by Amy Rachiele
I look him right in the eye to gauge his sincerity...and I see it.
“How are they?” I ask, my guard falling slightly.
“They’re okay.”
Sirens and tires screech to a stop outside. Four police officers flank the storefront, guns drawn. There is a glow of flashing lights in the early morning mist. Carlo turns.
“Stand down,” he demands. The police immediately lower their weapons, and one steps through the broken window.
“Carlo! What is all this?” The officer gapes around the room at the massacre that it’s been transformed into.
“A problem we have to take care of,” Carlo says unemotionally.
I nod. Patrick gets up, unfolding his large frame.
“Come back in an hour,” Patrick says. The officer shakes his head, and the police leave. They don’t arrest or question us. They aren’t even fazed by the bodies lying in their own fluids on the floor. “I need some things,” he says to me. I know what he is referring to. He needs stuff to take care of this mess. It’s what he does; it’s what he is good at. “I’m going to see if they have what I need in the back.” Patrick lowers his gun and departs to hunt for supplies.
Getting to Megan right now is my only concern. I don’t want to wait, but we need to clear this away before the cops come back. The entire business district is going to be waking up soon, arriving at work, opening stores. I don’t want any trouble for Carlo’s dad. He appears to be our only ally. The casino is an excellent hideout — if I can trust them. That place is floor to ceiling high-tech security. It puts the Pentagon to shame.
Carlo takes out his cell. He dials and hands me the phone. “This is the direct line to their room.” Someone picks up on the second ring.
“Yeah.” a deep gravelly voice answers.
“Vito?!” I proclaim.
“Tonio, holy shit!” he yells into the phone. “Your Uncle fuckin’ attacked us!”
“I know, man. How are the girls?” I am rigid as I wait for his reply.
“They’re good considering how bombaleed this is.”
“I’ll be there soon. I’ve got some new stuff to take care of.”
Patrick finds alcohol, tarps, and meat wrapping paper. One of Carlo’s guys follows behind him with a bucket and mop. This fuckin’ frittata conveniently happened at a butcher shop where they clean up animal blood on a regular basis.
“Vito, I gotta go,” I tell him when Patrick gives me a get-off-the-phone-look.
“Alright, dude. Megan really wants to see you,” he says.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I repeat. I am thankful that they’re okay.
Carlo tells his guy to move an SUV to the loading dock in the back of the butcher shop. Another one of Carlo’s guys starts mopping. The slosh of water and the overpowering smell of alcohol fill the room. I can hear the loading dock door rise. Out of the corner of my eye is Dino, and he is still breathing.
“Carlo?” I call out. “Do you have another vehicle here?”
“Sure, Tonio. What for?”
“Have one of your guys take Dino to the hospital.”
Hearing my request, Patrick’s head shoots up from his work. He is wrapping up Adolfo’s corpse. I can read his mind in his expression—Don’t think, just do.
Thinking has forced me to have a spark of pity for Dino lying there. Dino would have killed me if he had the chance. He betrayed not only my family, but all of Palmetto. God knows what he would have done to Megan if he got to her the other night. Then he and his goons trussed me up like a chicken just waiting for the go ahead to ‘off’ Patrick and me. If he was already dead, I wouldn’t give it much thought. But he’s not. He is fighting for his life, here and now.
Patrick gets up and walks over to Dino, gun in hand. He lowers it, and aims at Dino’s temple. Shots ring out in the quiet. Patrick finishes him off in the traditional mob-way, two shots to the head. Dino is gone.
Chapter 20
Uffa (ooh-fah): “I’m fed up!”
Megan:
Clarissa helps me to the bathroom, it’s enormous. Marble everything. A gilded mirror stands against the wall from floor to ceiling, very chic. I am shocked at what I see, though. My neck looks like someone tried to hack my head off with a butter knife. My chin is purplish, and I have brownish bruises on my forehead running into my hairline. I have fingertip-sized welts all along my arms. I look like the Bride of Frankenstein in a satin nightgown.
Walking is a chore. I am stiff and awkward. I hurt in places I didn’t even realize could hurt. I need Antonio. I need to know he’s okay.
Voices come through the bathroom door, muffled and unintelligible. The last person I expect is my mother. It is the holier-than-thou cadence that alerts me that she is here.
Vito taps on the door. “Red? Your mom is here.” Clarissa opens the door a crack, and I shuffle over to it.
“Your mom is here,” he says again, lower. I notice light starting to pour in through the enormous windows behind Vito. His face is a hard to read mask. “And I talked to Tonio. He’ll be here soon.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, and relief washes over me. Thank God! I try to give Vito a warm smile, but my mother’s unannounced visit irks me. Where the hell has she been? Why hasn’t she called to check on her children? Erin is lying in a hospital bed in a coma-like state. My contempt for my mother is palpable.
Small snippets of my past edge their way in to my thoughts. Over the years, my mother has been condescending and blatantly cold. When I was eight, I came home from school angry and upset. Two boys at school were making fun of me. They called me carrot-top and fire-crotch. The little assholes even said my father was a drunk.
Tears streamed down my face, even though my blood boiled with anger. I remember those tears vividly because they weren’t from a scraped knee or a fall, but from injured feelings. Those boys were cruel and callous. They stopped harassing me years later when Antonio caught them.
And my mother accused me of making it up to get attention. She didn’t believe me. She made me feel like there was something wrong with me. I can still see the look of disdain on her face. My whole life, my mother has treated me like less of a person than Erin. She has been manipulative and severe even to the point of being bitterly hostile.
Clarissa senses my uneasiness. “Everything will be all right. Antonio will be here soon.”
“I know,” I meet her eyes. “He has been a savior.”
Vito knocks on the door again a few minutes later. “You okay in there?” he asks.
I suck in a painful breath. A brutal reminder of just hours ago. I prepare myself to face my mother.
“Yeah, we’ll be out in a minute,” I answer through the door.
Clarissa puts her arm around my shoulder and she squeezes gently. I open the door.
Doc Howie is attempting to calm my mother down. Her tone is accusatory and grating. I see her across the wide expanse of space, the grandeur of the room hollowed with her antagonistic presence.
“What do you mean you don’t know when she’ll come out of this? I want her to see a specialist. This is no place for her,” she yells. “My daughter is sick and needs the best in the field! Not some hack scrounging off the Mancuso’s!”
My mother’s words are venomous, not grateful for Carlo’s family’s help or Doc Howie’s. She is crowing over Erin’s bedside, her arms waving in protest at Doc Howie’s assessment of Erin’s condition.
Doc Howie tries to console my mother. “Erin’s condition is the result of psychological shock. Her body is repressing traumatic events and images. The brain shuts down because it cannot process it all. The physical reaction is reduced blood flow, and the vasovagal nerve has become overstimulated.”
“You can spout all the medical mumbo-jumbo you want! I want her in a top notch facility!”
“Mother!” I chastise. “That is no way to talk to the Doctor.”
“And you!” She hisses as she spins to me. “This is all because of that devil boy, Antonio.” She
waves her finger at me. “He has brought this all on us.” Her accusation and assessment is so totally off base, it is scary to think that she is my mother. I register that Vito is near me, restraining his irritation at my mother’s rudeness.
My resolve snaps in the one quiet second between her rantings. How dare she? How could she possibly blame Antonio, or Vito, or me for that matter. This is all a result of my father’s chosen profession and the circles it has put us in. Antonio and Vito have done nothing short of take care of Erin and I the best that they can in the situation we’re in. Is she blind? Or just stupid?
“Mother, you owe Doc Howie an apology.”
Her eyes open to their capacity, exposing all of the white around her irises. I have always known my place. I always kept my mouth shut, even when she acts this way. Not anymore!
“Mother, did you hear me?” I ask coldly.
“I don’t respond to disobedient children,” she admonishes.
“From now on, I’m not responding to ignorant parents,” I say sarcastically, giving her attitude right back. “Why are you here, Mother?”
She ignores me and turns back to Erin. I walk right up to the other side of Erin’s bed wanting to force my mother to look me in the eye. But she doesn’t. I sense a change in her demeanor. Her gaze is on my neck. I involuntarily rub at it. Then she strokes my sister’s forehead with her hand—a display of motherly nurturing.
Clarissa has been quiet through this exchange, hanging in the background. Doc Howie clears his throat and says to Vito.
“How about I take a look at those burns?” Vito agrees to let Doc Howie look at his wounds. They walk over to a couch way on the other side of the room. Clarissa follows them.
“I’m here because of you and Erin is sick,” Mom says. I want to yell at her that it is partly because of her and dad, but I don’t. We stand there for a minute watching Erin.
Erin lurches forward and releases a high pitched scream shocking us. Her lifeless countenance is now distorted in horror and her eyes are closed. I reach out to settle her and clasp her shoulders. Erin’s shrieking escalates.
My mother is dumbfounded at Erin’s behavior. Erin swings her arms and just misses hitting me by an inch. I can’t hold her, and my mother just stands there stunned.
Vito sails over furniture and leaps to Erin’s bedside. He pushes me out of the way to reach Erin. She hits Vito in the shoulder. He grasps Erin’s arms and pins them. He speaks softly to her, in contrast to her yelling. He finds a way to sit on the bed, and places her in his arms. Very slowly, her screams and movements become less and less.
Doc Howie has a syringe in his hand. Vito steadies her as he injects it into Erin’s arm. My mother watches Vito in bewilderment as he strokes her hair and continues to sooth her.
Doc Howie checks Erin’s pulse and listens to her heart.
“Clarissa, please get me the blood pressure cuff,” he says calmly.
Clarissa rushes to grab it over near my bed while I hold my sister’s hand. Vito rocks my sister back and forth like a child, and I catch a glimpse of his burns again. Raw, blistery, red skin shows through the gauze. Vito had taken his shirt off for the doctor. He must be in so much pain.
Careful not to touch his back, I wrap my arm around Vito and lay my head on the top of his. The three of us are cocooned together. Thank God for Vito!
A door opens at the end of the room, Antonio and my father walk in, followed by people I don’t know. A tunnel of light filters through me. The vision of Antonio soaked in blood and dirty, is heavenly because the look in his eye shows me how much he loves me.
The tears come as Antonio peels me off Vito and Erin, and lifts me up to kiss me. He cradles me in his arms, sits down in a chair, and buries his face in my hair.
“I was so worried, Megan,” he whispers. I wrap myself tightly around him. The tightest I have ever hugged anybody. The tears continue to flow, but I don’t care. Antonio is safe and right here with me.
We stay like this awhile until I feel my father kiss the top of my head. I had blocked out the entire room and all the people in it.
My father’s deep voice shakes. “Are you okay, Meg?” I feel his fingers on my back in a consoling gesture.
I unhitch myself from Antonio and turn to face my Dad. He is blood soaked and half-naked like Antonio. “Are you hurt, Dad?”
“No,” he says with a small smile, very uncharacteristic of my dad. “I’m fine.” I have to see for myself, so I stand. I take in his body from head to toe, trying to identify any type of injury. He reaches out and hugs me. “I’m sorry,” he tells me in my ear.
*****
Antonio:
Desire to get to Megan was practically unbearable while we cleaned the butcher shop. As sick and grotesque as it sounds, I learned a lot from Patrick. Cleaning up crimes scenes and disposing of bodies is a gruesome art form. We got out of there before the cops came back. Ennio, Carlo’s dad, sent a couple of more guys to help.
Ennio offered for Patrick and me to get cleaned up and some new clothes, but neither of us wanted to waste time. We needed to see the girls.
One of Ennio’s enforcers punched a code in for a private elevator. We rode in it to the reserved floor of the casino. The entire elevator car’s walls are mirrors. Our images are reflected at every angle. Even though I’m Italian and Patrick is Irish, we look the same, shirtless and haggard, coated in layers of blood and dirt.
Megan, Vito, and Erin are enveloped in a bizarre hug when I walk in. My eyes lock on Megan. Beauty and compassion are written all over her face. She glows with strength.
I can’t control myself. I walk over, scoop her up, and hold her to me. Nothing else matters other than knowing she is safe.
My heart almost screeches to halt when I see her neck. Indentations of rope shadow the delicate skin under her chin. Upon closer inspection, I find bruises and marks on her face and arms. The monster in me rears its head, aching to wrap its hands around Uncle Tutti’s neck and squeeze until his eyes pop and his last breath fizzles to nonexistent.
After Vito lays Erin back down, everyone convenes in the sitting area in the suite Carlo’s father, Ennio, is letting us use. Patrick and I take turns showering. Carlo gives me a change of clothes. I come out of the bathroom. Ennio and Patrick are talking in a corner.
“Tonio?” Ennio calls me over. I head over to them.
Ennio has always been good to me and my family, especially when he lived in Palmetto. My pop kept up the relationship all these years. We see the Mancuso’s at least once a year. They come to Palmetto and visit. Let’s hope the bond is strong enough to withstand betrayal and track the traitors.
When the casino became Ennio’s, my family came to check it out. I remember being floored at the sights and sounds of the games. Tons of people pumped money into the machines. Every table had people squeezing together to play. I was with my father and Ennio when they discussed the type of security and surveillance that was to be upgraded. The cost alone could feed a small country.
Ennio envelopes me in a traditional Italian man-hug—back slapping with the gentle neck grab. Breakfast is brought in on a rolling cart.
“Tonio. Eh,” he says pulling away to look at me. “No one is talking. I’ve got my enforcers scanning the streets. Nothing. It’s gonna take some time.”
I shake my head in understanding. Sorting this shit out, taking down the right people, and testing the waters is going to take time and manpower.
I scan the room and find Megan on the couch. Clarissa fills a plate with food and hands it to Megan.
“Thank you,” she says.
Clarissa then continues to fill plates, handing them out to the somber crowd. Even Megan’s mother is quiet for a change.
“Can my daughters stay here?” Patrick asks Ennio. “I don’t want to intrude, but I need them somewhere safe.”
Clarissa holds out a plate to Patrick beaming. The idea sounds good to her.
“Oh, please, Daddy,” she pleads with Ennio.
“Of course they can stay here. Doc Howie can look after Erin. Clarissa’s governess would love to have more students.”
Clarissa rolls her eyes playfully at her father’s statement.
Megan’s mother finds her voice again. “Oh, you have a governess?” she asks sounding very pleased with the statement.
“Pop likes to call Lucia my governess because it makes us sound prestigious. She’s just my tutor, and she lives on the floor below us.”
“Regardless, we have plenty of staff here.”
“What about what happened with Adolfo?” I question.
“Adolfo worked on the Casino floor as a bouncer. He never had access to this level. Very few people have ever seen the living quarters.”Governess, living quarters... It is funny to listen to Ennio. His choice of language mixed with his cavone accent is comical.
A phone rings. It’s Ennio’s. Patrick’s and mine are long gone.
“Hello.”
“Yup, right here.” Ennio hands me the phone. It’s Pop.
“Tonio!”
“Hi, Pop.”
“I can’t fuckin’ believe it! That God Damn traitor! After all I’ve done for him!”
“I know.”
“You get an opportunity, you pump no less than five holes in his fuckin’ chest, you hear me!? Not one fuckin’ less!”
Pop is so loud; everyone is looking over at me. They can probably hear him. I go into the bathroom and shut the door.
I pace as my father continues to yell more obscenities into the phone. After about a minute or two, he calms down.
“Tonio, this is big. Bigger than what we have dealt with before.”
“Yeah,” I say, knowing full well that he is right.
“Your uncle is making alliances, big ones. You get me?”
“Yeah, I get you.”
“What about Luigi?” I ask. “What the hell has he got himself into?”
“That fuckin’ slime ball! He couldn’t shoot the head of an elephant. He’s with Tutti. Take ‘em all out, Tonio.”
