Vendetta

by Jack McSporran

  “You think one of them is going to make a move?” asked Leon.

  “I wouldn’t rule it out.” She reclaimed the binoculars and checked each of the men again. Stefano glared over at the Marinos, Enzo’s expression cool and calm. Neither of them paid any attention to the British man watching them from across the theater as the music built up to a ferocious crescendo.

  Peter West slipped his hand into his suit jacket, and Maggie caught a glint of metal.

  “Peter,” she said, dropping the binoculars and getting up. She swung open the door to their box and took off at a run with Leon by her side. “He’s got a gun.”

  They sprinted down the corridor and reached the stairs, taking two at a time to the floor below. A member of the staff yelled after them, but they didn’t stop. Maggie pricked her ears for a gunshot.

  Two men stood outside the door to Peter’s box, both as wide as the frame. They blocked the door when they spotted Maggie and Leon charging towards them.

  Neither of them stopped. Maggie lunged for the man to her left as Leon took out the other, smashing his fist across the guard’s cheek.

  Maggie needed to end things quickly, before Peter West got off a shot. She ducked under a hook from her opponent and feigned a punch to his face. The guard raised his arms to block the blow, and Maggie used the distraction to slam her shin hard against his crotch.

  The guard fell to his knees, red faced, the vein on his wide neck bulging.

  Maggie left Leon with the other guard and ripped open the door, barging in to stop Peter from taking the shot.

  But the guards behind the door must have heard the commotion. They pounced the second she stepped inside. The men grabbed her, one on each arm, and she struggled against them, clipping one in the face with her fist before the other caught her with the back of his hand. The blow made her vision spin and her mouth filled with the metallic tang of blood.

  Peter West turned in his seat and looked at her, lowering his own set of brass binoculars from his eyes.

  Maggie’s heart sank as she realized her mistake.

  It wasn’t a gun.

  An earth-shattering scream pierced above the music. The orchestra faltered and fell silent. The musicians on stage looked out into the audience. The conductor’s eyes widened as the screaming continued and the rest of the audience turned to the sound.

  Angela Rossi stood inside the royal box with a haunted face. Behind her, Stefano’s security men charged inside, Angela’s heart-wrenching cries calling them back from wherever their boss had sent them.

  In the center of the box, Stefano swayed on his feet. Blood slipped free from his mouth and ran down his chin. He reached for his daughter, and Maggie spotted the knife buried deep in his back.

  The newly appointed Mafioso stumbled and lost his balance. Angela tried to catch him, but she was too far away.

  Stefano toppled over the bannister and plummeted to the hard floor below, landing with a sickening thud.

  Silence settled over the theatre. One beat. Then a second.

  Then chaos erupted.

  Fresh screams joined together in perfect unison. A symphony of blind panic. People sprang from their chairs and raced for the exits, pushing and shoving each other out the way. The lights turned on and the musicians clutched their instruments to their chests, cradling strings and wood and metal like children as they raced backstage.

  Maggie struggled in the guard’s grasp and caught sight of the Marino’s box across the theater. It lay vacant.

  Maggie closed her eyes. She’d been right about an attack. She just picked the wrong culprit.

  Leon’s muffled struggles carried in from the hallway and she tried to fight her way free to no avail.

  Peter West stood in front of her, blocking her view, unafraid of her while detained by his personal guard. “You must be Rebecca.” Peter raised his fist and caught Maggie square in the jaw. Her head whipped back, and she tried—but failed—to fight the darkness that approached.

  Her body went limp and someone dragged her away, her legs trailing behind her.

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter 10

  A wave of nausea crashed through Maggie as she came to.

  An engine hummed beneath her, the floor vibrating from its purr. A dull pain throbbed over her face and drops of water sprayed over her skin, stale and salty as she licked her dry lips.

  Maggie blinked her eyes open and came face to face with Leon.

  His eyes were closed, one of them swollen and growing purple. His chest rose, and though he appeared to be asleep, his breathing was controlled. Maggie tried to reach for him, but her hands were bound behind her back. She shimmied her arms and rope scratched into her wrists, rough and damp like it had been pulled from the lagoon—perhaps taken from the very boat they were on.

  Risking a look, Maggie titled her neck back while feigning unconsciousness. Through slit eyes she could make out the shape of the vessel. It was some kind of speedboat, similar to the ones used for water taxis. The night sky loomed overhead, the stars blotted out by a mass of clouds. Mist lay thick over the lagoon, hanging over the surface of the water and cloaking the surroundings in a hazy shroud.

  Rows of derelict houses lined the canal, a far cry from the preened residences around the tourist hub. An eerie silence lingered, only the engine and the sloshing of water filled the night. Two pairs of legs stood at the front of the boat, but the inside cabin blocked her view of anything else.

  She dug her nails into her palms and bit back a frustrated groan. She’d messed up.

  Pushing herself forward, Maggie nudged Leon with her knee. “Leon,” she whispered.

  He pried open one eye at his name. “Maggie.”

  Maggie inched closer to him on the floor at the back of the boat, the engine low and indiscreet as they slowly sailed through the canal. “Where are they taking us?”

  “I don’t know. I just came around a couple of minutes ago. Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she said, though she was far from it. “You?”

  Leon gave her a little smile. “I’ve had better nights out.”

  The boat slowed further and turned right into a narrower canal. A fetid stench of stale water and dead fish assaulted Maggie’s senses. “I’m going to get us out of this,” she promised.

  A rusted screech echoed off the crumbling walls on either side of them, and the boat ducked out of the canal and through an iron gateway, pulling into a shabby building that may have looked nice a hundred years ago.

  Maggie waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness and struggled to a seated position. There was no point pretending to be asleep. The engine turned off, their captors arriving wherever the hell it was they were taking them.

  Brick walls surrounded them, damp and slime the predominant décor of the place. The boat had stopped by a docking station that ended by a set of stairs. Like a lot of properties in Venice, the ground floor acted as an aquatic parking garage, the rest of the living space needing to be above sea level to avoid flooding when the tide rose.

  Maggie doubted anyone had lived upstairs in long time.

  A figure hopped off the boat and tied a rope around a rotted wooden post to keep the craft steady. Someone called orders, and a few moments later, two burly men came to the back of the boat and hoisted Maggie and Leon to their feet.

  Neither of them fought. They knew when to pick their battles, and this wasn’t one they could win. They needed an opening. A distraction to give them enough time to get away to safety.

  Maggie winced as she stepped off the boat and onto the dock, a sharp pain stabbing at her ribs. The fuckers must have continued to beat her after their boss knocked her out. She made a mental note for later. No one touched her like that and got away with it.

  The men lined her and Leon up by the wall, and Peter West disembarked his boat. The craft’s headlights flicked on and lit up the room, coating Peter’s smug face with an eerie shine.

  Rats squeaked at the shock of light and
scampered off into the shadows.

  “Rebecca Sterling,” Peter said, walking up to her.

  Maggie kept her mouth shut, calculating the best way to play the situation. Peter still thought she was his opposition. Perhaps she could use that.

  Peter grabbed her jaw with his meaty hand and forced her to stare at him. “You fucked up my deal with the Rossis.”

  “You did a pretty good job of that yourself by shooting Carlo,” she replied in an American accent. Revealing her true identity would only make things worse. If Peter knew she was a British agent, he’d kill her right there and then. At least with Rebecca, Maggie had a chance of whittling her way out of it. Rebecca spoke Peter’s language, and she was no stranger to negotiating terms, even if it was to save her life.

  Peter frowned at her accusation. “I didn’t shoot Carlo.”

  “You arranged it though.” Maggie kept up the act. She’d chosen the wrong advisory at the orchestra, but Rebecca would still be suspicious.

  Peter let go of her and paced the dock with his hands behind his back. His stride was confident and relaxed, knowing full well he had all the power. Maggie sensed a part of him enjoyed it, saw the thrill in his eyes.

  “Let’s stop the charades before they start,” he said. “You had Carlo shot.”

  “And why would I do? I was about to secure a deal with him,” countered Maggie, Leon remaining silent beside her. Rebecca would do all the talking in a situation like this. If her hired muscle started getting chatty, it would ruin the illusion and tip off Peter as to who they really were.

  “Not likely. The old man would never agree to your offer after already meeting with me,” said Peter. “That wasn’t his way.”

  “And you think Stefano would have been any different?”

  “He set up meetings with both of us tonight. He clearly planned to pit us against each other, which is a step further than Carlo was willing to go with you.” Peter shook his head. “Stefano wasn’t half the man Carlo was. Useless. Dumb as a box of rocks.”

  Maggie counted Peter’s guards. Two holding her and Leon, a woman with a gun ready to shoot them if they so much as shuffled their feet, and the man driving the boat. Five against two. Those were decent odds for people like her and Leon, but not when they were tied up.

  None of his crew were the shooter from the roof, further confirming what she already believed. Peter didn’t kill either of the Rossi men. She had jumped the gun back at the theater, and now it could cost her and Leon their lives.

  “If you think I killed Carlo, then how do you explain Stefano?” Maggie asked.

  Peter mused over it for a moment. “You could have hired the same person to kill him as you did his father. With you otherwise accounted for on both occasions, you could ensure alibis to keep you in the clear.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a stretch. Besides, I needed Stefano to secure my deal. Now we’ve both lost out.”

  Peter laughed, his deep voice booming inside the cavernous room. “You have, but I haven’t.”

  “How so?” Maggie’s stomach tightened.

  “With Carlo and Stefano gone, the Marinos are free to take over the city. I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to set up a deal with me.” Peter checked his watch, like he had somewhere to be.

  “Maybe that was their plan all along.” Maggie was running out of time. Peter hadn’t brought them there for a sit down. “To eliminate their competition so they could take over the narcotics and export them to you.”

  Peter shrugged. “Could be.”

  “Which means I didn’t kill the Rossis. They did. If they hadn’t killed Carlo, then your deal would have gone through after he rejected my counteroffer.”

  Peter stepped towards her again and lowered his lips to her ear. “Perhaps,” he whispered, “but that doesn’t change things between us. You ruined a perfectly good deal. No one crosses me like that and gets away with it. Not even someone as pretty as you.”

  Maggie sneered. “Hurry up and shoot us then. I’m sick of your self-important yammering.”

  “Oh, that would be too quick.” Peter scoffed. “You royally messed up my business deal, and for that, I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer.”

  Peter moved back and clicked his fingers. The men holding them yanked Maggie and Leon by their bound hands and led them to the edge of the dock.

  Maggie dug her heels, but they pushed her forward until she was inches away from the water. Her heart drummed in her ears with rising panic.

  She pivoted in the man’s hold and stamped her foot down on his with every bit of energy she had left. The man cried in pain and she spun on him, ignoring her aching body, and prepared to attack.

  The woman with the gun was waiting on her, though, and she shoved the weapon in Maggie’s face. She tutted at Maggie with a smile and waited on her boss to give the order.

  Maggie raised her chin in defiance and stared death right in the eyes. She refused to show them fear, to give them the satisfaction.

  “Now be a good girl, and do as you’re told,” said Peter. “Get in the water.”

  Maggie considered her options. A bullet to the brain would seal the deal right there and then. Complying with Peter’s orders gave her time to come to an agreement.

  Clenching her jaw, Maggie turned and allowed the woman to shove her down a set of stone steps leading to the water. The water was ice cold and thick with sludge.

  Leon followed close behind, and they continued deeper into the water with the woman’s gun trained on them. The water rose to Maggie’s shoulders. Leon’s height gave him an advantage, the water only reaching his chest.

  From the boat, the driver leaned over the edge and pointed to a wooden post at the other side of the vessel. Maggie and Leon sloshed to the post and stood with their backs to it as the driver wrapped more rope around them, tying their torsos to the wood in a tight sailor’s knot.

  Maggie spotted the seaweed and barnacles stuck to the walls, noting how they grew way beyond the surface level of the water as it sat now.

  Her heart sank as she realized what that meant.

  A rising tide may float all ships, but it would also fill up the room and rise above Maggie and Leon’s heads.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Maggie’s leg brushed Leon’s under the surface, his back turned to her from his end of the post.

  Peter stepped onto his boat and leaned over the edge to smirk at them. “You’re right. I don’t have to.” His face spread out in a wide, sinister grin. “But I want to.”

  “We can come to a deal.” Maggie called after him, her voice rising in pitch. “I can purchase the Rossi stock from you, just name the price.”

  Peter leaned his elbows on the side of the boat and looked down at them. “I already have buyers at home.”

  “Something else then,” said Maggie, desperate now. “Surely you can put aside our differences for the sake of business. We can make a lot of money together.”

  Peter shook his head, and dusted the shoulders of his formal suit from non-existent dust. “Sorry, Love, but that’s not going to happen. As your American mobsters say, you and your bodyguard are going to swim with the fishes.”

  “Bastard,” cried Maggie, fighting against the bounds. The rough rope cut into her skin, her fingers growing numb from the cut off circulation and the cold seeping through her sodden clothes.

  The boat’s engine roared to life and reversed out of the building. Peter waved a bon voyage to them, laughing with his guards. “Ciao.”

  “Wait,” Maggie yelled after him, but it was too late.

  Peter West sailed out of the building, closed the iron gates, and left Maggie and Leon to drown.

  Chapter 11

  Darkness enveloped the room.

  Maggie waited for her eyes to adjust, but it never happened. Without the light from Peter’s boat, it was pitch black and impossible to see anything around them. Maggie and Leon were cut off from the outside world.

  There was no use calling f
or help. No one would hear them. Peter made sure of that.

  The water around Maggie sloshed as Leon wriggled behind her. “The knots are too tight,” he said.

  Maggie tested her own binds and discovered the same thing. The driver certainly knew what he was doing with the rope. With their hands locked together behind their backs, they couldn’t even try the knots that secured them to the post.

  Leon thrashed behind her, sending splashes of water over them both as he forced all his weight against the ropes, pulling away from the post.

  Nothing happened.

  The wooden post may be rotting, but it was still solid enough to withstand Leon’s strength. He tried again and swore in frustration.

  Maggie struggled, but that only made the ropes hold tighter. If Leon’s strength couldn’t do anything, then hers was useless. Where he had power and brute force, Maggie had speed, but that wouldn’t help them now.

  Time passed, somewhere between an hour and an eternity. The tide rose quickly now, the surface of the water now past Maggie’s shoulders. She bowed her head. “I’m so sorry, Leon. This is all my fault.”

  “Peter left us here, not you.”

  “But I moved too fast.” Guilt stabbed into Maggie’s conscience. “I should’ve waited until I saw the gun.”

  “If you had, and Peter really was about to shoot Stefano, then you would’ve been too late to save him.”

  It was too late for Stefano, either way. Peter may not have killed him, but the man was still dead.

  “But he didn’t,” Maggie’s teeth chattered as the water froze her to the bone. “I messed up. It’s my fault we’re here.”

  “You were right about something happening,” Leon said. “We just chose the wrong player.”

  Maggie leaned her head back against the wooden post and closed her eyes.

  “Do you believe what you said to Peter about the Marinos being the ones to take out Stefano?”

  “I don’t know.” She couldn’t concentrate on any of that. The water level crept up and up their bodies with each passing minute. Taking deep, deliberate breaths, Maggie tried to slow her racing heartbeat, to squash the rising panic before it reached the surface, moving faster than the approaching water.