by Nora Flite
- CHAPTER NINETEEN -
COSTELLO
Ten years.
That was how long it had been since my life corroded over like an old battery. After all that time, I could still picture every little detail. Even the off color of the man’s teeth as he sneered at me, pushing me hard against the brick wall. He was sweating—not from fear, but from the humidity. Rhode Island’s August heat could bring the Devil to his knees.
“I don’t think you understand,” Romeo said. He’d told me that was his name right before the first punch to my ribs weeks ago. “We know how loaded you are, kid.”
Kid. I hated being called that. I was only nineteen, but I’d been a man since I’d first put a bullet in someone’s head. It hadn’t been so long since then.
Romeo leveled a wilting look at me. He ground me against the wall, his cronies holding my arms to the sides so I couldn’t strike him. He said, “What do I have to do to get you to listen? Hm?”
“I’ve been listening. I’m just not going to do what you want. It’s that simple.”
Snorting loudly, he grabbed the bottom of my thin T-shirt. I’d been trying to survive the heat. Now that shirt tore easily into shreds under Romeo’s sharp yank. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. His eyes rolled up to consider me. I was taller than he, even if he was older. “There it is. Your fucking fancy crown.” Painfully he jabbed his finger into my tattoo. I didn’t wince, no matter how it hurt.
Abruptly he slammed his fist into my guts. I couldn’t pretend that didn’t hurt; my face contorted, I bent over as much as I could with the others holding me against the wall. Nausea swam through my body and my vision.
The last time they’d cornered me, I hadn’t been ready.
This time I was.
“Listen, little shit, next time you better have that cold million or—Fuck!” He reeled backward as the top of my skull connected with his nose. The brittle crunch broadcast that I’d broken it.
“Romeo!” one of the men shouted.
He stumbled back, holding his face. Blood ran over his off-color teeth; he pointed at the two men. “Don’t fucking let him go, Merrick. I’m fine. Shit!” Hissing, he shook himself violently. The flutter of delight I’d felt at hurting him vanished as he threw his head back, howling with laughter. “Whoo! Motherfucker! Yeah!”
Sweat slid down my body, over my exposed ribs. Romeo sneered as he approached. Attacking him had been stupid . . . but my father had taught me never to back down. Never to buckle.
Never to break for anyone.
And he’d warned me that many would try. That was my fate as the future ruler of our little clan. There was no way he could have guessed it’d happen so early in my life, and I had no plans to tell him. Asking for help was a sign of weakness.
I was proud . . . and I didn’t yet know the danger of that.
“Costello?” Lulabelle stood at the entrance of the alley, the summer sun creating orange smears all around her white dress. Her eyes flew over the scene, all icy coolness as she took each of us in. She was seventeen, but her poise was unparalleled.
Romeo looked her up and down like a butcher eyeing a hunk of meat swinging from a hook. “Oh-ho, and what’s this? The sweet-as-pie princess, gracing us with her presence.”
“She can grace me with that tight pussy of hers anytime,” Merrick chuckled thickly in my ear.
“Bet she tastes like roses,” the other man holding me said.
“Roses don’t taste good, Santana.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Hey!” he called out, making my eardrum ring. “Sweetheart, come settle a bet for me. Sit that cute ass of yours right on my face.”
Sickening rage swam in my blood until the world began to shrink.
“I’ll lie down on the ground, it’ll take just a sec, I don’t even mind!” He laughed, and so did Merrick and Romeo. They laughed even harder when Lulabelle’s features melted into a look of shock.
But not so loud that they couldn’t hear me growl, “Leave her alone.”
Snapping his stare from my sister to me, Romeo spit blood onto the cement. “What was that, kid?”
“I said leave her the fuck alone.”
He considered me with a cruel curiosity. Patiently he looked toward my sister again. I didn’t see her, couldn’t; I was too focused on Romeo’s awful smile. He jerked his head to the side. “Drop him.”
The men threw me forward. I spun to face off with them, but they were already walking away. Their casual pace wasn’t just a show of bravado; they’d taken my gun, just as they’d taken the others. Every ambush had me losing weapons. The longer this went on, the greater the chance my father would notice and question me about why I kept taking new guns out to replace the ones I’d lost.
There was nothing I could do to harm them today. So why were they leaving? Surely they weren’t scared of Lulabelle. That look on his face, like he’d seen something in me he hadn’t before—I was rattled by it.
Heels clicked my way. “Costello, are you all right? Who were those men?”
Drifting my palm down my middle, I clutched at my torn shirt. “No one. I’m fine, forget what you saw.”
“Are you insane?” She started to corner me; I was breathing heavily, too hyped up to let her touch me. When she reached out to graze my forehead, I backed up. Instantly her sympathy curdled into suspicion. “You’ve got blood on your forehead.”
I wiped it away. “It’s not mine.”
“Listen to yourself! ‘It’s not mine.’” Her long hair flew like a cape as she shook her head. “Tell me who they were or what they wanted.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll handle it myself.”
“There were three of them! Can you not count?”
Bit by bit, my breathing calmed down. Looking across the alley, I said, “I know exactly how many there are.” I could tell you how many veins are in their eyes, how many teeth are in their mouths—and when I knock them out, I’ll count them again. “I’ll get them next time,” I whispered.
She blocked me, the high sun casting sharp shadows over her pretty face. “How long has this been going on? Costello, you need to tell Dad. He can help, whatever they want, he—”
“No.” I growled it out. Seeing how her eyes widened, I tried to get a grip. I knew better than to let my emotions take over. My father had instilled that in me early . . . before I’d learned to walk.
Never let them see how you really feel. If they do, it becomes a weapon for them.
Gingerly touching where I’d been punched, I said, “This is my burden. I can handle it.”
Her long fingers wrapped around my wrist. “If you honestly believe I’ll let you walk away without telling me why this is happening, then you’ve forgotten who I am.”
It was impossible to avoid her piercing stare. Lula had the air of an empress, and her confidence was something I admired. I also knew she wasn’t lying; she’d never let this go. It was better to tell her and get it over with. “Those men . . . Romeo and his goons, they say they want money.”
She rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t?”
Hesitating, I unthinkingly brushed my tattoo. “He knows our family has a royal heritage.”
Her hand finally released me. “Oh.” Dark disdain rolled through her like a rainstorm. She stood taller, staring down her nose at the imaginary people who had dared to offend her sensibilities. “But how could they know? Daddy has told us over and over to keep it a secret.”
I’d suspected Romeo had connections bigger than he, I just hadn’t discovered who was pulling his strings. I didn’t let the man and his goons corner me over and over because I was a masochist. Each time Romeo attacked, he gave me a bit of new info—more fragments of this complex puzzle.
But I didn’t want anyone else involved. Especially not my sister. “It doesn’t matter. Someone knows, and they’re trying to use it against me.”
“Idiots,” she scoffed. “As if they could blackmail us and get away with it. What disgusting scum.”
It was hard not to smile. Lula’s sense of right and wrong was so black-and-white. Of course, we were always on the side of good. Father had done a great job keeping my sisters away from the brutal reality of being the Badds. I knew that as time went on, whatever my father desired wouldn’t matter; Francesca and Lulabelle would learn about the violence that a Mafia family needed to use to stay in control.
But I wasn’t going to help remove that veil.
“They’re scum, yes. Scum that I can handle.”
“What, alone? Costello, we need to tell Dad. He’ll handle this.”
I stiffened. “You can’t tell Maverick.”
She started shaking her head. “You’re insane. If he doesn’t know—”
“The second he learns there are people trying to bully us, he’ll put us all under his thumb. Lula . . . think about it. He barely lets any of us out without bodyguards, do you want to have him swaddling us, giving us no privacy, worse than ever?”
There was no denying it, Maverick was a paranoid man. We all knew it, and Lula’s wide eyes said she was imagining being denied the right to go out with her friends, to go shopping, to act even somewhat normal.
She went still as stone, considering me. Suddenly she turned away. “All right. You win, I won’t tell Dad.”
The way she said it . . . I should have known there was a catch.
But I didn’t.
And I’d always regret that.
I wouldn’t be ambushed so easily next time. After burying a new gun under my coat, I slid a serrated knife into my jacket sleeve. I’d suffer in the heat, but I’d have a weapon I could reach even if they tackled me and went for my pistol.
Yes. I was ready for them.
But they never came.
When several days passed, I began to wonder what was wrong. Had they given up? Could I be so lucky?
On a hazy Tuesday evening filled with the staccato noises of beetles, my phone rang. I was returning from a bar on Thayer Street, having collected protection money at my father’s instruction. Lazy Dillan—a nickname he loathed—had given me something extra to make up for being late with his payments.
The pipe bombs were neat, but, like the money, they smelled like garbage. He always kept his stash hidden in the compost heap in his tiny alley garden. Clever way to avoid being robbed, but I wished he’d find a better method; I always had to shower after these meetings.
Juggling the bag in one hand, I peered at my phone. Why is Lulabelle calling me?
My boot kicked an Italian ice container up from the sidewalk; I tossed it into the trash. “Hello?” I asked.
“Hey there, kid.”
I pulled up short. Romeo. “What did you do to her?” I hissed, my mind a storm of awful images. He has her phone, he has her, no. No no no no.
“Oh, so I have your attention.” He chuckled dryly. “I haven’t done anything to her yet. But we all know that’ll change, unless . . .”
Through the phone I heard a distant and plaintive cry. “Costello, don’t come here! Don’t—” Someone must have covered her mouth. People strolled by me, laughing and unaware that I was listening to my sister in distress.
My stomach flipped. I reached under my jacket and felt my gun. “If you fucking hurt her, I swear I’ll tear your throat out.”
“Tch, there’s no need for that. Just bring the money to the old mill by South Point Lake. And if you try and gather backup, I’ll carve your pretty sister’s face real nice, so you remember not to stand up to me again. Ciao, little prince.”
The line cut out. Romeo had been telling me to bring him $1 million for two weeks. I’d been willing to take every hit he had, knowing I’d eventually figure out how to make him regret the attacks, because getting him the cash was impossible. Even if I’d wanted to, there was just no way to do it and not get noticed by my father.
There was a streetlight over my head. I watched—heard—as a moth sizzled against the hot glass, dissolving. The noise repeated over and over in my skull. I have to save her. I can’t let her be hurt because of me. It was my worst nightmare, one I couldn’t wake up from.
A new voice rumbled in my head. It smothered the constant rusty squeal of my panic. It smoothed over the cries of my sister. My father spoke to me through the haze of my own fear, telling me what he had for years.
You’re responsible for this family.
Kings have to make the hard choices, and every choice they make, especially when it comes to family, falls on them. On you, Costello.
Family always comes first. Always.
No matter the cost.
He was right.
I knew what I had to do.
The mill was dark except for a single window. Through it I could see the figure pacing: Romeo. I’d already seen them inside—walked the perimeter twice, just to make sure there were no others outside. I wanted to be careful. I had to be if this was going to end the way I wanted it to.
Lulabelle was sitting in a plain wooden chair, her mouth and hands covered with tape. Not once did she lift her head, and that worried me the most. My sister was proud . . . strong.
Tonight she looked like a dog that had been beaten once and knew to behave.
I would have shot them through the window right then, but it wouldn’t have worked. I could have hit one of them, but the other two would have known to dodge at the sound of the breaking glass.
After that, Lulabelle would be in danger.
I wouldn’t let her suffer any more than she already had.
Pushing through the creaking doors, I marched into the mill’s dusty main floor. The machines had been dismantled for every bit worth selling long ago. On the far side was a staircase that led to the higher floor; it jutted upward like a broken bone.
Romeo and the other two snapped their heads up at the sound of my intentionally loud footsteps. I wasn’t trying to hide from them. No, I wanted them to see me, to remember me.
No one had the right to mess with me or my family.
No one.
“You made it,” Romeo said, clapping one palm against the gun in his opposite hand. He wanted me to see he was armed.
“Here,” I said, holding the bag up. “One million. Now let her go.”
Romeo jerked his head at the fatter of the two men guarding Lula. “Merrick, grab it.” Merrick gave me an almost apologetic smile as he ripped the bag away. I let it go, my eyes never straying from Romeo. I said, “You have what you wanted. We’re done here. Hand her over.”
Lula’s attention shot my way, like my voice gave her enough strength to show her fear in her crinkled forehead and egg-size eyes. It broke my damn heart.
Romeo swayed my way, passing the gun back and forth between his hands. “I’m surprised, kid. All this time we kept beating you up, and you never gave a hint that you’d do what we asked. Then your sister comes along . . . and poof. You behave so perfectly.”
I remained still, my hands curled loosely at my sides.
He cocked his head. “No final words? Not for you or her?”
Final words . . . My intuition prickled. He didn’t want just the money. Could he really be so insane that he’d plot to kill me and my sister? Didn’t he know what that would bring down on his head? “What is this?” I asked, scanning the warehouse.
His laugh was dry and brittle. “Does your dad keep you all out of the loop, or are you just playing dumb?”
Sweat made my shirt stick to my skin. I forced myself to keep my attention on Merrick, even though Romeo’s cryptic words were distracting me. “If you’ve got plans for us, just say them.”
“Plans!” Romeo tapped the gun on his cheek. “Oh, I’ve had plans for you from the start. Horace thought I was risking everything by antagonizing you, but look at what an opportunity it opened up for all of us. After tonight, things will change. One prince and one princess down, and then—”
“Hey, Romeo,” Merrick interrupted, peering into the paper bag.
He glared at the man near him. “Shut up, Merrick! I’m fuck
ing busy over here.”
“Yeah, I know, but this money smells fucking terrible.”
Romeo’s face scrunched up. “So what? Money is money.”
In this case, money was not just money.
I yanked my gun out in a blur of motion. They hadn’t frisked me; the cocky bastards had thought, with my sister in hand, that they didn’t have to worry about me fighting back. But I’d vowed I’d get revenge.
And I always keep my word.
The bullet punctured the bag, igniting the pipe bomb I’d stuffed inside. I’d definitely thank Lazy Dillan later for that well-timed gift.
Merrick didn’t get to drop the bag. The explosion went off, engulfing him in flames as he screamed in wretched pain. Romeo and the other man yelped, focusing on their friend and trying to make sense of what had just happened. In that instant there were no weapons trained on me. The only eyes watching were Lula’s.
My next shot landed in Romeo’s shoulder. I’d hoped for his throat; was furious at myself for missing. He gawked at me, but then his shock became cold fury. He was fast enough to rush me, making it impossible to shoot again.
That was fine.
I could work in close quarters.
Romeo grunted when I slammed my gun’s handle into his temple. It dropped him to his knees, and I prayed he was out cold, because I couldn’t stop and check.
Smoke began to fill the room. Even with my lungs searing . . . even with water pouring from my ash-filled eyes . . . I didn’t stop moving.
I was a machine; I had one purpose.
Save her.
“Get him!” Romeo screamed, not unconscious from my hit after all. A bullet tickled my ear; another bounced off the wall beside me. Dark clouds were ruining my vision and everyone else’s.
Santana trained his weapon on me. The next bullet hit my hand, making me drop my gun. Romeo kept screaming behind me, “Get him, get his sister! Horace is going to kill us all if we let them escape!”
I didn’t know who this Horace guy was. I didn’t give a shit, honestly. I was a singularly focused being who needed to get Lula and escape. I rolled sideways and came up next to the guard. He was bigger than me. I spotted a flash of his confidence; he was sure he had me, because why not? I’d lost my pistol and he still had his.
