tmp_2e400c932cd646dccd3ec2acdba43a25_mQf9rc.fixed.tidied

by BSmith

  The triplets blinked. Even Caleb looked surprised.

  “We need your men ready to break people out of the camps when the time comes. Also, both the Club of Rome and Bohemian Grove usually have their annual parties over the summer. This year, because of the energies, they’re going to wait.”

  “Pushed back to December 21, 2012, right?” Lucien asked, studying the map.

  “Yeah. A great day to celebrate what they think will be their victory. Alex and I have our people ready to take care of the one in Rome. That will remove seven ruling families of the Brotherhood from form on Earth. We need you all to do Bohemian Grove, and make sure that ELMINT doesn’t activate.”

  Vasco raised his eyes from the screen to look at Tony. “What is ELMINT?”

  “Electro Magnetic Intelligence. It looks like a big ray gun. It’s going to block the surge of energy we’re going to receive from the center of the Milky Way when the Galactic Alignment occurs.”

  “And I bet that surge of energy is what’s supposed to help us humans get a clue, right?” Lucien asked.

  Tony nodded. “That combined with opening the Cave of creation. You’ve got a lot more detail in the USB drive I’m going to leave with you.”

  Simone looked over at Tony. “How are you and Alex able to operate under the radar like this?”

  “We’ve got help from Enki and his father. A few other species are helping out, too.”

  “More aliens up in their spaceships, huh?” Lucien shook his head.

  “If you want to be ignorant and call it that.”

  Lucien quirked a brow. “What the fuck would I call it, then?”

  “An interdimensional traveling vessel. And they’re not aliens—”

  Simone rolled her eyes. “Can we stop with the pronoun wars, please?”

  Caleb hid a chuckle behind his hand and a forced cough.

  “What? We’re already the rednecks of the galaxy. I’m just trying to educate him.” Tony shrugged.

  Lucien glared at Tony and rubbed his middle finger across his cheek.

  Vasco studied the map on the screen. The locations of all the concentration camps built and ready for prisoners in the U.S. were marked with red dots. A slow smile touched his lips. “Not one person I’ve put into play has been a disappointment.”

  Simone smirked at her brother, before she glanced down at the map. After a moment, she started laughing lightly. “It’s no coincidence that we have SVT Offices within a twenty to thirty mile radius of these camps, is it?”

  “Do you ever stop plotting or do you do that in your sleep, too?” Lucien asked

  Vasco winked at his brother. “Marcello was responsible for SVT Security expansion, but Stefano might have put an idea or two in his head. We’ll handle our end, Tony.” He flicked his gray eyes over to his siblings. “Lucien, you’re on ELMINT. Simone, concentration camps and underground bases. I’ll take care of Bohemian Grove.”

  “Why does it sound like he’s got the easy job?” Lucien pulled a pack of smokes out of his suit jacket pocket.

  “Because he does.” Simone reached over and stole the cigarette he shook out of the pack.

  “Nobody can fail. If any point breaks down the Ascension has a real good chance of not occurring, even if your scientist do get to the Cave of Creation in time.” Tony cautioned.

  “What exactly is the Cave of Creation?” Simone asked, leaning into the light Lucien gave her.

  “Nobody knows. Well, somebody knows, but they’re not telling us.” Tony pulled the USB drive out of his computer and handed it to Vasco. “Here. Oh, last thing you should know, Caesar Medicci, Kayla’s boyfriend –“

  “She reports to him, and he reports to you.” Vasco finished for him.

  Tony nodded, looking at Vasco. “You’ll find this last phase of the game is just full of reincarnated souls. He’s one of them. You two knew each other, Vasco.”

  Vasco canted his head slightly, regarding Tony in questioning silence. Then, it hit him, and with it came a full barrage of memories and emotions that thickened the steel of his eyes. Instinctively his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Roman,” he growled the word.

  “Yeah, Roman. Have fun with that,” Tony said.

  “When you’ve got unfinished business, you’ve got unfinished business.” Lucien rose to his feet.

  “I’m going to Denver, now, to give Caesar new instructions.” Tony closed his laptop. “Originally, he was coming back to the Island to have Kayla kill you three. Enki has stopped that order.”

  “Does Enki’s brother know he’s stopped that order?” Vasco asked.

  “Most likely. That would be a little difficult to hide.” Tony extended his hand. “We won’t meet again. Anything that comes from Alex and I now will get routed to you all through Xavier.”

  Simone took his hand first and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Tony.”

  “It’s what I do sweetheart.” Tony returned her kiss, and then hugged both Lucien and Vasco.

  Minutes later, the triplets were back inside the SUV, and Caleb was taking them to the private airfield outside of Crystal City.

  “I like how we’re not only saving the world, but attempting to not get murdered by our own family before we can pull it off,” Lucien mused, staring out the window. “It really pisses me off that Amadeo and Olivia are on the wrong side.”

  “Do you know how they got there?” Simone looked over at him.

  Lucien slowly shook his head. “I wish I did.”

  The Past

  "You grit your teeth, and you bear it.

  Because you are a Terenzio first."

  -Liliana Terenzio

  Chapter 4

  “There’s little difference in my world between business and personal;

  just levels of disclosure.”

  -Stefano Vasco Terenzio

  August 23, 1927 - 10:10 AM

  Boston, MA

  Coffee House

  I hear police are going to be doubled at the execution.”

  Stefano Vasco Terenzio, Crime Boss of the Terenzio Family, lifted cold gray eyes to Ciro Anatoli, his closest friend and former bodyguard. Ciro primarily guarded Stefano’s wife, because Stefano had lost him to her in a bet. For this particular assignment, Ciro was on loan. “It doesn’t change what needs to be done. They are better off working for me than dead. And I want to catch the eye of the Galleanists.” Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti were Italian immigrants falsely convicted on charges of robbery and murder. They were also members of the Galleanists, a militant Italian-American anarchist group. They were set to be executed tomorrow.

  Ciro nodded, crushing out his cigarette in the small round ashtray on the wrought iron table. “Just letting you know. Hey, where’s Nina?” Nina was the new bodyguard that Stefano frequently went without.

  Stefano leaned back in his chair, bringing the small coffee cup with him. “She’ll be arriving later this afternoon with Lil and Zhane.”

  “Who’s Zhane?”

  “New guy. Primarily Air Force, but I needed the extra hands and want to see what he can handle.” Stefano raised the rim of the coffee mug to his mouth, swallowing down the caffeine boost.

  “How’s Lil doing?” Ciro asked as he slung his arm over the back of his chair. He turned slightly to watch all the legs that walked by the outdoor café.

  “She’ll be fine. She usually is, even when she doesn’t think so.”

  Ciro chuckled. “You shoulda been a philosopher or some shit, Stef.”

  The flicker of amusement softened Stefano’s face. He opened his mouth to respond, but something struck him mute. Through the thin crowd of people that moved down the street, he caught sight of a young man; a young man with a head full of black hair, his mother’s strong aristocratic features, and as he came closer Stefano saw, piercing gray eyes.

  “Stef?” Ciro looked at his friend curiously.

  “Stay here,” Stefano said as he nearly dropped his coffee mug on the table. Standing quickly, he hopped over the
small railing that separated the café from the sidewalk and pursued the young target. A block later, the opportunity Stefano was looking for came. He bumped into the young man and kept his head lowered. His deft, thieving fingers pulled the young man’s wallet from the inside of his coat. Stefano’s target never noticed; he simply continued on his way.

  Stefano did not pursue him any father. He walked back the way he’d come, and flipped open the wallet, looking down at the photo identification inside. It was the name that made his steps suddenly halt.

  Marcello Adams.

  The address below confirmed what he already knew and thrust Stefano back into a piece of his past that he rarely thought about anymore. It was the now, and more importantly the future, that most concerned him. The past was full of memories of his abusive father, of doing what he could to protect Lil from the bastard, of teaching himself the ways of the world; and how to manipulate it.

  But there had been moments, though few, which reminded him of his humanity.

  “If we ever have a son, let’s name him Marcello.” She propped her head in her hand to look up at him, tracing idle patterns over his chest.

  He couldn’t help but be amused at her gentle naïveté. She wouldn’t last a day in his world. “Let’s try to get through the week, first.”

  “We will,” she said. “They won’t find me here. And I hope they never do.”

  He knew better. They would find her, eventually, and even if her grandparents didn’t track her down, he would never let her stay. There were different levels—depths—to innocence. He had already taken one from her. He wouldn’t take any more. He framed her face in his hands, guiding her up to his waiting mouth. “For once, Miss Adams, I don’t want to think about the future.”

  “You suddenly had the desire to steal someone’s wallet?” Ciro asked in a highly amused tone when Stefano came back.

  His friend’s voice snapped Stefano back to the present. He removed the photo ID, and dropped the wallet and a few a few silver dollars on the table. “Let’s go.”

  §

  August 30, 1927 - 12:21 AM

  St. Martin Parish, Louisiana

  Blackwood Swamps

  Stefano walked into the dimly lit cottage, nestled among the swamp. She was sitting by the window, talking to herself, which was nothing unusual for Gypsy. Seth, his cousin and her husband, was not home, yet. Stefano tossed the photo identification onto the table in front of her.

  “Tell me, Gypsy.”

  She looked down at the picture, then back up at Stefano and giggled. “You know.”

  He did know, but confirmation forced the heavy breath from his lungs. His son. “Can he be my heir?”

  She canted her head at him, almost curiously. “Can he?”

  It required a great deal of patience to pull information from Gypsy’s brilliant, but utterly crazy, mind; the price she paid for knowing what she did he supposed. Not that he cared, so long as he got the information. “If I continue on this path, will he accept my invitation?”

  She focused on him in a moment of great clarity and said, very seriously: “Only if you are not on that path, Stefano.” Just as quickly as the moment came it was gone, lost by the noise of another boat approaching. Gypsy smiled. “Seth Frost is home!” She jumped out of her chair and scrambled to the door, launching herself at it just as it opened. Thankfully, his reflexes were quick. It also helped that he had learned to expect it. Seth (last name not Frost but the reason she called him that was another story entirely) wrapped his arms tightly around her.

  Stefano remained standing, lost in his own thoughts. Only if he wasn’t on that path. This meant he could finish with the foundation. Line up the pieces where he wanted them. Then, let his family, his son, take the next step.

  Without him.

  Stefano lifted his hands, the fingers of one twisting the wedding band on the other. His only regret would be leaving her.

  §

  November 17, 1935 - 11:11 AM

  New Orleans, LA

  SVT Securities Office

  “I need a favor, Alexandro.” Stefano stood in front of the glass windows overlooking the Central Business District of New Orleans.

  “I’m listening.” Louisiana Governor Alexandro DeMarco sat at the conference table. Older, sharp blue eyes watched Stefano as the scented smoke from Alex’s cigar slithered into the air. The DeMarcos were longtime friends of the Terenzios. For Stefano and his wife, intimately so. Alexandro looked like a southern politician with short, salt and pepper hair combed neatly back, wearing his favorite dark blue, three piece, pinstriped suit. The watch his wife, Mona, had given him for his fiftieth birthday sat on a gold chain in his vest pocket underneath the suit jacket. Despite the fact that certain areas of law enforcement and business were manipulated to make it easier for his brother Antonio, the current Don of the DeMarco crime family, to do business, Alexandro was a well-liked governor. He’d beaten Huey P. Long for the spot without tampering with the votes.

  “I love my family, like you love yours. It’s time I stepped back from things. I’m being hunted, and I don’t want the cross hairs to fall on the wrong people.”

  For a few silent moments, Alexandro studied Stefano’s back. “This conversation is over, Stefano, until you’re ready to cease with the bullshit.”

  Amusement flickered across Stefano’s face as he turned away from the window, looking at Alexandro. “You know, I’ve always said if there was a better man, and meant it, it would be you.”

  Alexandro was not phased by the compliment. “Both in and out of your bedroom. Let’s have it.”

  A smirk settled over Stefano’s lips as he walked around the table and settled into one of the leather chairs. “You know about the sensitive nature of the weapon I acquired?”

  “Si.”

  “I need you to hold onto it until after the transition. You’ll know when it’s time to return it to my family.”

  Alexandro studied him in silence, and then finally asked: “Why, Stefano?” He was not referring to the weapons.

  “Because it’s time.”

  “You are more of a bastard than I gave you credit for. You know the state you will leave her in with this move.”

  Stefano’s eyes narrowed. “She will go there whether I am around or not. We both know that.”

  Alexandro cocked his head. “You’ll give up everything, purely for ego?”

  Stefano shot up out of his chair, stabbing his index finger towards the table. “I will die to see my will done. And it will be done.” He took a step closer to the man he considered a friend. “And do not presume I take anything lightly, or that I don’t love her more than this game. This is bigger than me, bigger than us. If it doesn’t play out to our advantage, neither of our families will be left standing.”

  Alexandro stared at him in thoughtful silence. He nodded, almost imperceptibly. “We will safeguard the weapon for you. Until it’s time.”

  Stefano nodded once. “Thank you, Alexandro.”

  §

  For two days, Stefano remained locked away in the SVT Building. As the sun began to set over the Big Easy, it was finished. He could do no more. He drew a tired hand over his unshaven jaw and closed the leather bound journal. The letter was tucked into the envelope and placed inside. His journal, along with two other letters, would be delivered at a later date. Now, he was going home to his wife to face that beautiful wrath he was sure to get for being unavailable for the last forty-eight hours.

  Stefano collected his suit jacket and fedora off the back of the door. He set the hat on his head and flicked off lights as he left. He slid on the suit jacket as he got into the elevator, stabbed the button for the ground floor, and pulled out his Marlboros. He shook one out and set it between his lips, the sterling Dunhill lighter he’d stolen from his wife cradled in his palm as he waited for the ding.

  When he stepped into the lobby that was surrounded by glass doors Stefano paused. For several moments, he simply stood there, watching the light crowd pa
ss by. Eventually, he brought the flame to life and lit the cigarette. A long, satisfying pull was drawn in as he tucked the lighter back into his pocket. He straightened the sleeves of his suit jacket. Then, he walked outside.

  A nondescript, average man came through the crowd of harmless people walking down the street and stumbled right into Terenzio. The assassin’s hand came out of his pocket, a .22 held expertly in his palm. The muzzle came up with unerring speed, pressed at Terenzio’s chest. The next sound was that of a gunshot.