Tainted Love

by Drake, Tabatha

“Hart?!” he asks.

  I shove Enzo inside and point my pistol at the old man’s face. “Sit down.”

  Zappia raises his hands in surrender while Enzo shimmies over and plops down on the seat in front of the desk. His wrinkled eyes shift between myself and my siblings, his pupils growing wider with each glance.

  “What the hell are you doing—”

  “I’m not here for you, Mr. Zappia,” I tell him.

  “He’s here for Marty,” Enzo pipes in while he gently raises his bloody foot.

  Zappia lowers his hands and exhales hard. “Yeah, I figured you would be someday…”

  He walks over to his desk and sits down below the dull light of his security monitors while the rest of us take our places. Elijah plants himself in front of the office door, Lilah lingers by the closet, and I stay above Enzo’s shoulder to keep an eye on both Zappias. A man at every exit. Basic Snake Eyes training bleeding through.

  I gesture at Zappia’s hands. “Keep them above the desk,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He lays his palms flat on top. “When I heard about what he did to your girl, Hart, I wasn’t happy.”

  “Neither was I.”

  “But I understood it,” he adds. “If I were in his position, I probably would have done the same. I mean… you really fucked up his face.”

  “He drew first.”

  “And with this Snake Eyes shit?” He scoffs. “We didn’t know what to think. All we knew for sure was that dancer knew you.”

  “So, you sent Marty to kill her?”

  “I sent Marty to ask her questions!” he says. “The next thing I know there are over a dozen dead bodies on the news and Marty’s laughing like a damn madman.”

  I grit my teeth. I’ve killed a lot of people in my life, but I’ve never once laughed about it. Maybe tonight I’ll make an exception.

  “I just want him, Mr. Zappia,” I say. “My quarrel isn’t with you.”

  Enzo hisses. “Tell that to my damn foot!”

  “Hart…” Zappia shakes his head. “He’s my son.”

  “I understand your loyalty,” I say. “However, I think you’ll find that loyalty is a bit one-sided.”

  He furrows his brow at me. “What?”

  “That morning, Marty came knocking on my door. He told me that he wanted to take over the family. That you were a thug like your father and his father before him.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “He ordered the hit on the restaurant. When it failed, he asked me to kill you. I said no.”

  Zappia pauses and his eyes drift over to Enzo. They share a look of apprehension and doubt. “You got proof?”

  “My word only,” I say. “I understand your hesitation, Mr. Zappia. He is your son. But if you ask me, I’ll be doing you a favor.”

  He leans back in his chair and gives his beard a quick, dry rub. This doesn’t seem at all surprising to him meaning he’s already suspected it of young, ambitious Marty. The black sheep of the Zappia clan.

  “If I can confirm this…” he begins, “then I’ll take care of it myself.”

  It could mean a thousand different things but the only thing it doesn’t mean is that I get to pull the trigger.

  “I’m sure you can imagine that confirming his death is very important to me.”

  “If that happens, I’ll be sure to drop you a postcard,” he says. “But this is my family and we have our ways of dealing with this.”

  “Not good enough.” I keep my calm. “I didn’t come here to negotiate his life. I came here to put a bullet between his eyes, just like he did to Terrance Vaughn, and I’m not leaving here until I do. It’s up to you whether or not the rest of you go down with him.”

  He fidgets back and forth and his chair squeaks beneath him. I see his eyes drop to his desk, no doubt searching for some sort of weapon to take us on with. There’s nothing worth using and he knows that if I don’t shoot him first, Lilah or Elijah will.

  Finally, he sighs. “All right…” He spins to look over his shoulder at the monitors and his eyes scan the crowds downstairs.

  I look with him and I instantly catch sight of Marty at the poker table in the same chair he sat in every Friday night for six months. There’s only one other player at the table. A girl who looks almost like—

  Lucy.

  I lunge closer, accidentally bashing my knees into his desk. Zappia lurches from fear and follows my eyes to the monitor.

  “Turn up the sound,” I tell him, keeping my eyes locked on her face.

  “Dante…” Lilah crosses the room and pauses behind me, her eyes bugging out of her head like mine. “What is she—”

  “You have something I want…” Her voice cuts me to the bone. It’s her. It’s really fucking her. “And I have something you want. It’s pretty simple.”

  “What do you have that I want?”

  “Dante Hart.”

  Goddammit, Lucy.

  I roll my hands into fists. What the fuck is she doing here? How is she here? She can’t be here right now. She—

  “Where is he?”

  Marty’s voice is just as grating as ever. I fight the fantasy of ripping his throat out with my bare hands.

  “I can show you where you can find him… if you win.”

  “And if you win?”

  “You die.”

  She came out here to confront him herself. Not only that, she’s offering me up as bait.

  No. I don’t think so.

  Zappia points at the monitor. “That’s your girl…” Confusion paints his face. “I thought she was dead!”

  “She will be,” I growl, anger burning my chest.

  I dart toward the door.

  Elijah blocks my way. “Dante, relax!”

  “You’ll lead me to Hart?” Marty asks.

  “And his entire family.”

  White knuckles poke out of my fist as my nails dig harder into my skin.

  Marty chuckles. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “Something like that.”

  Lucy fucking Vaughn.

  “Move.” I grab the door and jerk it open before Elijah or Lilah can stop me.

  She’s officially gone too far now. I can’t believe I once considered this part of her to be attractive. That stubborn defiance. That ill-mannered mouth. Her complete inability to follow orders — even ones put in place to make sure she fucking keeps breathing.

  I charge down the stairs onto the casino floor and march toward the poker table.

  She doesn’t even see me coming.

  Her jaw drops as I raise her out of the chair by her arm. “Lucy, what the fuck are you doing here?”

  Marty climbs out of his seat, shocked by my sudden presence.

  “I’m doing what I have to do,” she says, her voice solid as a rock.

  “How did you—” I look at her left hand and freeze.

  “Ouch!” she cries as I grab it and hold it up.

  The joint is swollen and purple. I’ve seen it before because I’ve done it before.

  I loosen my grip on it, falling silent at the lengths she went to defy me and the lines she crossed to take what was hers.

  God, I fucking love this woman.

  Chapter 34

  Lucy

  “Are you fucking crazy, Lucy?”

  Dante keeps a firm hold on me. Every eye in the house is on us but he doesn’t seem to care about that at all. His blue irises are thick and wild. I can’t tell if he’s about to bend me over his knee or rip my clothes off.

  I tug at his vise grip on my arm. “Let go of me—”

  “Are you serious?” he barks back. “I did a good thing here, Lucy. The right thing. I saved you from destroying yourself, gave you a chance at redemption, and you fucking ruined it!”

  “I never asked for that!”

  “Yes, you did! Every kiss, every smile, every damn day. Your life is worth more than mine and I won’t let you throw it away over this.”

  “This is what I’ve been fighting for, Dante! Who ar
e you to tell me I’m wrong?”

  “I don’t want this life for you. I never have — and I can’t believe you would sell us out after everything we’ve done for you!”

  “I didn’t sell you out!”

  “Sure as hell sounded like it!”

  “Oh, come on.” I gesture at Marty’s stunned, confused face. “I was never going to tell him anything. I was playing him.”

  “Playing him?”

  “Yes!”

  “How?!”

  I inhale fast to reply but Marty’s weasel-like tone interrupts me. “This is quite the lover’s quarrel you two are having but I feel like I should point out where you are right now.”

  Dante and I glance around the casino, noticing the half-dozen guns pointed at our table.

  Dammit, Dante. I had this under control. Now, we’ll both die.

  The crowd parts and Mr. Zappia himself walks through with his hands in his pockets and a sour look on his face. I follow Dante’s eyes upward and I catch sight of Elijah on the balcony just outside of the office, standing there with his gun lying against Enzo’s throat. Lilah must be nearby, too.

  “Everybody leave,” Zappia shouts, waving his arms at the nervous customers scattered about.

  They bolt for the exit, leaving the armed men behind at the tables around us. The entire room falls so silent I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

  “Young lady…” Zappia says, stopping a few paces away from us. “You are quite the handful, but I admire your… tenacity.”

  I clear my throat. “Thank you?”

  Dante squeezes my arm to reel my tongue in, but he still can’t get rid of that amused spark in his eyes.

  Marty cracks his knuckles and smirks with delight. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment, Hart—”

  “Sit down, Marty,” Zappia says.

  Marty blinks. “Dad, I—”

  “I said, sit down.”

  Marty falls in line and lowers himself back into his chair.

  Zappia turns to me again. “You, too, Ms. Vaughn.”

  A quiver of fear stabs me as I look up into Dante’s eyes. He nods slowly, urging me to do as I’m told, and I take my seat. His hand never leaves my body and settles on the back of my neck.

  Zappia takes the dealer’s place at the head of the table and the harsh lights above cast wicked shadows down his old, lumpy face. “If I recall correctly, I promised you a game. Isn’t that right, Ms. Vaughn?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  He gathers the playing cards from the table and shuffles them with quick, precise fingers. “Unfortunately, your father’s problem is no longer an issue — a fact that we can all comfortably attribute to my son. Correct?”

  I stare across the table at Marty’s mangled face and he glares back at me with a lazy, impatient eye.

  “Yes, sir,” I reply.

  “Just shoot them, Dad,” Marty spits.

  “Why would we do that, Marty?” Zappia growls. “If we did, then we’d all just be a bunch of thugs.” He pauses to further emphasize the word. “Am I right?”

  Marty frowns and sinks back into his chair.

  “That’s what I thought…” Zappia shakes his head at him. “You want to kill me? You want to run this business and lead this family? You gotta earn it. You don’t earn your place by sitting at the casino counting cards — you carve it from fucking stone. You claim it with your bare fucking hands.”

  Marty wipes his chin to curb his boiling rage.

  “Now, we’re gonna play a hand,” Zappia continues, his eyes flicking between the two of us. “Winner take all. Loser gets buried out back. Deal?”

  Dante presses into me. His calloused skin is hot, his temperature spiking high, but his touch remains firm and confident on the back of my neck.

  He knows I can win.

  I know what he’s capable of if I don’t.

  I glance up, taking note of Elijah’s lingering presence on the catwalk with Enzo. Lilah’s still nowhere to be seen.

  “Deal,” I say.

  Zappia shifts his attention to Marty and he waits for his answer while shuffling the deck again.

  Marty’s good eye twitches in its socket. He’s a nervous wreck inside and everyone can see it. A caged animal that’s been poked one too many times with a stick.

  “Deal,” he finally says, spitting the word out like battery acid.

  Zappia throws on a smile, but he’s far from amused. He deals the cards, tossing them hard against the felt table into two stacks of five.

  I pick up my cards as Marty does, studying his eyes as his gaze falls on them. There’s a slight twitch in his brow but it’s not enough to tell me anything.

  I turn my hand over, praying that luck falls in my favor. There’s only one shot at this. Nothing matters unless the cards are on my side.

  Two kings and an ace. A four and a seven.

  I keep my face relaxed, refusing to show him anything that might tip my hand. It’s not the best draw, but it’s manageable.

  I lay the four and seven face down and Zappia deals two new cards at me. I wait for Marty’s play before touching them. He does the same and throws down two of his cards for trade.

  We turn them up together and I breathe a silent sigh at the double A’s staring up at me.

  Full house. Aces over kings.

  Marty’s brow twitches again. Either he has a good hand or he’s lost complete control of that jacked-up face of his.

  “Let’s see ‘em,” Zappia says.

  Dante gives my neck another comforting squeeze, reminding me to breathe.

  I lay my hand down and Zappia’s lips curl. We look at Marty as he flings his own cards onto the table and fires a knowing, sinister smile in my direction.

  Four twos. Four of a kind.

  My heart stops.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Vaughn,” Zappia says, “but my house always wins.”

  Dante raises his gun and points it across the table at Marty, drawing laughter from the back of Zappia’s throat.

  “You’re in over your head, Hart.” He chuckles.

  Dante stands firm. “I wouldn’t exactly call you an impartial dealer.”

  Zappia shrugs. “He’s my son.”

  “You should say your goodbyes now.”

  “Think, Hart. You’re surrounded—”

  I jump as Lilah appears behind Zappia, almost out of thin air.

  “Check again, old man,” she says, planting the barrel of her gun against his head with a blood-soaked hand.

  I look around the casino and my jaw drops.

  Six bodies lie on the floor, partially hidden from view behind the other tables. Silent pools of blood seep from bright, red smiles on their necks, staining the carpeted floor beneath them.

  They never saw her coming.

  I look up and Elijah grins.

  Zappia’s eyes fall, growing smaller in his head with each passing second. “I guess this is it, then…” His head slowly rises to look at Dante.

  “Only for him,” he replies.

  Zappia shakes with rage. “You think I’m going to sit here and watch you kill my son—” Lilah pokes the back of his head with her gun and he winces.

  Dante guides me out of the chair. “Not me,” he says. He takes his gun by the barrel and holds the grip out to me. “She is.”

  I stare at the gun in his hand and a plague of fear washes over me. Suddenly, my fingers turn numb and my thoughts crumble to bits.

  “If this is what you want, Lucy, then it’s yours,” Dante says, pushing the gun closer to me.

  I study his stormy eyes, so full of love and longing. Love for me. Longing for a life together that leaves this kind of chaos behind us.

  A life without Marty Zappia.

  I wrap my fingers around the grip. I feel the full weight of it in my palm. Not just the tiny pieces inside that I can strip apart and put back together with my eyes closed but the full weight of every bullet. One little piece of metal and this is all over. One pull of the trigge
r and Marty Zappia disappears for good.

  Just like my father.

  I could shoot Marty now but no good would come of it. It won’t give me what I really want, which is just one more day with my father. One final chance to tell him how much I loved him. It won’t honor his memory like he deserves. He raised me to be strong but not like this. Not behind the barrel of a gun.

  Dante slides his hand over mine and takes the gun as it slips from my fingers. “Come on,” he whispers, his lips grazing my forehead. “Let’s go home.”

  A tear falls down my cheek. He brushes it away with his thumb. I nod, tingling with warmth from his gentle, loving eyes. A world without chaos.

  A life with Dante Hart.

  He takes my hand and leads me away from the table.

  “Hart!”

  We spin around as Marty lunges out of his chair, kicking it to the floor behind him. He reaches back, fury bleeding from his eyes, and pulls out the gun stashed in his belt.

  Dante draws and fires before Marty can even stand.

  The bullet hits him between the eyes. Marty falls to the floor in a silent, deafening clump.

  Zappia exhales, the breath shaking his entire body for several long moments. “Get out of my fucking city,” he murmurs. His eyes roll upward to look at us as grief overwhelms him.

  Dante lowers his gun back down to his side and gives the old man a quick, understanding nod.

  Chapter 35

  Dante

  When I wake up, she’s gone.

  My senses tune automatically. I smell the jolting aroma of fresh coffee and cooked bacon. I hear my brother and sister tossing insults back and forth downstairs. It’s like I’ve been transported back in time to a world before the three of us became what we are now.

  Lucy laughs. The sound carries over their teasing voices and I smile.

  I throw on a shirt and pants before heading downstairs.

  “Good morning!” Elijah calls as I enter the kitchen.

  He sits next to Lucy with his medkit beside him, re-wrapping her wrist as he’s done about once a day since we came back home. Lucy doesn’t even flinch as he puts pressure along the purple bruise. Tough as nails. Always will be.

  “Hey, big brother,” Lilah adds with a stiff yawn. She refills her coffee mug to the very top and takes her seat at the table across from them.