Chapter Seventeen
Celeste
“Here, dear, let me check out that wound,” a voice pulls me from my restless sleep.
It's an older man – someone I've seen before. I rack my brain and it takes me a minute to realize I'd seen him when I first arrived here. He has nice eyes, and a gentle smile, but I know it's a ruse. He is, after all, one of Mario's men. A doctor who works for him. Which makes him every bit as monstrous as Mario.
I wince as the doctor pulls back the bandage from my cheek. He speaks to himself, muttering something low and in Italian, that I can't understand, before tossing the bandage in the trash.
“I think we can leave it uncovered, for now,” he says. “Let it get some air.”
He's not speaking to me, of course. He's speaking to the others in the room with me. I'm actually surprised they care about a wound on my face. It's not like I matter to any of them. But Mario made it clear that I needed to be kept intact and in one piece. At least, for now. I am a valuable commodity as long as Grant is still out there, somewhere. And since I'm alive, I have to think he's either alive too, or they just haven't found his body yet.
Mario is not the kind of man who's going to barter and negotiate. He's a man who simply takes what he wants and burns everybody else down around him.
Days have passed, I suspect. I don't even know what time of day it is, let alone the date – there's no light inside the room, and no clocks. They bring me food and give me a bucket to do my business in, but otherwise, I'm confined to this one spot, tied to the chair. I don't even get to lie down to sleep. Which is why my neck is killing me – or maybe it's still whiplash from them nearly killing us out on the road.
The doctor listens to my heartbeat and looks in my eyes, examining me very closely. I would suspect his interest in keeping me healthy and alive is tied to his interest in keeping himself the same way. I have a strong feeling if something happens to me, the good doctor here will be following me into that shallow ditch soon enough.
He jots some things down on a chart, and pokes, prods, and examines me closely. You know, the usual doctor stuff – although, having this doctor examining me makes me feel creeped out and uncomfortable.
I feel like a zombie – my body is exhausted and sore in places I didn't even know I could be sore in. What I wouldn't give to stand up and stretch my legs a little. But I also just want to lay down and sleep for more than an hour here and there.
Actually, what I want is to get the hell out of there, and never see any of these monsters again. Ever. But I know that's not going to happen.
They escort the doctor out, leaving me alone with Mario again. He stands there silently, just watching me closely, without saying a word. I stare back at him, hoping my hatred and contempt for him is clear in my eyes. But given how exhausted I am, I'm not sure it shows. He smirks, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and glares at me. The look on his face is predatory. Reptilian. And it sends a chill through my entire body.
“I see why Mr. Williams is smitten with you,” he says. “Why he's so willing to die for you.”
“He's already dead,” I say. “I don't know why you're keeping me here.”
“No body was found. Not yet anyway. I have my guys searching for him, but so far, he's not turned up,” he says. “Until I know for sure, I need to make sure you're alive and well. Give him something he can't lose. After the death of Sam, I imagine he'd do anything to keep you safe, so you're my leverage, dear girl. You're the pressure point on him, and I'm going to squeeze and squeeze until I get what I want.”
“You're disgusting,” I spit. “You're a goddamn pig.”
Mario laughs and shakes his head. “No, dear, you just don't understand how the world works,” he says smoothly. “I thought you did, but I was apparently very wrong. It's a mistake I regret making, but one I'll correct soon enough.”
“You knew what I was going to school for. You knew I was about finding justice in the world,” I say. “How could you ever believe I'd be okay with what you do?”
He shrugs. “All journalists talk big, but one thing I've learned is that everyone can be bought,” he says. “And those who are the most idealistic fall the hardest. At least, once they realize what the world is really like. I knew it was only a matter of time –”
“You were wrong about me,” I say, my voice so cold, it's dripping ice. “Dead wrong.”
“Yes, I was,” he says, sighing, his smile falling away. “But it all works out in the end anyway. I couldn't have orchestrated this better had I planned for it. I'll still get the land I want – you can bet your pretty little life on that.”
“All this for some land, huh?” I snap. “Your own niece had to die for it, so I hope it's worth it.”
Mario flinches at my words, as if mentioning Tasha's death hurt him. It's the first time I can see any sort of recognizable human emotion in him. I'm so glad it's pain. I'm glad it hurts him to know that his niece is dead because of him. Because of what he did – and is still doing. My shot at him might have gotten under his skin, but his face is still a blank mask. His eyes are jet black orbs with no feeling to them. They're just blank. Like him.
“It's a shame about Tasha. Family is very important to me,” he says. “But it couldn't be helped.”
“Does Bruno feel the same way you do?” I ask.
There's a coldness in Mario's face that wasn't there a moment before. There's a stiffness in his body, a tension in his jaw, and a chill in his eyes as his gaze narrows in on me.
“Bruno is too emotional,” he says. “Always was. It's better now that he's gone now too.”
My jaw drops, and I stare at him with wide, uncertain eyes. Did he just admit to killing his own brother? I think back to the cook – Louis – and wonder if Mario killed him as well. His niece, nephew. and his brother? What kind of monster is capable of such things? I don't really need an answer, because he's standing before me, looking as cool as a cucumber as we discuss the fact that he's murdered his own family members, in a tone as conversational as one we might have about the weather. It's sick. Beyond sick.
I realize in that moment that all hope of reasoning with him is gone. He's a full blown psychopath. There's no emotion in him, no regret – not even for murdering his own family.
If I thought I was screwed before, the reality of the situation hits me even harder now. I know there's no way I'm walking out of this alive. If there's one thing that bothers Mario, it's loose ends. And I represent one gigantic loose end to him.
Adrenaline courses through my body, and I want to beat the ever-loving shit out of this man. I want to watch him suffer the way Tasha did before she died. I want him to know what it's like to feel something. And then I want to kill him. I want to watch the life fade from his eyes. Forever.
I know it's futile. For now. But mark my words, I'll get a chance. I'll get my revenge, even if it kills me. I'm not going down without a fight, and if I can take Mario with me when I go – even better. I don't know yet, how I'm going to accomplish that, but I'm going to. One way or another, it will happen.
He leaves the room, sending in one of the guards again. The guard doesn't talk – as usual. He simply treats me like an object. A thing. Maybe, a piece of furniture. Which is a step up from how Mario treats people at least.
I begin to understand why Grant has hidden himself away, and why he chooses to forgo a lavish lifestyle – one he can easily afford. Money truly is the root of evil. It causes people to do horrible, detestable things. Things I can't even imagine.
But that's the thing – it's not the money, it's the people. Grant has – or, had – just as much, if not more, than Mario, and he isn't a monster. He'd never be like Mario, not in a billion years, and with access to all the money in the world. He's risked his life, possibly even lost his life, to keep me safe. Unlike Mario, Grant is a good man. Down to his very core, he's a good, honorable man. A man I wish I'd had more time with. A man I wish I'd had a chance to get to know, and maybe even fall in lo
ve with one day.
I don't understand any of this, but I guess I don't have to get it. I only wish the world was a fair and just place. Mario is wrong about me being bought easily. But he's not wrong about the cynicism I’m feeling, much as I hate to admit it.
People like Mario shouldn't be allowed to prosper, while good men like Grant are lying dead in a ditch somewhere, totally forgotten by almost everyone.
Just like Sam.
Just like Tasha will be.
And before long, just like me too.
* * *
There's unease within the ranks. I can't hear everything that's going on, but from what I can hear, people are stressed. Things aren't going according to plan. I've heard no mention of Grant yet, but I keep waiting. I keep hoping for some sign, some word that he's still alive. Not because I want him to save me, but because I want him safe. I need him safe. I can't be responsible for another person's death, especially not someone I love. Yes, I love him. I want him to know that, but it doesn't seem likely that I'll get the chance to tell him, at this point. He doesn't even have to tell me because I already know. You don't jump through these kinds of hoops for someone you don't care about. For somebody you don't love.
Mario's voice is loud and furious, but he’s speaking in Italian, so I can't make out a single word he says. Whatever it is, it sounds like a command. The man he's speaking to is the same guard who was with Bruno that day outside the restaurant – Nico. There is no sign of Bruno anywhere, which makes me believe Mario really did have him killed.
Nico is loyal to Mario and is probably the reason he knew I was still alive. Then again, someone had followed me from the hospital the day I was released. Someone else had been watching me. Someone knew I was alive even before Grant and I went to Chicago.
But who? And why were they watching me? There are so many questions I don't have answers to, and they're like a constant buzzing, a nagging irritation in the back of my mind.
Nico steps into the room, frowning. He doesn't seem like a happy man, not that anyone working for Mario looks especially optimistic or happy. His face is hardened, and he grimaces at me.
“What are you staring at?” he growls at me – which might be the first time anybody other than Mario has said a single word to me the entire time I've been here.
“Oh, a guard who actually speaks. What a novelty. What a special little treat,” I say, my voice dripping with contempt. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your exquisite and charming company, good sir?”
He grunts, but that's the only answer I'm given before he lapses back into a brooding silence again. He leans against the wall, staring down at his phone, doing everything in his power to ignore me. But I'm done being ignored.
“Candy Crush or Facebook?” I ask him. “Or are you surfing porn?”
He shoots me an incredulous look, a small wry grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. Hey, it's not much, but at least I got some reaction out of the walking block of stone.
“Or maybe you're more of an Instagram sort of guy?” I ponder aloud.
My humor is lost on him, not that I'm surprised. He doesn't seem like a man who appreciates a good joke, nor does he seem like someone who'd post selfies of himself with dog ears or use social media in general.
“Or, maybe, you're –”
“Shut up,” he finally says.
“Or what? You'll gag me?” I say, shrugging. “Wouldn't be the first time.”
Nico shakes his head and goes back to his phone. I decide I have nothing left to lose, and since I'm getting a response from him, might as well poke the big, burly guy with a spoon. Just to see what happens.
“How does it feel knowing you got Bruno killed?” I ask. “That because you flapped your lips and spilled your guts, a guy who was a little more decent than most of you was murdered? Does that bother you? Do you have trouble reconciling that in your soul at all? Or – do you even have a soul?”
The man freezes, his gaze fixated on the phone in front of him. He takes a minute to collect himself, and I can tell he's struggling to keep himself in check, knowing he can't touch me. His body is so tense, he could crush the phone he's holding in one of his big, meaty hands. It takes a massive effort for him to mellow down to the point that he just rolls his eyes upward to glare at me.
“What did you say, bitch?” he snaps.
“I asked how it feels knowing you got Bruno killed. Or maybe you pulled the trigger yourself? I don't know, but it wouldn't surprise me to know that you murdered Bruno yourself. I mean, after all, even if you didn't pull the trigger, your words are what ended his life,” I say, shrugging. “I just think it's sad, especially since he's always been so good to you.”
That last part is just a guess. I'm fishing, but I don't think I'm too far off the mark. I remember Bruno a bit more now. Unlike Mario, he didn't rule with an iron fist. He seemed nicer. I mean, as nice as anyone tied to the mob can be.
“I'm just saying, if I had to choose a boss to work for, Bruno is – was – a lot better than Mario,” I say. “Don't you think?”
“I didn't get him killed. Bruno got himself killed,” Nico growls.
“Because he didn't kill me that day in the alley? You didn't kill me either, if I remember correctly,” I remind him. “Does Mario know about that?”
“It's more than just that,” Nico says. “A lot more shit you don't understand.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask. “Like how he sent you to look for me in Colorado? Just to make sure I was okay, I'm sure.”
It's purely a guess. I'm literally making shit up as I go along, hoping to hit the mark somewhere, and get some answers to those questions that are nagging me. And because I'm tired of just sitting around and waiting for something to happen, the only way I can get them is to force something with this clod. Even if he slaps me around for it, I have a feeling I'll be able to get some answers out of him.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he growls.
“Well, maybe it wasn't you, then,” I say. “But someone was there – before Mario knew I was alive. So I can wager a guess and say it was Bruno who knew. And whoever it was had a change of heart. Decided to work for the other brother instead. Does that sound about right, Nico?”
The man doesn't have to say anything. His face tells me all I need to know. It was him in the car that day, and that was the moment he switched sides. For better or worse, Nico decided that Bruno wasn't the boss of him anymore, and he went to work for Mario. And now both Bruno and Tasha are dead – and likely Louis too.
I almost hate Nico more than I do Mario. Almost – but he isn't the one ordering the deaths, he's merely a lackey following orders. He's contemptible and vile. A disgusting piece of human filth, but he's just a lowly cog in this big murder machine.
No, as pathetic as Nico is, it's not his doing. He's just going along with it. I know where to direct my anger.
Given the choice, I'd prefer to see both Mario and Nico dead. Not just one or the other. And in a perfect world, Tasha and Sam would still be here. Hell, even Bruno is better than Mario.
Pretty much anyone, quite literally, is better than Mario.
Chapter Eighteen
Grant
We're sitting in Agent Hartford’s car outside the police station. We've been sitting here for more than an hour now, and he's yet to let me know why. I look over at him, but he's busy playing on his phone. I sigh loudly, and he ignores me. The longer we sit here, the higher my frustration level grows.
Finally, I can't take it anymore.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“Waiting.”
“Seriously?”
He chuckles. “This is why you could never be an FBI agent,” he says. “You lack patience. Half of our job is waiting around.”
“Great,” I say. “Look, if all we –”
His phone chirps with an incoming text message. Hartford calls it up, reads it, and nods to himself. He keys in a quick response and sends it off.
“Showtime,�
�� he says.
I give him a curious look, totally confused. “What are you talking about?”
He doesn't say anything, just nods to the police station. I turn and look to see two cops bringing a guy in a dark suit out of the station. They load him into the back of a squad car, then get in, and start to drive off. Hartford falls in behind them, keeping some distance between the two vehicles.
“The guy in the back of the car is named Leo,” he says before I can ask. “Leo Piazzo.”
The Italian surname perks my ears right up. Though, given the dark suit, I’d already figured he was one of Mario's guys the minute I saw him come out of the station. There aren't a lot of people in Keys Creek wearing designer suits like those. I don't know how he ended up in the custody of the cops, but it doesn't really matter.
The only question in my mind is – why are we following him?
I roll it around in my mind for a moment – a mind that, admittedly, is still a bit hazy and full of cobwebs. I'm definitely not completely on my game right now. Thankfully, the pills the nurse gave me have taken the edge off the pain like she said they would. I have no idea what they are, and don't really care, since they seem to be working. I can function like a normal human being. More or less.
Agent Hartford gives me a look, waiting for me to play it out in my head, and figure out what's going on. When it hits me, I want to kick my own ass for not seeing it instantly. I feel like a complete moron for not seeing the obvious right off the bat.
“Yeah. He works for Francelli,” he says.
“Which means, he knows where they're keeping Celeste.”
“Bingo,” he says. “Except, he refused to tell the locals anything,” he says. “And since they have nothing on him, they have no choice but to let him go.”
“What makes you think he's going to tell us?”
Hartford looks over at me with a little smirk on his face. “We're not the locals.”
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