by Snow, Nicole
“My god! It's really you, Miss Ligiotti. Wonderful to see you again. I thought my waiter was mistaken.” His lips twisted from side to side, as if he was chewing on the revelation. “I already placed a call, just in case. Your uncle will be here soon. He's been worried, looking all over for you since he heard about the breakout. It's been all over the news.”
Panic shot through my chest. Almost set off a dry coughing spell, but I managed to keep it together, reaching for the glass of water on the table and guzzling it down.
“Are you okay? Please, just say the word if there's anything you need from us. Water, aspirin...ambulance?” The last word was strained. I knew my uncle told him not to involve the police.
I threw off his trembling hand, shaking my head, rising from the table and carrying my water with me, heading for the benches near the front. “I'm fine. I'll wait for him near the steps.”
Vitto hesitated, but he didn't pursue me. Whatever. He'd played his lackey part too well.
I'm sure he would've been screaming after me if I'd taken a single step outside the restaurant. As long as I was waiting for my uncle to collect me, in a place where the manager could watch, he'd done his job.
I wished it were just as simple for me.
Waiting for Uncle Gioulio was worse than death row. He must've come racing from one end of Chicago to the other because the sleek black limo jerked up to the curb five minutes later. Rough, stoic men jumped out in their neat suits, opening the door in the back.
Uncle Gioulio wore the killer look I'd dreaded ever since I was a little girl. It was the look that transformed him from my favorite uncle, my protector, into the cold blooded mobster he truly was.
I shuddered. It wasn't so different from Anton's expression during the prison break, was it?
Ready to strike. Ready to kill. Ready to rip apart anything and anyone who got in his way.
My uncle slapped the door so hard it flew open, and then he was right in front of me, six feet of hard, balding judgment stuffed into a five thousand dollar suit.
“Niece!” He dropped on his knees, banging them on the floor hard enough to make me wince. He pulled me halfway off the bench into his arms, pressing his cool face to mine. “This reunion's nothing but a miracle. My God. What did they do to you?”
I tried to promise myself I wouldn't shake when he touched me the whole ride here. All those promises turned to ash, and I started to shudder in his arms, sick like death himself was holding onto me.
“Brina!” Uncle Gioulio pulled back, looking me in the face. “Talk to me right now! How did you get away? What the fuck did they do?”
I saw his hand fingering the switchblade he always kept near his pocket. His eyes were big, bright, churning like they were filled with tears.
God! God damn it.
He really cared. I couldn't ignore that. It wasn't just an act – he was ready to avenge me for every filthy touch, every torture, every insult raging in his mind. It took all my strength just to pry my lips open and make my tongue work.
“Uncle, they let me go. They wanted me to give you a message.” I used the first of the lines Anton had given me.
“Stop, niece. Come with me. This isn't the place for this kind of business.” He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out the door.
Nobody spoke again until we were in the limo, heading for the big house he kept in the city proper. I watched him pour a tall glass of wine from the silvery dispenser in the car. He downed it in one gulp and wiped his mouth, folding his hands as he leaned forward.
“Something to warm my guts. It's been so cold without you, Brina. I was ready to raid every fucking Ivankov property when I heard he'd taken you...”
The guards at his side were as tough and serious looking as ever, but Uncle Gioulio's face was ten times darker. Meaner. Insistent in a way that told me I'd better start feeding him answers.
“Did they hurt you?”
“No.” I prayed he'd believe it. I was prepared to lie a lot to make this go down like I wanted – hell, I'd already done enough pretending to make Anton let me go.
“I told you not to see the Russian again.” Gioulio's face tightened and turned red. “Do you realize you could've been killed in that prison riot? I can't believe they didn't torture you on the outside, or worse. You're a lucky girl, niece. And a fucking stupid one.”
I blinked. Uncle Gioulio had never insulted me like that before. Shame passed through me like a sickly current, and my eyes went to the floor. I hated him for what he'd supposedly done, especially if he'd killed papa on top of his crimes.
But it still hurt to be called out like that. When I looked up, the edge was off his face, if only a little.
“I'm sorry.”
Yeah, I truly was. Sorry I'd ever gotten myself into this fucked up situation. Maybe sorry I'd been born.
“It's done, Brina. Let's not dwell on it. You're safe – that's what really matters. You understand, all that's left for us now is payback, capisce? No one takes my niece and treats her like a slave. I'll skin them all alive myself.”
His hands moved in a whirl. Next thing I knew, the knife was out, extended and sharp, the dull edge sliding up his gray thigh.
“Uncle, please don't do anything too rash. We need to think this through.”
“We?” The darkness curdled his features again. “My dear girl, we're going home and you're going to tell me absolutely everything you remember about the time you spent with those barbarians. And then you're going back to your condo under lock and key with permanent men assigned to protect you. I won't let you out until the city's free from the Ivankov bastards. I should've killed them all when they were still in diapers. If it wasn't for your old man and that fucking truce...”
He trailed off, smoothed his face, shot me an apologetic look. Strike two. He'd never bad mouthed my father. Uncle Gioulio was flustered, enraged, maybe even scared. I wondered if he was just going crazy from all the emotions, or if the mask was slipping.
My lips stayed sealed. I wasn't going to argue with him. Not now. We took the next few miles in silence, rumbling into the gated community where he had his Chicago mansion.
My lungs felt sharp tacks inside them every time I drew breath. It hurt just to breathe because it made me think about the complications burying me alive, suffocating the happy nights I'd had with Anton.
I hoped with all my might that there was still some way out of this without someone getting killed. But the chances were fading like the pale sun overhead slipping into its tomb-like clouds.
There was no stopping Uncle Gioulio once I spilled my guts. And there was no stopping Anton either. Kill or be killed. Inevitable as the day was long.
All I had was the power of life and death in my hands, and even that threatened to slip away from me with every volcanic breath.
Inside his sitting room, underneath the big chandelier, Uncle Gioulio fixed us drinks and sat down across from me.
The first sip burned before fading to sultry smoothness. Brandy.
“Tell me, why did they send you back? What's this message they were willing to forfeit their lives for? I'm going to kill them all, you know. Letting you go unharmed doesn't change that.”
The two guards near the door shuffled uncomfortably. Who could blame them? This very second, my uncle's full hellfire was focused on me.
“They were trying to kill you when Anton blew up Club Duce –“
“Anton?” My uncle cut me off, narrowing his eyes.
Shit. I shouldn't have used his name like that. It was too familiar, too intimate. If only he knew how intimate.
“The oldest one, the man who took me hostage during the interview. Ivankov has a terrible grudge. He blames you for putting him behind bars. He suffered a lot in prison. These state facilities aren't so kind to men who pick up nicknames like Chicago Bomber.”
“Ha!” Uncle Gioulio slapped the armrest so hard brandy sloshed out of his glass and stained the rug at his feet. “He killed twenty of my fucking partners. T
wenty of Chicago's finest men. Did you know fifteen of them had families? Young kids? They were cut down in their prime like dogs by that fucking coward.”
I gulped my brandy. I'd need the extra buzz for this next part. I was going off script, departing from the cold, half-believable words Anton taught me to say.
“Yeah, about that...the Russians told me they weren't upstanding citizens. They said these men came to your club to indulge in some really depraved desires...sick crap I don't even want to say. Uncle, do you know anything about this?”
For a second, Uncle Gioulio paused, eyeing me like a hawk fixing on its prey. Then he shot out of his chair and stood, fists balled to iron at his sides.
“Come on! You don't believe that horseshit, do you, Brina?”
I swallowed. God help me. I didn't know what to believe. I'd been poisoned, tossed and turned until I couldn't make sense of anything. My belly tightened up in knots and sweat seeped out my pores like needles.
Why was this so hard? Why couldn't I see who was really pumping venom into my mind and soul?
“Sabrina...fuck. Having you looking at me like that's a dagger in the side.” He sounded genuinely hurt, running one hand across his lower torso for effect. His eyes hardened, darkened, shaking in his head. “You know they'll tell you any lie to come between us, don't you? That's the way it is in this game. Brother against brother, father against daughter, a patriarch against his bright young stars.”
He turned, staring at the fire. One of the guards coughed and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. If I thought having his disgusted eyes on me was tough, the silence was worse.
It ended with Gioulio's fist banging on the masonry. That had to hurt.
The big painting of Florence above the hearth tumbled to the ground and splintered. I jumped, feeling the resounding crash echoing in the room for the next thirty seconds.
“Do you think I'd work with such diseased minds, Brina? Believe that I'd give them innocent girls to tear apart with their teeth? Is that what the Russians told you?” The smile creeping across his face was so nasty I struggled back in my chair. “What else did they tell you? They wanted to sow the seeds of my death in your own pretty head. I know their type. Cowards, who can't face me man-to-man. So, they send my own niece to do the dirty work for them.”
He came close, circling me like a shark, stopping behind me. His suit shuffled. I heard something snap and skate up the fabric.
His blade appeared next to my right temple. I screamed, pressed myself into the chair, and only opened my eyes when he didn't start to shred my skin.
What kind of psychopath was he? Why was he just holding it there? Was he fucking terrorizing me?
Uncle Gioulio reached for my hand, pulled it up, and tucked my fingers around the handle. “There. On your feet, Brina. Stand up. Right the fuck now.”
I clenched the knife and did it, turning toward him. The metal was so cold in my hand, heavier than I'd expected.
“What do you want?” I asked, barely a whisper. “Why are you making me do this?”
“If you believe anything those bastards told you, then I need you to drive that knife into my throat right now. Go on. Do it.” He held his head up, stepping around the chair, until we were a couple feet apart. “I'd rather be killed by family on my feet than stabbed in the back on my fucking knees and tossed to my enemies.”
My fingers clenched until they turned numb. The tingling spread. It felt like I'd left my body and I was observing the surreal scene from somewhere on high, adrift in total confusion.
“Go ahead, niece. Do it. Make your old man proud. He'd want you to rid this world of evil. It's what I deserve for pushing him into an early grave.”
I snapped back into my body and gasped. Would've dropped the blade if I didn't have such a death grip on it. Did he really just say that – a confession I hadn't asked for?
So, at least one of his atrocities was true – the one that hurt me most. My own father, killed by the man in front of me, the man I'd always trusted.
“Why, uncle? Fucking why?” Hot tears stung my eyes.
For the first time in my life, Uncle Gioulio was shaking, alive with the same vicious current tearing through me. His savage offer was so fucking tempting just then. One push forward, one stab, and all my troubles would be over. Well, right until the guards fell on me and did who knew what for striking down their master.
“I did it for you,” he whispered, grasping the edge of my empty chair and steadying himself. “Gio was outta control. He died the night that car ran down your mama. He turned to the needle, blew his brains out with that junk, wouldn't even look after his own fucking daughter! I had to do everything for you. Those men I sent by the house every week were there to make sure you were being fed. I had to know he hadn't fucked up and abandoned you. I thought it was just a phase at first, something he'd get over. But the fucking weeks turned into months, then into years...my brother was gone. That shell he left in the condo snorting and drinking until he passed out wasn't the man I grew up with, the man you called papa.”
I turned the blade up in my hand, one good jab away from his neck. “You could've fucking saved him! He needed help! Rehab, treatment...”
Gioulio chuckled hoarsely and shook his head. “You know that's not the way this family does things. Yes, I could've shipped him off to see some quacks and get him clean. And then what? Watch him pick up some other terrible, reckless habit? Lose everything when he cracks and tell some pissant doctor all about the sins this family's done for money? You can't bring back a man's dead black heart, niece! I thought you could, at first, and I was dead wrong. Don't you get it? I loved him so much I saved you both the only way I knew how.”
“You killed him! He drowned in his own blood. I saw him, uncle. He suffered.”
“No!” Gioulio wiped his tears and held a finger up like steel. “I made it painless. The stuff I gave him did the job instantly. He never knew what hit him. He died blasted out of his damned skull, a high like none of us will ever know. And thank God we won't!”
Every part of me was shaking except the hand I had around the blade. That was cold, eager to kill, if only I weren't having my brains blasted out my ears by this horrible revelation.
Anton was right. He must've been right about everything.
But then, why did my uncle deny serving the twisted freaks at the club when he admitted to killing my own father? It didn't make sense. Or else Gioulio was playing one big fat mind game designed to make me clay in his hands. My heart was falling to pieces finding out Uncle Gioulio was this filthy, this damaged, this tormented. And I didn't even know how bad it truly was.
Who else was lying to me? If the men at Club Duce hadn't been demons torturing girls for their pleasure...then Anton was dirty too. He'd lied to me and gotten lucky about my uncle killing papa. He'd used me, wanted me to take the blade and kill my uncle in a fit of rage.
Fuck me.
I wanted to end it all right there. The urge to fall on him, tear out his throat, and then turn the knife on myself was overwhelming me. I held the knife out several times when he looked like he was about to come closer, warning him away.
“Don't.” It was the only word I could manage, and it came out so hateful my mouth tasted like I'd bit into a strong pepper.
“Brina, please. You're fucking killing me. Either slit my throat and finish this, or else find some way to forgive me. I was gonna come clean, you know. I just didn't think it would have to be like this.” He sighed sadly. “There's too much at stake. You're young. I kept you away from all this, and now the underworld's hurting you, bursting through my shield. You can't see through their lies the way I do.”
God help me. My burning wrist made the decision for me. I let go. The switchblade dropped and rattled on the floor, and my fingers came off it like it was hot iron. The clatter on the ceramic tile drilled through the silence.
“The Ivankovs are never honest,” my uncle growled, stepping up, jerking me into his embrace. This tim
e, I didn't resist. “Remember that. I'm telling you the ugly truth. All of it.”
His wrinkled fingers pushed their way through my hair. For some sick reason, it reminded me of Anton, and then I completely broke. I bawled like a baby, splashing his expensive suit with tears.
His confession about killing papa repulsed me. I should've jumped away and scratched him in the face if I didn't have the courage to slaughter him for what he'd done. But I was too weak, too utterly lost in his torturous confession.
Whatever plan there'd been when I came here, it was in total ruins now. I'd never see Anton Ivankov again. And I didn't know whether I ought to miss the bastard or not. I wasn't sure if he'd screwed me over just as bad as my asshole uncle.
Damn it. This whole fucking thing was supposed to bring clarity. Now, I was just drowning in confusion, burning every last bridge I ever had to the men I loved.
“You want the truth?” Uncle Gioulio whispered, giving my wavy hair another pull. “I can give you the rest. I put Gio out of his misery, and I deserve to burn for it. I know that. But I'm not the one who destroyed him. I know who killed your mama, little lamb.”
My eyes burned harder. I turned my head up, hating him for offering another twisted truth.
God. Everything they said about honesty was a wretched lie, wasn't it? The truth never set anyone free. It condemned them to the darkest pits of hell, and whatever he was going to tell me offered no illusions about anything else.
“Marino! Gabriele!” He clapped his hands, calling to the guards. “Leave us. This talk's for family ears only.”
Still holding me, Uncle Gioulio walked. We left the room with the blade still lying on the ground. The guards didn't follow, a first for any time I'd been in my uncle's presence. We headed downstairs through the concealed kitchen entrance, down past the wine cellar where we'd always stopped before.
There was a small, unfinished room next to the laundry I'd never seen before. He fished out a key and opened the door. Dust wafted up my nose and I sneezed, then did a double take when I saw the walls lined with filing cabinets.
