Stroke: A Bad Boy Romance

by Gabby Grace

  “Your Vito. He is a resourceful man. Do you know what I mean?” He tilts his head a bit, sizing me up, maybe looking for any weaknesses he can exploit. I can’t take my eyes off his cheesy mustache.

  Poker-faced and unblinking. “No. I haven’t known him for long.”

  “He must tell you some things?” His voice sounds hopeful.

  “Nothing.” I don’t know how much these answers will satisfy him. I’m playing Russian roulette and I’ve already fired off two shots. One of these chambers is loaded and I don’t think I’ll like what comes out of the barrel.

  His tone shifts on a dime. “You’re lying to me. To protect him.”

  I say nothing, I show nothing on my face, stalwart and non-budging.

  He nods over to the smooth-rounded metal railing with the glass panel inserts that I peer at just over my shoulder, my eyes going back to him, his stare letting me know this is the way he gets information out of people. A strong hand on my shoulder sends chills through me. When it tightens, a fear takes hold, when it spins me around and leads me toward the railing, I scream silently inside.

  The walk over to the railing is slow and deliberate, a scare tactic to get me talking. It’s working. The lump rises up in my throat, making it difficult for me to breathe. When we reach the rail, I think I’ll scream out loud, breaking glass and shattering eardrums within a mile of here.

  My head is forced over the railing by a muscular arm pushing my head down, forcing me to look at the ocean a hundred feet below, flanked on three sides by jagged, rocky cliffs. The kind that will cut you if you slide your skin against them, the kind that will split your skull open if you land on them from this height.

  Basilio Sirico walks up on my left, looks out over the ocean view, visible for maybe a few miles before the black night swallows it whole, the moon doing its part but losing out to the darkness.

  I am the light and he is the darkness, and he is in control. I will lose out.

  But Nero Petrone was darkness, and I was light. Somehow I won out. With the help of Lucenzo and Vito. Maybe if I can hold out a little longer, help will come? It worked for me once. Maybe…

  “It’s a beautiful view if you look straight out.” He turns toward me, one elbow on the cold, smooth steel rail. Now that he’s more in the light now, I can see his features. He is tall and wearing a black open-collared shirt, black slacks, and a gold chain with some type of medal dangling from the end of it when he leans over. His eyes are black and his hairline is receding, giving his forehead the appearance of being rather endless, and his bushy gray eyebrows could use a trim. What continues to stand out to me is his thin mustache, the style not popular since the 1940s.

  “Not so much if you look straight down.”

  My eyes can’t resist looking down, as I swallow what feels like a rock down my parched throat. I need to give him something. Anything. “He burned down your warehouse.”

  A glance over to my left tells me some kind of expression swept over his face, almost like a tragic mask, emotionless, and with no expression, no human being can hide their disappointment.

  “I know about that.”

  My voice is soft, a tinge of pleading seeping through in my words. “Please… it’s all I know. He only told me that because I found out on my own.”

  “You know he’s a killer? He took out eight of my associates.” He’s trying to turn me against Vito.

  This would be good cop.

  “I saw him kill Nero Petrone.” I know he knows this already. There were probably a dozen witnesses still inside Fave when this happened, but I want to appear cooperative.

  “Where is Vito now?”

  “I don’t know. I was away for a few days and I just got back.” It’s true, I don’t know where he is. I have an idea of what he might be doing, but I can’t share that. Bits and pieces, Bella. Only give him a little.

  He moves closer to me, almost touching his elbow to mine. His left hand reaching across my face, cold and insensitive, he strokes the hair away from my face, next cupping my throat and under my chin in a vice-like grip, and I know that the game has just changed.

  This would be bad cop.

  50

  Frankie

  The car pulls up and three guys who can only be mafia thugs exit the vehicle. I can tell by the way they move. There’s a certain walk that says ‘don’t fuck with us.’

  The well-lit fountain washes the grass and trees with soft hues of green and pink, the colors of the lights shining through cascading water, the lights dancing on the overhanging palms.

  Vito stands on one end of the fountain, facing them, hands to his sides but outstretched a bit to show he’s not going to be reaching for anything. The three thugs come up on him, and instead of stopping in front of him, he’s grabbed by a man on each arm. The third guy moves in behind him, pulling a piece from his belt and pistol whipping him in the back of the head. Vito goes limp in their arms, and is dragged along the ground over the grass and some walkways to the waiting car.

  Me and Valentino make our way through the dark, using the concealing brush for cover, moving toward his car which looks like something out of a James Bond movie. We enter quietly and shut the doors with barely audible clicks. The winged logo on the center of the steering wheel is a dead giveaway, and I know it’s an Aston Martin before even reading the name.

  Must be nice to be born into Mafia royalty and not grow up in the slums of New York City fighting for every scrap of food, every dollar, and every inch of ground. We’ll see what this well-dressed, well-spoken man brings to the table in the form of violence and know how. We’ll need every bit of it tonight.

  After being frisked for weapons, Vito’s tossed into the back of the nondescript car like an old piece of luggage, a guy getting in on each side next to him, and the third hopping into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine and pulling away.

  Valentino’s car barely makes a sound with its push-button start, and I feel like we’re going to take off to some distant fucking planet with all the red dash lights and cockpit-style plush seats.

  A few minutes in, I can see he’s a pro at tailing people. I can just tell. Just like his brother Lucenzo was. I guess when you’re born into a family like theirs, you learn this shit when you’re not in school. I can see it now, ‘all right boys, today we’re going to learn strangling with a garrote 101. First you sneak up behind the target, then…’

  My immature thought process is broken by Valentino’s voice. “You’ve broken into places before?”

  Get this fucking guy. “Yeah, Valentino. It’s my specialty. I hear you’re some legendary killer back in the old country. Is that right?”

  “Just concentrate of what you need to do, Frankie. I know what I’m doing.”

  I can sense just a hint of Lucenzo in his voice and mannerisms, but this guy is nothing like his brother. Confidence oozes out of him, and even though I’ve never seen him in action, I know he’ll be the goods. It doesn’t change that he just insulted me.

  “Listen, Valentino. I know you’re in this for vengeance for your brother. I fucking get that. But me and Vito, we’re like brothers. And Bella… I think he loves her, although he won’t fucking admit it. I’ve grown close to her, too, in the time I’ve known her…”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “If you quit interrupting, I’m trying to say I have a lot more riding on this than you. So don’t insult me by questioning my ability to do whatever it fucking takes. I’d die for Vito. Would you?”

  “I don’t intend on dying.”

  “Of course not. You have too much to live for with your fancy sports cars and your big family name to live up to. Me and Vito? We do this shit to fucking survive. It’s not a fucking hobby for us, or some fucking game we get to test our skills out on. It’s life or fucking death for us.”

  He takes a deep breath, then speaks. “My brother died helping you two. From what I heard, there was no plan. Just go in, start sho
oting, and see what happens. I work with professionals, or on my own. That’s it. You better be up for this, because I’m not dying for anyone. I’m here to kill without thought, without question, and with precision. And Don Sirico is mine. You don’t touch him, and neither does Vito. Our war with him goes back generations. My father battled the Sirico’s, and his father before him. This ends tonight. You leave Sirico to me.”

  51

  Vito

  What the?

  My fucking head is pounding. I remember being struck in the back of the head by one of these guys. I bet they feel tough right now, one with a gun on me, the other looking ready to bust my nose at any time.

  That’s right, I took out eight of your friends and I’m not done yet, not by a fucking long shot.

  I think about trying to overpower them, but that’s not part of the plan. I need to get to Bella first, and getting me free to fight will be up to Valentino and Frankie.

  What an unlikely pair. Frankie, rough and tumble, a real wise ass. And Valentino, one of the most powerful up and comers in the mob world, seemingly ready to take over for his aging father heading up the Denunzio crime family, that dates back generations and is a staple in the old country. Few families, if any, are more powerful, and Valentino Denunzio is the future.

  I guess I could have lesser guys on my side. A guy like Valentino would be out to prove himself, and Frankie, well, he’s as loyal as they come. And then there’s his ability to break into anything from a locked car to a bank-grade safe. That’ll come in handy in beating any defenses that get in their way.

  I just need to stay alive long enough for that to happen.

  I’ve been out for long enough that I have no idea where I am. I can see the bright lights of Miami in the rear view mirror, but nothing else on this side road gives me a clue to where we are.

  Fuck. Those guys have to be right behind me, but I haven’t seen any lights. I bet Valentino is ghost riding. At least that’s what we called riding without headlights when I was a stupid kid. I used to ghost ride the highways late at night with Tony Jacomini, and just when we snuck up on a car and were right off its back bumper, we’d throw on the headlights. One time a guy swerved and almost lost control, veering wildly from one side of the highway to the other, nearly hitting the guard rail. That was enough for me to be convinced it was fucking stupid, and I never did it again.

  We’re in a residential area now with houses every half mile or so, and mostly on our left, hugging what looks to be the coastline. Big bucks around here. The driver hits his left signal, and we pull into a driveway that winds down a hill to an expansive home tucked away from the road and very private.

  There are guards posted around the perimeter, some armed with automatic weapons, alternating between looking at us and back to the hillsides and surrounding area. Valentino and Frankie will have to find a way to get through them.

  The vehicle rolls to a stop, and the feel of a handgun in my ribs and the incessant pounding in the back of my skull reminds me these guys don’t play games. I’m pushed out of the car from my left, pulled out by the guard who was sitting to my right and is now standing just outside the open car door.

  I’m led into the house by my right elbow, my hands bound behind my back by layers of duct tape. It’s a nice house. I wouldn’t expect anything less for the Don of a crime family. He could have taken me to an old warehouse or factory and gone medieval on me, and I much prefer this setting.

  I feel eyes on me even where I can’t see bodies, and know there are men loyal to the Don everywhere in this house. The question is how many? Those guys should have tailed us here and at least know where I’m at right now. They would be formulating a plan to bust me out and put me in a position where I can rescue Bella. She’s here. I can feel it.

  I’m steered down a hallway toward the back of the house. We pass some guards talking just inside the kitchen, their automatic weapons slung over their shoulders like it’s no big deal to be carrying that kind of hardware. They eye me up and down as I pass, looking full well like they want a piece of me.

  We exit the house through some sliding glass doors, the grip tight on my elbow that’s pushing me through. My eyes come into focus, and I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing. A strong man, with the widest shoulders I’ve ever seen up close, is dangling someone over the railing on the far side of the patio.

  I hear a scream.

  It’s Bella.

  52

  Frankie

  The slow drive-by we did in Valentino’s Aston Martin, whisper quiet, gliding by the driveway like a ghost, unseen, allowed us to see the car stop and Vito be pulled out and led toward the house.

  Now for a plan.

  I get the conversation going. “I counted five guards just outside the front door. How many more inside?”

  “It’s hard to say.”

  “I don’t see any way we can approach from the front or sides without being spotted.”

  “Agreed.”

  My mind races with random thoughts, then I force myself to focus on ideas that may work to get us inside and on equal footing against the guards. We have to be outnumbered by at least four or five to one. You can’t just go in guns blazing against those numbers.

  Think, Frankie, think.

  My brain almost hurts with the energy I’m using to figure out a plan. This has to be quick. Valentino pulls over about a half mile away from the mansion. He breaks the silence. “What about the back?”

  I pause a few seconds to consider, then speak. “All these places back up to the ocean. You see that down there?” I’m pointing to a large house just down the hill from us, faintly silhouetted against the ocean backdrop.

  “What of it?”

  I point out his window to the left. “What do you see behind that house?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why is there nothing?”

  “Because it’s a cliff.”

  Then an idea hits me that’s so brilliant, yet so fucking stupid, that it just might work.

  “Let’s get this car off the road and hidden.”

  “What’s your plan?” Valentino’s not budging until I spit it out.

  “We know the front and side are guarded. It would be suicide to enter through either of those places considering we’re two people. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “What if we attack from the back?”

  “Up the cliff?”

  “We don’t know it’s a cliff. It could be a hill, or a slow path down to the ocean. We don’t fucking know, but we do need to check it out.”

  “All right. We’ll check it out.” He starts the car, makes a U-turn, and after a hundred yards or so, he finds a slight pull-off to the left on the opposite side of the road that’s hidden by some small bushes.

  “Pop the trunk, will ya’?” He pops it from inside by hitting a button near the moon roof. We step out of the vehicle and move toward the open trunk. I consolidate the two backpacks of materials – the ones that Vito and me had taken to the warehouse – into one now really heavy backpack filled to the brim with materials we may need.

  Valentino walks up beside me as I’m trying to zip the backpack closed. “What’s in there?”

  “You’ll see when the time is right.”

  He looks at me, then away and down to the trunk, pulling out a long and slim metal case. He lays it flat on the ground, opens the metal latches, and flips the top of the case open to reveal something right out of the fucking movies. The first thing I notice is one of those sniper-type rifles. It has a separate scope and a barrel that is now apart from the main body, but it can be screwed together with the rest of the weapon.

  He puts it together with no effort at all, and I can tell he’s practiced doing this in the dark. He leans it up against the bumper before pulling out two silver-plated matching handguns, each with pearl-grip handles that look like they can take down a buffalo at close range. He makes sure the clips are full, clickin
g them back into place, and then pockets extra clips.

  Next he grabs what looks like a long metal tube, with six darts fanned out in a pattern around the end. I think to myself how many ways this man must know to take out another human being.

  Last, he pulls out what looks like a garrote. I heard about those things from some of the old-timers. It’s a way to stealth kill people from behind by choking them out, or severing the main artery in their neck by pulling hard on the piano-type wire with two gloved hands.

  “Are you ready?”

  He grabs the sniper rifle strap and slings it over his shoulder. “Yes.”

  “Let’s do this.”

  We have no time to lose, so I make my way down the small mound and down to the road, scanning both ways to make sure there is no one about. Then I make my way into the brush at the side of the road, angling down the hill and out to the left a bit toward our showdown with Sirico.

  We have one advantage right now, and we have to use it to make this attack successful: he doesn’t know we’re here.

  Valentino is just behind me every time I swing my head around, and after a while, I quit worrying that he can’t keep up with the pace I’m setting, mostly a slow jog as I see the house come into view. We pause on a little hill overlooking the house that gives us a mostly clear view through the wall of glass windows of what’s the kitchen, dining room, and much of the living room leading out to the deck area. From here, Valentino will have a commanding view of the deck as well, and this seems as good of a spot as any to place him.

  “How do you feel about this spot, Valentino?” My voice is a hoarse whisper. “I figure you can use that sniper rifle to great effect from here.”

  “It’s good.”

  “Then if you want to move in with some of your up close and personal tactics, you have a good view of things and can use the ground cover to get close without being detected. Just wait for my signal, then do what you do.”