t start breaking ground in twenty-four hours, I’m showing all of Chicago just how much you enjoy young girls.”

  “Wonder how life will feel once you’re sitting behind those bars you tried to put me in,” I grind out.

  He nods frantically, a sheen of fear glistening in his eyes.

  Sorry ass motherfucker.

  “Glad we understand each other,” Matteo breathes, pushing to his feet. I follow suit, letting go of the mayor’s neck. “But just in case you don’t understand how serious I am, here’s a parting gift.” Matteo snatches the cast iron tool near the fireplace in his hand and swings it down on his shins. Rawlings screams at the top of his lungs.

  “Twenty-four fucking hours, you fat son of a bitch.”

  His broken sobs were like a balm to my soul as we walked away. It was all I could replay in my head—the senator’s death and the mayor’s demise. They were paying for fucking with the Sabella’s and we still weren’t done yet.

  Not even by a long shot.

  I push through the door of the guestroom, warmth filling my chest at the sight of Sophia la
ughing down at Angel. She’s been tired but healing much better over the last few days. I haven’t even wanted to leave her side, but when I saw Matteo slip out suspiciously, I followed. And now, I’m glad I did. I would’ve missed the show today. Missed a chance at retribution.

  Sophia finally glances up, away from Angel, and finds me standing in the doorway. A smile lights her face.

  “Hi, Daddy.” She looks down at Angel, tapping his little button nose and making her little coo voice down at him. “Look who’s here, Angel. It’s Daddy.”

  She has bandages on her fingers, for her nails.

  His laughter is like an invisible tether around me, drawing me in. I stop right next to them on the bed, looking down at both with an unbearable tightness in my chest. Angel laughs, kicking his little legs, reaching his arms out.

  “Aww, look. He’s so happy to see you,” Sophia says, smiling up at me. Even after everything she’s been through, she still has that sparkle in her emerald eyes. Her cheekbone is shadowed with a bruise and her bottom lip is cut in the corner, but she’s still as beautiful as ever. Still as beautiful as that first photograph I’d ever seen of her, if not more.

  I slide my hand around her nape, burying my fingers in her hair. I drag her lips up to mine and kiss her. I kiss my wife with a passion in my soul that is all consuming. It’s love and chaos—what I feel for her.

  When I begrudgingly pull back from her lips, she stares up at me through half-lidded eyes that are filled with love and lust. “I love you, Creed.”

  Swiping my thumb across her rosy cheek, I press one more kiss to her lips. “I love you, wife.”

  When I pull away, she’s smiling up at me. Needing to feel their warmth, I scoop my son into my arms, and he giggles some more, his drool from his fist dripping onto my t-shirt. I hug him to my chest and sit down on the bed next to Sophia. Leaning in, I press my lips to his perfect little head and I lean back, pulling my wife into my arms and resting my son on my chest until they both fall asleep.

  I may be the Devil, but this…this is heaven on earth.