by Pete, Eric
“I don’t give a shit about your plans. I want my daughter back. What do you know?”
He made me wait for his answer while he took another spoonful of soup. Each second that passed was torture.
“You know, it’s kind of a shame it had to get to this point. Things were really heating up between you niggers and the Mexicans. For a while we thought you’d all just take each other out. No more competition for us.”
As he slurped the last bit of soup, I had to grip the table to keep myself from strangling him. If his goons killed me, there was no hope for Mariah.
“But we’ve had no word from California,” Sal continued. “Our guy inside the Zuniga organization hasn’t checked in, which means he’s probably been found out.”
“What the fuck does this have to do with my daughter?”
“Don’t you get it?” Sal said, sounding exasperated. “We have your daughter. That’s why I agreed to meet with you over here.”
I lunged for his throat, overcome with anger and grief, but two of his men pushed me back down in my chair and held me there. Their massive hands felt like vice grips on my shoulders, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me wince in pain. One politely jammed a gun into my ribs, while normal families quietly enjoyed their meals all around us.
Sal looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Relax. She’s okay—for now. I’ll show you.”
He snapped his fingers, at which point one of his men produced an iPhone to show me a video of Mariah. I saw my daughter sitting on the floor in a tiny room. Poor thing was spooked. She refused to play with the toys in front of her as she sat crying for her mommy. I wanted to reach through the phone and rescue my child, but the gun in my side reminded me how defenseless I really was.
When the video was over, I asked, “What do you want, you piece of shit?”
Sal smiled, glad to have arrived at the crux of his lesson for tonight. “Take care of LC,” he replied as he broke off a piece of focaccia bread and dabbed it in the bottom of the soup bowl. “That’s it. And your dear, sweet Mariah’s returned to you unharmed. It’s really quite simple.”
“I want my daughter, and I want her now,” I growled.
“And I just told you what you need to do. Capisce?”
I tried to appeal to reason. “I don’t know shit about killing someone. They’ll just wind up killing me instead, and then we all lose.”
“No. You’re too brilliant, boy. You’re close to them. You’ll figure out something, and they’ll look to you to steady things in the aftermath.”
“I won’t. They’re my family.”
“Bullshit. You’re nothing like those common street thugs and drug runners. LC has always been nothing more than a petty crook with delusions of grandeur. A wannabe king who won’t admit he’s still a stable boy. Besides, it’s easy for you to cut ties. You did it with your father all those years ago. Come back to your real family.”
I was reduced to begging. “Please. Just give her back to us. Anything but this. I’m not a killer.”
“Oh, I know that,” Sal said, causing the men on both sides of me to laugh. “That’s why they won’t expect anything from you when it happens. Now, do the right thing. Don’t make me have to show you how a killer acts—at your daughter’s expense.”
Orlando
51
Pop and I stared across the conference room table at one another with horrified expressions. Between us were two phones, neither one providing answers, only a tortured silence. We’d been blindsided from the beginning by Sal Dash and the Italians, and it had most likely cost us the lives of Rio and Paris. I’d wanted to sit in Pop’s chair all my life, but how the hell could I have ever thought I was ready for this? No one was ready for this, not even Pop. It was a dark day for us that I’d surely never forget.
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know, Pop,” I replied. “I don’t know, but I think we fucked up.”
“How am I ever gonna tell your mother this?” Pop asked in frustration, as close to tears as I can ever remember seeing him. “And who told you to send Paris out there?”
I knew that was coming. He needed a recipient for his rage, and I didn’t blame him. His eyes were flashing red, like they did when he dealt with Alejandro.
“No one,” I replied, trying not to blink with LC dead in my face. I understood his anger, but I was not the only one to blame for the predicament we were in. “I took it upon myself to undo what you set in motion. That was my brother you sent out there to die! He was your son. Rio was your son, Pop.”
“And Paris is my daughter! Damn you to hell!” he yelled so loud that they probably heard him outside his office, in spite of the soundproofing.
I could tell he wanted to hit me, but he put some distance between us before things got physical. He was a tough old man, but without a piece of steel, he couldn’t take me—unless I let him, and I was no longer willing to let him. I think he knew that.
“What is it with my children no longer listening to me? Why do they think they can do whatever the fuck they want?”
“I can only speak for myself,” I started, “but your children are no longer children. We’ve grown up. You have to see that. Would you even be having this conversation with V—”
“Shut up!” he bellowed. “Just shut your mouth, boy.”
The conference phone rang, interrupting our heated battle. There was a moment of hesitation between us. I didn’t know if I should pick up the phone or defer to him. He looked down at the phone and then to me, sending a silent message that it was up to me now.
“Alejandro?” I said into the phone.
“Yes... .” He paused long enough that I started to worry that it was all he was going to say. I listened for any noise in the background that might give me an indication of where we stood now. Finally, he broke his silence with, “My apologies for ending our call so abruptly.”
I held back the sigh of relief that wanted to escape. “What happened? Were we correct?” I looked across at Pop. He looked like he was holding his breath in anticipation.
“Si,” Alejandro said, the bravado in his tone replaced with pure sadness. “You were right. I know now why this Italian used the term ‘Road Map.’ The man has some face issues. Pockmarks, I think you call them. His phone rang just as he was about to plant a bullet in my head. He proclaimed his guilt easily enough, but he won’t trouble anyone anymore.”
“This is good,” I said, feeling the tension rush out of my body. My brother and sister had a fighting chance now—or at least that was what I thought until Alejandro reminded me of the blood that had already been spilled.
“The man was one of my trusted people. Under normal circumstances, I would thank you for exposing scum like this. But I have a dead son and two brothers I must bury.”
The situation between us was still tricky, to say the least. I needed Alejandro to stay focused on the fact that we had a common enemy, rather than on the fact that he’d lost family members at our hands. “I’m sorry for your loss. I have an uncle I must bury too,” I reminded him. “We’ve both lost loved ones—just as Sal Dash wanted, I’m sure. But now is the time for us to put an end to the fighting, not to finish each other off. I want you to let my brother go.” I purposely left Paris out of it, since Alejandro didn’t seem to know she was family. No need for him to feel like he had an extra bargaining chip, in case he wasn’t ready to call a truce just yet.
To my relief, he said, “Enough blood has been shed between our families today.”
I nodded to my father and gave him a thumbs-up to share the good news, but Alejandro wasn’t done yet.
“Hostilities have ended between us—for now,” he said gravely. “But this does not mean we have settled the score. You must pay a price for the death of my son.”
Oh my God, he was still going to kill Rio. I had to convince him to stop. “No! Your son’s death was an ac—,” I started frantically, but he cut me off.
“I do no
t want to hear the details surrounding my son’s death. You have taken my only son, and for this you must pay. I expect no less than the head of Sal Dash. This is nonnegotiable.”
That was it? He only wanted us to kill Dash? As far as I was concerned, that was on my agenda anyway. “Done,” I told him.
“One more thing. Tell your father that I will no longer be doing business with him. Tell him to keep out of the West Coast, especially Los Angeles.”
Before I could respond, Alejandro hung up. If it was still in LC’s plans for me to succeed him, I would be dealing with the new frienemy we’d made. For now, I just wanted my brother and sister back... alive.
I needed to get to L.A., to see what I could do about getting them out of there myself. I was picking up the conference phone to make flight arrangements when my personal cell phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize, and the connection was spotty. I had to call out a few times before I heard a recognizable voice.
“Rio!” I yelled out in a fit of relief. “Thank God.”
Paris
52
The old Israeli from boarding school never put me through anything as brutal as this, but he’d be so friggin’ proud of me right now.
Eight of Alejandro’s men were dead, another two wounded, and I still stood, using everything in this warehouse to my advantage as I ran around wreaking havoc, pretending to be Uma Thurman in Kill Bill. I’d done everything but telepathically tell Rio to make a run for it, having drawn all their attention. I didn’t know whether I’d saved my brother’s life or merely bought him time, but I couldn’t focus on that right now.
Even with all my masterful technique, I’d finally been run into a corner with no means of escape. Options were few. My left arm burned from gunpowder, sweat, and dirt entering my cuts and scrapes. Adrenaline, which I’d tried to regulate with breathing control, was failing me now. My legs were wobbly, and the last sidearm I’d pried from dead hands was out of ammo. Still, I crouched low, gripping my last usable weapon—a karambit knife—in my shaky hand. I waited for the assault, ready to use the tiger-claw blade on the throats of however many were gathering around the corner. Last I counted, thirteen still stood.
For about half an hour, I tried to remain alert, but I was worn out. It was when I found myself resting against a wall, my eyes shut and the knife hanging at my side, that I realized something wasn’t right. I sprang to attention, grimacing in pain from the soreness that had gripped my right arm. I swiftly moved to defend myself from certain attack, but the attack never came. I slowed my breathing in order to hear my surrounding environment—and heard nothing.
“What the fuck?” I gasped.
I cautiously crept to the end of my hallway, not believing what my ears were telling me. I was alone. No ambushes or traps were waiting for me as I carefully combed the warehouse. They’d even dragged off the dead ones. The only reminders of this orgy of violence were the pieces of broken office equipment, bullet holes, smeared blood, and shell casings. And I had to walk through it barefoot. E w.w.w.
But what had led Alejandro’s men to cut out? Rio. Had to be. He must have gotten hold of Daddy and our men. I wasted not a moment longer, heading back to the barricaded break room where I’d left him.
The door was partially ajar. Not knowing what to expect, I pushed the door open a little bit more and squeezed through. The table he’d wedged against the door had been pushed aside. There was space enough for someone to have gotten inside before me.
Oh, dear God, please let this boy be alive.
“Rio, it’s me. Don’t shoot,” I called out, seeing at least three bullet holes in the wall to my right. I assumed he’d missed whomever he had shot at. Now, if only they had missed too. “Rio?” I called out again. I took another step, almost slicing my foot open on a busted cell phone. A few more curse words escaped my lips. I checked my foot: cut, but not a mortal wound.
“Sis?” a worn voice finally responded, followed by a head peering out from between the snack and Coke machines. “Oh... my God,” he said as he took in the sight of me, the blood splattered all over my clothes, along with the complimentary bruises and cuts I’d suffered.
I limped over quickly, relieved that we’d both survived. “What the fuck did you do to the phone?” I asked.
“I ran out of bullets, so I threw the phone,” Rio said with a shrug, then gave me a long hug, despite my being a bloody mess. “He left after that. I must’ve run him off.”
“A phone. Yeah. I’m sure that did it,” I said with a smirk. “I’m just glad you’re alive, bro.”
“Me too, sis. Thank you for not giving up on me,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.
“Never,” I said, fighting off a tear. “You kept my shoes safe, right?”
“Yeah,” he replied, pointing to my discarded Manolo Blahniks in front of the Coke machine. “Nobody touched them, but I was about to throw them next if the phone didn’t work. You know I’ll beat a bitch with some heels if I have to.” He snapped his fingers, back to the sassy Rio I knew and loved.
“If you had messed them up, I’d have killed you myself.” The jokes were a welcome release of tension for both of us. I got back to business. “Speaking of phones, I take it you reached Daddy ’n ’em before you used it as a lethal weapon.”
“Yeah. And it worked, I guess. Sure didn’t seem like it at first. Orlando had me dial the number to this guy called Road Map. They had Alejandro on the other phone or somethin’, everyone screamin’ ’n shit—including me. Everything stopped not long after I dialed the number, though. Right around when I had to throw the phone at the door. Then it all just stopped. No noise. Nothing. I thought they’d killed you. Thought I was about to die too ... but no one ever came back.”
“No need to try and make sense of it now. We just need to count our blessings and get the hell out of here. Need to find a phone ASAP too,” I said as I bent down to put my shoes back on my sore dogs.
“Oh shit, Paris! You been shot.”
“I have?” I saw blood right before I met the floor with a harsh thud.
London
53
“Harris thinks this is my fault, doesn’t he?”
Junior shrugged his shoulders as he handed me my phone. “I don’t know, sis.”
Oh, he knew, but he was trying to stay impartial, which pissed me the hell off. He was my brother; he should have had my back no matter what, even if it was my fault my baby was taken.
I walked toward the back door of the mansion, unable to control the tears that escaped from my eyes. I raised my hand at Junior, who was right on my heels, so that he wouldn’t follow me outside. He hadn’t let me out of his sight since we’d walked through the door.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to get some fresh air. Can you give me some space so I can fucking breathe?”
I was out the door before he could answer me. I wasn’t trying to be rude to Junior, especially not after the way he’d broken every speed record known to man to get to me when I called for help after the kidnapping. I just needed to be alone—to hate Harris and this life that had taken my daughter.
As I dialed Tony’s number, I felt like I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. “Tony, honey, I... I need to see you,” I whispered into the phone.
“Can’t. I’m in the middle of something.”
Why now, of all times, was he saying no? He’d never refused to hook up with me in the past. As a matter of fact, he was always the eager one, but not this time. This time he sounded distracted, uninterested.
“Tony, I need to see you,” I repeated. “Something terrible has happened.”
“Look, I’m busy, all right? I don’t have time to be holding your hand because your nail broke.” His patronizing attitude was something new. I was taken aback, but I persisted, sharing with him the horror of my daughter’s kidnapping.
I finished with, “And all my husband did was yell at me and say it was my fault. When this is all over and I have Mariah back... I want to run
away with you, Tony.”
His reaction nearly knocked me off my feet. “Look, I’m sorry about your daughter, but I’ve got problems of my own.” Who the hell was this man? What happened to the sweet, kind man who’d swept me off my feet? I was seeing a whole new side to him.
“Tony, I need you. You’re the only one who can make me whole,” I pleaded as the tears flowed freely.
He sighed loudly. “You sure you don’t want to do this some other time? I mean, with your daughter missing and all, shouldn’t you be with your family?”
That stung a little bit. Family loyalty. Maybe Mariah’s kidnapping was punishment for me and Harris, for not staying loyal to each other and our marriage.
“Please, Tony,” I persisted. “Just for a little while.”
He finally relented, saying, “Meet me at the Howard Beach Motor Lodge in twenty minutes. I’ll text you the room number.”
“I’ll find it,” I said with relief. “And, Tony, I love you.”
He didn’t say it back before he hung up. In fact, I could have sworn I heard a laugh as he disconnected the call. But I had bigger things to think about now. I headed back into the house.
Twenty minutes later, I arrived at the Howard Beach Motor Lodge, a serious step down from our usual five-star rendezvous spots. I always swore I’d never go into one of those short-stay motels, but then again, I never thought that I’d cheat on my husband, or that my daughter would get kidnapped. My life had taken a drastic turn from the path I always thought I’d be on.
I knocked twice before Tony opened the door. I felt my chest tighten at the sight of him. He took me into his arms, but it was far from comforting to me. I could almost feel his eyes surveying the parking lot as he hesitantly welcomed me inside.
“Oh, Tony, they’ve got my baby.” In spite of his strange behavior, I collapsed against his chest and sobbed.
