by Gabby Grace
I stop to think for a moment, then text him back. No answer. “He’s not answering.”
“Fuck.” Frankie’s been looking over my shoulder, fully aware of the texts.
“I feel helpless just sitting here, but if I run in there half-cocked, I put everybody at risk.”
“I agree. We need to sit tight and let Lucenzo handle it.”
I talk, as much out of nerves and anger and the need to do something as anything else. “You ever heard the stories about Petrone?”
“What stories?”
“I caught these stories second or third-hand, so bear with me. A few years back, Petrone was rising up through the Sirico family, just a soldier back then, but already making a name for himself. He was working with Jimmy Margalleti at the time. Anyhow, they came across this barmaid at a local club. Nothing too special, just a normal barmaid, but I heard she was fucking beautiful. One of the guys told me she looked like a Playmate straight out of the March issue. The story goes that Petrone started pursuing her relentlessly at the bar where she worked, at her home, even out on the street in broad daylight. Even though she laid down the law – and I heard she had some spunk – he would not relent. Long story short, she didn’t show up for work one night and some friends got worried. They went to her place and that’s where they found her. Throat slit ear to ear, and some say he had his way with her before he did the deed. Some say after. Now believe that story or not, but that’s my girl in there. If what Lucenzo said is true, that psychopath has my girl in his sights.”
“Now that’s fucked up.”
The car is deathly silent, and what I feel, what I know is coming, is the darkness I know is rising up inside of me like some demon, desperate and deadly.
Something shakes me out of my stupor. It’s a want – no a need – to do something. I need to go in there. There is nothing or no one that can stop me from going in there to end that fucker before he gets the chance to end her.
I can barely contain the rage in my voice as I blurt out, “I’m going in.”
31
Bella
As Petrone was grabbing my elbow, squeezing harder and refusing to let me go, a large, curly dark-haired man with a husky build came pushing through the crowd, a purpose to his walk.
“You’re going to let go of the lady. Now.”
He points his finger into Petrone’s face, and Petrone just stares at it, his eyes crossing in. Then he laughs, and with it comes his grotesque smile.
“I mean it. She comes with me.” He addresses me directly. “Do you want to be with this man?”
I nod no.
“It’s settled. I don’t want any trouble.”
Petrone’s smile turns into a snarl. “You found trouble.”
“Let’s go.” He extends his left hand and I take it.
It can’t be this easy. No one, I mean not a single person in this room, was willing to do anything except for this man, this angel, who is coming out of nowhere to save me from this horrible man.
As we’re walking away, he whispers in my ear, “Vito is outside waiting for you.”
I look at him, my mouth slightly agape, but I try to keep a measured look so as not to draw attention. I can sense danger coming behind me, but I keep walking forward, one step at a time.
Crack. Crack.
The man who saved me falls to his knees, pulling me down with him. His breathing is hard and labored, his face contorted in a grimace of pain and disbelief. Blood is oozing from his back, about a foot below his neck, near the center. People are running and screaming all around me, as chaos ensues. Everything’s a blur. I use all my strength to help this man to his feet, as he staggers forward. It’s pure instinct.
We’re almost to the long hallway when he stops and reaches toward his waistband just inside his sports jacket. He draws a gun, and then reaches back with his right hand extended, right over the top of my head, and fires two quick shots. The bullets find their target, not on Nero Petrone, but in the chest and shoulder of one of his men, who stumbles to the ground in a giant, unmoving heap. The blast of the gun vibrates in my skull, as it was just inches from my face when he fired.
I feel another arm wrapping around my waist, helping me as I stumble, and then I’m aware of its owner going to the large man’s other side to help him. It’s Teague. He steadies his arm around his shoulder, and together we make our way towards the back of the club. Strippers are running frantically around us, while others are lying flat on the floor with their hands covering their heads, or rolled up in the fetal position, surviving any way they can.
The now silent stranger who saved me, maybe conserving his energy, maintains his slow pace, but at least he’s still up. Without Teague, there is no way I could keep this man on his feet.
Still clutching his gun, he looks back every few seconds to survey the danger still behind us. I’m freaking the fuck out inside, just trying to keep it together, as I’ve never been through anything remotely like this in my life. Survival instincts are kicking in, and I know I just need to keep moving.
Then I see him.
It’s Vito and some other guy, their weapons drawn and sprinting down the hallway in our direction. “Vito!” I call out to him, but he’s all business. He moves swiftly past us, and then I hear two more shots ring out. I can’t look. I don’t want to know if it’s Vito who was hit… I can’t bear the thought.
The tears are flowing thickly down my face in white-hot streams that leave a salty taste in my mouth. My nose is stuffing up, sobs racking my body, my eyes welling up at the terrible realization that I may have lost him.
The other man, who has short brown hair and is tall and well-built, has his gun raised, and is guarding me on the right. His head seems like it’s on a swivel, he’s walking backwards while keeping an eye behind us yet scanning in all directions.
“Bella?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Frankie, Vito’s friend.”
He moves in to take my place. Keeping his gun in his one hand, he uses his other to hook under the big man’s armpit, securing him around the back close to his wound, making sure to keep him moving forward.
Another slew of shots rings out behind me, and I can’t bear to look. Our small band rounds the corner, and then it’s apparent that we’re heading for the back door.
32
Vito
I wanted to stop to embrace her and help Lucenzo, but the danger is behind them, pushing in on them, threatening to kill.
There he is. Petrone. That sick fuck is getting shepherded out the door by one of his men who has his arm around his shoulder, pulling him out the front entrance. There’s other guys to contend with first.
Everything slows down. I can see it all.
A thug wearing sunglasses in a tan suit with a blue, open-collared shirt is aiming his gun right at me. I dive forward, the bullet whipping past me, ripping into the thick wood column just behind me. Coming out of my roll and firmly positioned on one knee, I fire two quick bursts that catch him in the chest and shoulder right where his left arm meets his body. It’s his non-shooting hand. Fuck. He staggers, but is still up, his gun to his side and hanging low, but still dangerous. As I race past him, the next shot goes to his head, point blank, an entry wound in his left cheek.
Blood fucking everywhere.
I can feel his warm blood on my face, splattered and blinding me temporarily in my left eye. No time to worry about that. A smaller thug swings his gun in my direction from where he was hiding behind a column for protection while he fired at Lucenzo.
Too fucking late, pal.
I move swiftly toward him, and with deadly accurate aim, squeeze off three bursts right to his throat and upper chest. His face contorts into a deathly grin, blood spurting out of his neck, his hand desperately clenched to his wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. He falls, hitting a screaming woman who is curled up in fetal position on the floor, rocking back and forth. She’ll never be the sam
e.
A quick look over my shoulder assures me that Bella and Lucenzo are out of sight. I can just see Frankie’s shoulder rounding the corner toward the back door. Good man. Take care of them. This is my fight now.
I step over screaming people on the way to the door. I feel bad for an older couple, wrapped up in each other’s embrace. They didn’t sign up for this. They’re too scared to I.D. me, their hands covering their faces, whimpering into each other’s shoulders like little kids.
This is man’s work, and I’m the man to get it done.
I channel the fury, focused and agile like a cat, strong as a bull, and as skilled as any man with a handgun. I fight with purpose. For my friends and for my girl.
Reloading, a fresh clip snapping into place, I exit through the door that’s now devoid of anyone, heading out into the parking lot and failing daylight. My eyes scan all around. Movement. It’s Nero Petrone, and he’s heading for the limo.
I sprint like I never have before. The burning in my lungs feels good, as I close the hundred yard gap between me and that monster who needs to die. I have the feeling of a man doing everything possible to achieve a goal. To end Petrone for good.
Now that I’m just twenty five yards away from him I slow down and level my gun at the limo, its doors now closed, the engine turned on. Coming up on its left side, the tinted windows hide the identity of the passenger in the back who I know is Petrone, but I can still see the driver silhouetted by the late afternoon light.
The engine revs, and the driver guns the engine, flooring the white limo in reverse until I’m staring at the font grill. I need to be quick. The engine revs again, and the car hurtles rapidly toward me. I’m encased by the smell of burning rubber and the smoke filling the air from the melting tires.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
33
Bella
Frankie and Teague are supporting almost the full weight of the man Frankie named Lucenzo. His legs are barely moving, he’s so weak from the loss of blood and sheer exhaustion from his ordeal. Amazingly, he’s still holding the gun, like a souvenir from his last stand and a final act of defiance against those who tried to kill him.
It was a cowardly act, choosing to wait until the man turned away before firing into him, shooting him in the back. I don’t know a lot about these things, but I’ve watched enough movies and have enough understanding of human nature to know that shooting a man in the back is the sign of a true coward.
Petrone is a fucking coward, a sick, sadistic man, and I know that Vito will make him pay. I could see it in him. I could feel it when his cold clammy hands grabbed my elbow and refused to let me go. It was in his words, his temperament. It oozed from him, from every pore, from that wicked grin, and that garlic breath, foul and offensive.
Vito will end this. He has to.
Now at a white SUV in the next parking lot over, Frankie opens the back with one hand while still supporting Lucenzo with the other. “Let’s lower him down, on his stomach, so we can stop the bleeding.”
Teague runs around to the side, opens the passenger door and lowers the seat to give more room to put him inside. Through careful maneuvering, they lay him down in the back, flat on his stomach. He’s still grasping the gun, refusing to let it go.
Frankie tries to take it from him. He mumbles in response, “No… if I’m going to die, it will be with a gun in my hand.” His speech is slurred, his breathing labored.
Frankie rips Lucenzo’s shirt in the back, exposing his wound, as I turn away, not able to deal with this. I’ve handled everything up to this point, but this is just too much.
Just when things seemed at their worst, I hear five distinct crack sounds, which I now know are gunfire. Before today, I would have been clueless, but once I heard that sound, I will never mistake it again.
I follow the direction of the shots around the right side of the vehicle, my legs involuntarily taking me there in a second flat. My eyes scan for any movement, anything that will give me a clue as to what is going on.
Then I see him.
Vito.
Standing tall, a gun raised in his outstretched hand, facing the vehicle that is now hurtling toward him hell-bent on killing him.
34
Vito
With all my prowess, I desperately lunge to my left as the car stays true to its course, five well-placed bullet holes creating a pattern of death on the driver’s-side windshield. It’s shattered, but not broken, in a spider web design, hiding the results of my shots.
Seconds later and before I can come out of my roll, feeling the sting of the concrete burns on my exposed arms, I hear a loud crash, the crushing metal and broken glass echoing through the air like a sonic boom.
I find my feet quickly, gun raised and moving toward the smoking vehicle, that struck a parked car, and is giving up its liquids from the smashed front end. I approach from the back right of the car, my breath fast but measured. I’m cautious and alert.
My left hand reaches for the right rear passenger door handle. Pulling up, I swing the door open. On the floor, stunned and grabbing for his right shoulder, is the prick, Nero Petrone, and no one else.
The slumping body I can see clearly over the opened glass partition would be his dead bodyguard doubling as his driver.
I thrust in with my bare hand, grab him by the collar of his thousand-dollar suit, rip him towards me and fling him onto the hard, unforgiving concrete. His face makes contact first, his outstretched hands not doing much to brace his fall.
I move in, gun pointed, wind up my right leg and swing through. My right foot catches him squarely in his ribs, hitting him with so much violent force that his body lifts a foot off the ground.
His jaw open, he rolls onto his side, his coughing fits spewing up blood and mucous that are now dripping from his lower lip. He looks fully like the monster he is deep down inside.
My left heel finds his jaw with a brutal straight side kick, striking him square in his mouth, his rotten front teeth partially knocked out and protruding through a giant gash in his upper lip.
“Is that all you got?” His grin is pure evil, full of blood, his teeth crimson and broken.
I grab him behind the neck and pull him to the gun, forcing it in his mouth and pushing it against the back of his throat until he gags.
“How’s your warehouse doing? Huh, Petrone?”
His eyes change, narrowing and filling with hatred.
“That’s right, asshole. I burned it to the ground.”
He says ‘fuck you,’ but with a barrel in his mouth it comes out as “Flllk ooo.”
“Look at you. A disgrace to your family. You’re a fucking disgrace, period.”
He motions for me to take the gun out of his mouth, and I don’t know why I want to hear him speak, but I pull it out. He recovers a moment, licking his disgusting lips before he speaks, some words garbled by his broken teeth. “You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you? I knew it was you who burned down my warehouse. Ever hear of hidden security cameras? Not quite as sharp as you think you are, huh? I was going to do your girl slow. Painful and slow. Make her pay for your indiscretions. She’s nothing but a fucking whore. You will pay, and so will she.”
He’s laughing now, really more of a cackle, and there’s nothing more I want to do than to end this fuck. I could torture him, but I know he would never give me anything. Besides, it’s time to get the fuck out of Dodge.
“I’m going to enjoy taking your life.”
A twisted grin crosses his face, and I know I’ve seen the devil himself.
“Pray up, asshole.” The gun to his head, I place it right between his eyes. They turn cross-eyed into the cold-steel barrel, then turn back to me. Perfect. I want my eyes to be the last thing he ever sees.
Crack.
The deed done, I stumble to my feet, exhausted, but stop to take one last look at this piece of shit, or what’s left of his face, then turn to look at the club.
Fave. No, certainly not my Fave.
I move away from the scene of chaos and destruction this monster brought in his wake. I did the only thing I could.
I turn and start walking towards hope.
I’m surprised when I see Lucenzo’s Escalade still in the other parking lot just beyond the bushes. I’m even more surprised – or a better word is excited – when I see Bella standing next to it, looking even more beautiful than the first time I laid eyes on her. There’s something about facing death that makes you appreciate what matters most. It’s not the cars and it’s not the money. It’s the people. They matter. Bella matters.
Each step I get closer to her, the more I want to crawl inside a bed with her and just get lost in each other. She comes to meet me, as I pass through the bushes, and her pace picks up until she’s running to me.
She throws her arms around my neck, her whole body coming off the ground. She straddles my waist, my free hand supporting her beneath her ass, and I tuck my gun into my back belt with my other.
Bella kisses my neck, hugging me tight to her. Her lips find mine and she kisses me passionately, then pulls away.
“I’m glad you’re safe, Vito… I thought… I…”
Those eyes, those lips… I want to fuck her so bad right now, I can taste it.
“Shhh.. it’s okay. How’s Lucenzo?”
“I don’t know. I was watching you.” We walk back to the truck together, my arm around her shoulder, and then we see Frankie.
He rounds the edge of the vehicle. The blood on his hands and lower arms, the grave look on his face tells the whole story. “I did everything I could. He’s dead.”
I don’t even react, only feeling a numbness come over my body that can’t be described. Police sirens come into earshot, approaching from off in the distance, as we all look around, then at each other.
“We need to go.”
35
Vito
