Out of the Darkness

by J. C. Owens

  It all felt so unbelievably perfect.

  Then they had left the restaurant.

  Sergei had been waiting at the entrance, two other men at his side, and they had guided Enzo and Chase to one of the waiting cars. It had only been a few steps.

  Now he lay there, cheek pressed against the cold concrete, feeling the pain radiate and spread.

  A whimper broke free, and he felt Enzo’s arm tighten around him. Fear for Enzo’s safety rose in his thoughts, and he tried to speak. He found it hard to focus on the noise around them both, everything seemed to be swimming, and he gave a little sigh of surprise as his senses faded into darkness.

  Sergei stood at attention near the doorway, wary eyes fixed upon the Martinelli, Raymond waiting at his shoulder, face showing no expression.

  Enzo had not spoken since the shooting, had remained silent through the rush home, the call for one of their doctors, Chase’s subsequent treatment.

  Silence was never a good thing when dealing with the Martinelli. Silence was a sign of the rising darkness within Enzo, the near madness that haunted the Martinelli line.

  Enzo paced, slowly, and with great control, another bad sign.

  Temper and action released anger, this frightening control only increased the fury boiling within. Sergei had no desire to take the brunt of what would boil over given an outlet, any outlet. When Enzo was at his worst, his darkness seemed to have great difficulty recognizing friend from foe. It was his job to keep his boss under wraps enough to prevent any incidents that Enzo would regret later. Raymond’s job was to work past the anger, soothe it down to manageable levels.

  Not an easy task.

  Enzo paced with his eyes fixed upon the setting sun framed through the doors to the balcony of his bedroom. He did not watch as the doctor cleaned, stitched, and dressed Chase’s wounds, front and back of his right shoulder, just below the collarbone.

  It was a blessing that Chase stayed unconscious, because Sergei was quite sure that Enzo’s false calm would never have held through the boy crying out in pain. For the doctor’s sake, he hoped that whatever he had given the boy would remain potent until the job was done, and the doctor long gone.

  It was eerily quiet in the room, only the sound of the doctor’s movements bringing any relief to the potent silence. Sergei had to remind himself to breathe. His mind was racing with the events of the evening, most of his attention on the priority of protecting the Martinelli and his lover, the rest on the orders he had given two of his finest men: to trace the shooter. He had given no information to anyone else. The timing, the swift efficiency of the hit was obvious. This had not been to kill; this had been to warn.

  And the Martinelli did not take a warning well.

  He had his suspicions about the shooting, but he would keep his mouth shut until Enzo chose to speak with him, or his men returned with concrete evidence.

  The doctor began to pack up his supplies, and Enzo whirled, attention pinpointing the man immediately. The doctor had been working for the Martinellis for a great many years. He kept his eyes lowered, his posture submissive, moving with slow sure actions, nothing to provoke the beast.

  “The wound was a clean in and out. His bleeding cleansed the site well. I have cleansed it further, stitched it. I want you to keep an eye out for infection. Call me if you have the faintest doubt.” He pulled the covers up over Chase’s still form. “I have given the boy something for pain and to make him sleep, so he should be out until the morning at least. I’ll leave some pills here; pain, sleep aids, and antibiotics. They’re labeled. Is there anything else you want from me? Was anyone else hurt?” His brief look encompassed the blood that stained Enzo’s shirt.

  He shook his head, gesturing the doctor to him as he opened the door. “Just the boy. Thanks, Darell, for coming out so late.”

  “I don’t think you lot have ever called me during the day. I’m used to it by now.” Darell’s voice held wry humor, but he shot a look of concern back into the room. “You’re sure none of that blood is his?”

  “Believe me, I checked Enzo over immediately.” Both men shared a look, knowing exactly how difficult Enzo would have made that examination, with his temper up and his lover injured.

  “I’ll come by tomorrow evening, make sure the boy is doing well.” Darell shook Sergei’s hand, then walked away in the company of Raymond. Nobody was being trusted at this point.

  Sergei reentered the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Enzo had crossed to the bed and was standing silently, staring down at Chase, his face utterly inscrutable. His hands slowly clenched into fists, before he whirled on his heel, and stalked out upon the balcony. Fingers flexed upon the stone railing, the muscles in his jaw working with his thoughts.

  Sergei hesitated, then slowly approached, until he could sink into his chair, trying to make his muscles relax as he watched his friend, his boss.

  It was a half hour or more before Enzo finally took a deep breath.

  “I want you to bring Benito here.” The tone was harsh, those dark eyes filled with a bottomless rage. “I think it is time I spoke to my uncle.”

  Sergei knocked upon his boss’s office door. He tried to shake off the grim expression on his face.

  “Come in, Sergei.” Enzo’s voice sounded more controlled now.

  Sergei swung open the heavy walnut door, stepping inside first, so Benito Martinelli would have to pass him.

  Benito, heavyset and broad, lacking Enzo’s height and fine features, stepped into the lush office with commendable poise, but with wariness clear in his small, dark eyes. Sergei saw the man size up every corner of the room. That was the first thing these Martinellis always did.

  Enzo was leaning back in his chair, relaxed, calm.

  “Benvenuto, Zio.” He gestured to a comfortable chair stationed before the great desk.

  Sergei gave a brief nod to his boss and began to retreat from the doorway.

  “Stay, Sergei.” Enzo set his glasses upon the desk. “There’s a gunman on the loose. I’m sure my uncle will feel more comfortable knowing that you are right beside him. Please, close the door.”

  Sergei did as he was asked. He took up position beside Benito and folded his arms across his chest.

  A coldness was evident in Benito’s eyes. He was definitely not happy to have company. “Nipote. Buona per vedere.”

  Benito seated himself, crossing one leg over the other and resting his interlaced hands over his knee.

  “My nephew, I have to say that I am very sorry to hear of the shooting. I trust the young man is recovering well?” Nothing in the tone but polite concern.

  Enzo watched him for a long silent moment, his stare piercing, before he nodded in acceptance of the statement. “He is strong. The wound was clean through.”

  “Good, good. I am glad to hear it.” Benito’s stare never wavered. “I am puzzled though as to why you would wish to see me so soon after the incident.”

  Enzo sat forward, elbows upon the desk, hands clasped over each other, viewing Benito with seemingly polite intensity.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  Benito tilted his head slightly, curling the corner of his mouth in a cold smile. “You wish me to find out if Paolo had some hand in this?”

  Enzo frowned at him, showing no anger or surprise at the comment.

  “I have no need of such a thing. I am, instead, offering you a chance to step into my position.”

  Benito’s body tightened, and he leaned forward ever so slightly, a look of disbelief on his face. Sergei caught himself spellbound by this turn of events too. He straightened his back. What game was Enzo playing here?

  “Why would you do this?” Benito’s expression morphed into suspicious enquiry.

  Enzo leaned back, a weariness seeming to take possession, lining his face.

  “I have led this family for a long time. I find myself wanting something different, something without having to watch my back every moment.”

 
Benito watched him in silence for long moments. “This shooting rattled you. The boy is more important to you than I would have thought.” His look was calculating.

  Enzo shrugged. “Perhaps it is him. Perhaps not. This has been in my thoughts for much longer than he has been in my life. This kind of life, it wears upon me. Does it not, Sergei?”

  Sergei grunted. He knew he was not expected to contribute anything to this discussion other than his silent, hulking presence. That was enough.

  Enzo gave a small smile. “These days, I cannot even have a friendly chat with my own family members, in my own house, without a bodyguard present. I grow weary of these games.”

  Benito’s expression showed a sneer for the briefest of moments, contempt in his gaze as it alighted upon Sergei’s gun holster. The man was not a fool. He knew what Sergei’s presence implied.

  “Your father would not have been pleased to see you step aside from your duties.”

  Something cold and dark flickered across Enzo’s face, and Benito looked aside, briefly, not encouraging aggression.

  “I have no concern whether my father would have approved or not. He is no longer here. My decisions only need to make sense to me alone. If you are not interested, I am more than willing for it to pass down to Paolo.”

  Benito shifted in his seat. “I am simply concerned by this sudden desire to vacate your position.”

  “It will not be immediate. I wish to offer you the chance to step up and show me what you are capable of. I will give you responsibility for the large sectors of the business, and you can go from there. If you show promise and strength of leadership, it will be all yours in a year.”

  Avarice ghosted over Benito’s face. “Why not Paolo?” His suspicions were clear within his expression.

  “You are the eldest, after my father. You have the right. From what my sources tell me, you could lead the family well.”

  Benito straightened, a hint of surprise in the movement. “I had not thought you noticed.”

  “I always notice strength in any of the family. You have wanted more power for a very long time. I am offering it to you. Though you might want to do something about your youngest son, Ilario. He is a fool.”

  Benito stared, then nodded, face twitching with inner thoughts. It was clear he was suspicious, but his greed, his jealousy of his nephew leading the family was acting against rationality.

  “I would be able to work on the southern territories then?” His desire for the most lucrative areas of the business were clear.

  “If you accept, I will inform our contacts, and you can show me how you would like things to be run. If it seems to work well, then you can have them.”

  Benito almost vibrated, his lust for becoming head of the family almost palatable. “And Paolo?”

  “That will be up to you. I know you two are close, so you can include him as you see fit. You could even co-rule if that would please you.” Swift rejection flashed over Benito’s expression. Sergei had to forcibly stop himself from laughing out loud. There was nothing better than watching Enzo play with his uncle’s emotions like this.

  “And you? What will you do if I take over?” Benito’s contempt was barely hidden.

  “I have my wealth. I need no more. I will live as I see fit.”

  “With your boy?” The sneer drew up Benito’s lip.

  Sergei tensed. That was the wrong thing to say.

  Enzo leaned forward, cold malice in every inch of his body.

  “Speak of him in such a manner again, Zio, and you will see why I was chosen for leadership when you were not. I would hate to have to kill a family member, but you will not disrespect me. Leader or not, I would have your balls, and you know it.”

  Benito shifted back in the chair, turning his gaze aside once more, sullen compliance evident in his manner.

  “If you start showing any belligerence toward me during this trial period, I can and will pass it over to Paolo. You are not indispensable, by any means. I am giving you a chance for something you have always wanted. Use the opportunity well, and you will have it. Start raising my anger, and you will gain nothing. Is that clear?”

  Benito drew a deep breath, a vein throbbing on the side of his neck. Sergei actually heard the man’s teeth grinding with displeasure at being chastised by his nephew. Finally, he nodded. The tension in the room seemed to ebb away, and Sergei felt the muscles in his shoulders relax for the first time in several minutes.

  “I will do as you ask, nipote.”

  “Good. I will speak with our contacts, and let them know of the changes. I think you will do well, Zio, and the Martinellis will stay strong beneath your leadership.”

  A hint of surprise and pleasure flashed over Benito’s face. Both men stood and Benito reached out, meeting Enzo’s hand halfway. The handshake was firm, and Sergei fancied he could see that each was applying more force than necessary.

  A brief look from Enzo told Sergei that it was time to escort the man out of the office. They would not be sharing a drink in celebration. The meeting was over.

  He opened the door and moved aside for Benito, who was grinning from ear to ear. Pulling the door closed behind him, Sergei caught a glimpse of Enzo’s face. He was smiling too. But it was the cold, razor-sharp smile of a shark.

  Chase woke with a soft groan of pain, blinking dazedly at the ornate ceiling of Enzo’s bedroom. For long moments, he could not imagine where he was or why he hurt so badly. Then memory crashed over him, and he gasped, one hand rising to his shoulder. His fingers met thick bandages, and he froze. It was real then. The shooting…not just a horrible dream. Memories of the terrible, biting pain rose, and he thrust them away.

  The present pain was duller, a deep ache, and it only flared when he was foolish enough to move that shoulder.

  He relaxed into the bed, trying to restrain his need to sit up, to search for Enzo. The last memory he had was of his lover covering him, protecting him. Had Enzo been hurt as well? The mere thought made him shudder, the pain sparking with the movement.

  He gritted his teeth, taking deep breaths to control the sensations. He was used to pain, had lived with it as a daily occurrence while under Marcello’s ownership. He was no wilting flower to buckle under this wound, but neither was he so foolish as to seek more pain.

  When he could breathe properly again, he turned his head slowly, his heart quickening as he saw a large figure lounging upon the leather sofa near the windows, the soft sound of the TV slowly entering his dazed senses.

  He sagged in disappointment as he realized it was Sergei. The captain of the enforcers sat in profile to Chase, and the sight of him, hair tousled, body slouching into the comfort of the couch, made him smile. The man looked so different at ease, so rumpled, and almost normal. Not his usual stark perfection and cold demeanor by any means.

  Some instinct made Sergei frown, and he turned his head to meet Chase’s sleepy eyes.

  A smile broke over the guard’s harsh features, and Chase felt warmth infuse him. Sergei rose and crossed over to him, the smile still in evidence, a softness to the normally cold eyes.

  “So you finally wake! I thought you had perhaps gone into hibernation, boy.”

  He gave a small grin in reply. He tried to speak twice, before his voice sounded more than a raven’s croak.

  “Enzo?”

  Sergei reached toward the bedside table, bringing a glass of water with a straw into view. Tipping it slightly he managed to bring it to Chase’s lips without spilling any.

  Chase sipped it slowly, closing his eyes in bliss, as his throat absorbed the moisture gratefully.

  When he gestured that it was enough, Sergei withdrew the glass, watching him with the hint of a smile.

  “Enzo is on the phone at the moment. He was here all night. Looks like hell, the idiot. Would not sleep for worry of you. Had me here too, to keep him company and help guard you. He is a little protective right now. Like he cares about you, deeply.”

  He flushed, smiling. “He is all
right? He did not get hurt?’

  Sergei grinned. “He always seems to come out all right. It is the rest of us who get the bullets, isn’t it?” He raised his shirt a few inches. The scars of two bullets were on his right side, the mutilated skin twisted and pale with age.

  “Now you are one of us, hmm?” The amusement in Sergei’s tone was evident.

  “I was hardly protecting him,” he argued weakly. “They were targeting me, weren’t they? I could have gotten him killed.”

  Sergei’s smile faded. “They were after you. But they were pros. If it was Enzo they were after, they would not have missed. They shot you in the shoulder. It was a warning, no more than that.”

  Chase shifted slightly, grimacing. “Couldn’t they just send a text message?”

  Sergei shrugged, tilting his lips slightly. “Call them old-school. Some people in our business are just traditionalists.”

  “Ha, ha,” He put one elbow under him and tried to sit up.

  Sergei tsk-tsked, and with surprisingly gentleness, he propped Chase up carefully with well-placed pillows.

  He sat with his head back for long moments, letting the pain settle in this new position, before he looked at Sergei once more, thanking him.

  “Is Enzo angry?’ His voice held a small degree of his former timidity, and it grated upon him. He never wanted to return to the scarred and terrified soul who had first come here. Chase had fought too long and hard to submit to that part of himself ever again.

  Sergei shrugged in answer. “With those who did this, yes. With you, no. He cares deeply for you, whether he will ever admit it to himself or not. And you, in turn, could be the making of him.”

  Chase could only stare at him in disbelief. “No one makes anything of the Martinelli. Nobody influences him to change. If he chooses to do something, it is because he wants to.”

  Sergei grinned, something that lightened his features and made him look years younger. “You have a great deal of influence, my boy. Never doubt that. It is the fact that you love him that gives you the power. Whether he realizes it or not, he craves that. He trusts you in a fashion that very, very few receive.”