Rafe

by Jo Raven

  Good. Having lost money betting on my opponent, I don’t think they’d hesitate to take out their anger on me once they recognize me.

  I check their faces as I walk among them, looking for the one who haunts my nightmares.

  Where are you, Nino Gaspari? Show yourself. Come to me. Where are you, dammit?

  Before I reach the other end of the hall, a heavy hand drops on my shoulder, and I jerk around, ready to fight, broken ribs or not.

  “Easy,” Colt says, raising his hands, grinning. He’s still in his boxing shorts and boots, bare-chested and splattered with blood. He sports a black eye, and blood dribbles from a cut in his lower lip. “Fight went well, I saw.”

  “I survived.”

  “And won.” He glances at my arm that’s still wrapped protectively around my middle. “You badly hurt?”

  “I’ll be okay. I’m looking for Nino.” Johnny’s revelations rush back and I take a step closer to him, scowling. “Tell me something, Colt. What does Nino have to do with this woman you’re looking for?”

  His grin falters. “Who told you this?”

  “Johnny.”

  “So you asked him about her? Did he give you any information?”

  “Maybe. But first you got to tell me what’s going on.” Dammit, time is passing, but I need to know. “What’s Nino got to do with this case?”

  “Fine.” Colt glances at the cages, then back at me. “He’s Mara’s uncle. He doesn’t know who I am. I came here hoping he’d know, that he’d let slip where she is, but he’s as clueless as I am. And when I overheard Ralph, your gangster buddy, talking with you on the phone, about a guy with a hand tattooed on his arm, I thought…” He sighs, hands curling into fists. “Thought we could help each other. Look, pal, I told you what you wanted to know. Please tell me Johnny gave you something.”

  “What is she to you?”

  “You serious? Wanna have this talk now?”

  “You got two seconds to start talking and then I’m leaving.” I stare at him hard. “One. Two.”

  “Wait. She used to be everything to me, man. She still is.” He’s shaking now. “Need to find her. Please. Nino can’t know I’m looking for her, and this is my only lead. Been fighting here for weeks, trying to find an answer.”

  Dammit. Somehow I believe him. “Johnny said to visit the Red Jet Café in Grand Rapids, Michigan.”

  His dark eyes widen. “Michigan.”

  I turn to go, and he stops me. “What?” I growl.

  “Thanks, man. I mean it.” He points to the left. “Nino went that way. It’s the emergency exit. If you hurry, you’ll catch him. Good luck.”

  ***

  The metal door of the emergency exit yields with a creak, and I’m out in a dark back alley. The cold of the night bites, and I zip up my jacket, shivering. Breathing hurts, preventing me from drawing a lungful of air. Instead, I’m panting, even though I’m only standing there, trying to gauge which way Nino went.

  Fuck. If only Colt had told me off the bat which way Nino went, I wouldn’t be standing here like an idiot, trying to guess. Damn him.

  Okay, need to make a decision. To my right is a bright and noisy avenue. To the left, narrow streets with dim lights. If Nino is running from money collectors, dim lights it is.

  I lurch to the left, my breath wheezing. A stocky figure is striding away from me, and I quicken my pace. Fire licks my side. Claws of flame dig into my chest. I’d forgotten how much fun broken bones can be.

  But they won’t stop me. Not when I’m so close.

  I start to run. Fuck, it hurts, and blackness swirls at the edges of my vision, but I keep going. The man starts running, too, but he’s no match for me, even in my sorry state. I corner him against a dumpster and hold him up against the dirty plastic.

  “If you want money, just take it and let me go.” He tries for cool but his dark eyes betray him, wide with fear. “Wallet’s in my pocket.”

  “Nino Gaspari,” I grunt.

  “And who’re you?” He tries to spit on me, but I slam a fist into his chest and he gasps instead.

  “I’m Rafaele Vestri.” I push up his sleeve and there it is, the tattoo of a hand. I look up into the face from my memories. Pudgier, red, older. “You killed my parents and sister four years ago, you sick fuck. Their names were Enzo, Grace, and Carla Vestri. Murdered in cold blood in our house.”

  “Vestri.” He scowls. “Damn. I thought you were here for the debts.”

  “This is a debt,” I mutter. “A life debt. A blood debt.”

  “So what, you’re here to collect? Are you going to kill me, Rafaele Vestri?” His nose flares and his eyes narrow. “You want to hear I regret what I did? That I’m sorry? Think again, little punk.”

  The world turns red. My teeth scrape together, my jaw so tight it aches dully. “Motherfucker.”

  I slam him back into the dumpster. The crash echoes in the alley. I slam him again, my arms trembling.

  “I’m not sorry,” Nino grunts. “Do you even know who your daddy was?”

  I’m about to slam him again, but I turn to stone on the spot. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “Enzo Vestri. Belonged to the Detroit mafia, before he ‘retired’. He betrayed us all, got put in a witness relocation program and fell off the grid. Meanwhile, he got married like a good Italian boy and had himself a family. He thought he was safe here. Arrogant son of a cunt didn’t even change his name. A traitor isn’t safe anywhere.”

  My hands are shaking where they’re holding him. My teeth are rattling in my mouth. My gasps are too loud in my ears.

  My dad. Mafia. Detroit. A traitor.

  “And my mom?” I hear myself ask as if from miles away. “My sister?”

  “Ah, yeah.” He pushes on my chest and I stumble back, dazed. “Still waiting for a reason, boy? For an explanation that’ll set your shattered world to rights? They were there, so I shut them up forever. I should’ve killed you, too. I was going to, but I got cocky and then I had to run or risk getting caught. Never thought you’d survive and track me down. Then again,” he pushes me again, shoving me to the ground, “I shouldn’t have come to this shithole of a city again.”

  I crash on the wet asphalt, curling around the pain in my ribs. The glint of a handgun catches my eye. Blearily I look up at my family’s killer. He’s about to finish the job he started four years ago.

  “Ciao, Vestri,” Nino says and lifts his gun.

  Voices sound from behind me. Unfamiliar ones. Nino curses in Italian and steps back, behind the dumpster.

  Shit. I fumble in my pocket and draw out my cell. I have Zane on speed dial, so I just hit the number.

  Zane answers immediately. “Fucker, where are you?”

  “Alley behind the club. Careful, they may—”

  A boot kicks the cell out of my hand, and I hiss at the new burn. Another kick to my stomach and I gag, puking on the ground. The blackness is seeping into my sight. It’s growing dark.

  “This one’s out for the count,” one of them says. “I don’t think he’s getting up again soon. But he’s not the one we want. Huh, Nino?”

  “Get off me,” he mutters, but they laugh, and I fight to stay conscious. Need to know what will happen.

  “Boss said you pay or die,” the guy who kicked me drawls. “Your pick.”

  “I told him I need another week and he’ll have his damn money.”

  “No good, Nino. You owe him three hundred grand. Are you even worth that much?”

  “Let me go, just let me—”

  The deafening crack of a gunshot. My ears ring, and I blink and blink, trying to clear my eyes enough to see.

  Nino is lying in a spreading puddle of blood, a dark circle in the middle of his forehead. The two men stand there, as if checking he won’t be getting up again.

  He won’t. This is execution, mafia-style. Like Nino executed my dad. A bullet in the head. Now it makes sense.

  The men laugh and wander away. I haven’t even seen their faces. It
doesn’t matter. A mobster killed a mobster who killed a mobster.

  I let my eyes close and drift into darkness. Nothing left to take care of. I found him, and now he’s dead, like those he killed.

  I’m done.

  ***

  Someone is shaking me.

  Goddammit, a guy can’t even pass out in peace in a stinky back alley for five minutes. No way. The hand shaking me is persistent, not letting me fall back into the black pit.

  “Rafe. Come on, fucker, you’re scaring the hell out of me. Open your eyes. Look at me. Rafe, dammit.”

  Zane. Figures the bastard won’t let me have a minute’s rest.

  “What d’you want?” I slur, struggling to blink. “Fuck.”

  “We need to go.”

  I drag my gaze up to where Nino is lying on his back. “Before the cops come,” I mutter, seeing the logic in that.

  “No, fucker, we need to go because Meg may be in trouble.”

  “What?” Wide awake now, I push myself to a sitting position, gritting my teeth against the pain. “The hell you mean?”

  “She was coming here to meet us, but she never arrived.”

  “Why the fuck was she coming here?”

  “To be there for you, goddammit.” Zane grabs my arm and hauls me up. “I sent Dylan to look for her. She was walking from the café here. She told me about that ex-con, but he’s in Philly, right? Not here.”

  “Ex-con?”

  “Her mom’s ex-boyfriend who’s out of prison. And then something about not saving a baby and shit like that. Know anything about it?”

  “Fuck. Fuck.” I shake Zane’s arm off me, then spoil it when I gasp and clutch my side. “Jesus. Shit.”

  What baby? What have I missed? Christ, what happened to her before coming to Madison?

  “Dammit, fucker, you need a hospital.” Zane paces in front of me, the light from his cell casting his face in blues and grays. “I’m calling a cab for you.”

  “Don’t even think about it.” I straighten, though it kills me. “I’m fine. Let’s go find her.”

  He glares at me, waits for a few beats for me to change my mind—as if—and stuffs his cell back into his pocket. He falls in step beside me. “Hey, maybe she’s fine, got held up or something.”

  With my luck? Impossible.

  “Tell me what she said about this ex-con. When was he released?”

  “She didn’t say, man. But she was scared, that much was clear.”

  “Dammit.” My hands clench. My head pounds like a drum, and I stumble over a sewage lid.

  “Rafe…”

  “Shut up, Zane. I’m going to find her and make sure she’s all right.”

  He chuckles, and I don’t even want to know why, seriously. Motherfucker.

  A small shadow dashes toward us as we cross a busy street, and I flinch before I recognize Apples.

  “Hey, kiddo.” I wait until she approaches. “What’s up?”

  “That pretty girl you had me watching, the one with the stalker that you sent away?”

  “Stalker?” Zane is scowling at me. “What’s this about?”

  “Later.” I wave a hand at him. “What about her, Apples?”

  “Well, I hang around that new coffee shop she works at, because my brother’s working not far from there, and I saw him take her.”

  My lungs seize. I reach out blindly and Zane grabs my arm. “Who took her?”

  “This tattooed guy.” She glances at Zane quickly. “Not like you two. His face’s tattooed. He’s got a rose on his cheek.”

  “Carson,” I hiss. “Did he take her in a car?”

  “No, they’re in an alley not far from here.” She’s already walking away. “Come on, I’ll take you there.”

  Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, sends jolts through my racing heart. I push off Zane, the pain in my side fading to nothing, my eyes clearing.

  “Let’s go,” I say, my voice growing stronger by the second, like my anger at this fucked-up world and my resolve to save Megan. “Run as fast as you can.”

  ***

  Dylan joins us as we run down a side street—well, Zane’s running. By now, adrenaline or not, I’ve been reduced to stumbling like a drunkard.

  “The little girl’s right ahead,” he says. “She’s waiting at the mouth of that alley.”

  He points, and I slow down, wrapping both arms around my ribcage. There’s Apples, a tiny shape, huddled down on her haunches, observing us.

  Good girl. I’ll buy her whatever she wants after this is over. As long as it’s not drugs or explosives. You never know with these kids. They could ask for crazy shit.

  “Rafe.” Zane’s waving a hand in front of my face. “You with us, fucker? I should’ve called that cab to take you to the ER.”

  I flip him off and start walking again. “I’m going in.”

  “Let’s go,” Dylan says and they’re striding by my side, heading toward the alley.

  As we pass Apples, I nod for her to leave, but she shakes her head. Dammit. But Apples can take care of herself, and Meg…

  Christ. I shove down the paralyzing fear for whatever’s happening to her, and break into a jog, then full-out run, the guys following suit. We break apart as we enter the alley, the guys toward the walls on either side, and me…

  Well, rolling is out of the question with broken ribs, and if I do it, I’ll pass out and be no help, so I keep running and hope for the best.

  Everything happens so quickly. A bullet smashes into the wall at my right, and I keep going. I see them now, a tall man and Meg, my Meg, held against him, his arm pressed to her throat.

  The only thing I can do now is keep him aiming at me, hell, firing at me, giving the other two guys a chance to get to him. I’m a decoy, a distraction. I’d take a bullet for Meg. For any of my friends, too.

  So keep looking at me, asshole, keep that gun pointed right at me. I’m not afraid anymore. If this is the last thing I do, I’ll get Meg out of here alive.

  “Fuck off!” the asshole yells. “This is none of your business.”

  “Let her go, dickhead!” I shout at him, my voice strangled because I can’t draw a single good breath and my whole chest is a mass of pain.

  Just a bit longer. I can do this.

  “I’ll kill you, you cunt,” he shouts back. Another gunshot cracks, and it zings so close to my head, I swear I feel it brush me by. “I’ll kill you!”

  I’m close now, and Dylan and Zane are closing in. I see the man glancing right and left, see his gun move toward Dylan.

  “Here, you motherfucker!” I head straight at him. “Here.”

  The gun turns back to me. So close he can’t miss me. I know it. And I’m still running at him.

  “No!” Meg screams and suddenly she’s fighting with him, trying to wrench the gun away.

  Holy shit. “Meg, no!” I launch myself at them, reach for the gun. Barely manage to push it away before it goes off again.

  Then Dylan and Zane are there, holding the man down, taking the gun from him.

  “Meg!” I tug her to me, grab her face in my hands, check to see if she’s hurt. “Are you okay?”

  Then my arms are full of distraught girl, and broken ribs or not, I hold onto her as hard as she’s holding on to me.

  “Rafe,” she whispers, her voice just a breath, “you’re okay, you’re alive, oh god…”

  I rock her, trying to grasp the fact I came to save her and all she’s been worried about is me. “I’m fine,” I tell her, kissing her hair. “We’re both fine. We’re both alive.”

  She clings to me and her slender body shakes. Somewhere in the distance, I hear sirens. Guess someone had the presence of mind to call the police.

  “I love you, Meg,” I say, because it’s the truth. “That balance between the past and the presence? I’m working on it. Please…” I lift her chin to look into her face. “Please, don’t leave.”

  “Oh my God,” she says, sniffling, and then laughs. “Of course I’m not leaving. I n
ever left. I was just so frigging scared for you. I was coming to find you.”

  Zane said that, didn’t he? Shit, I’m grinning so wide I think my face will split in two. “You were, huh? Missed me?”

  “I did.” She rises up to kiss me, sliding her hands up my sides, and I gasp and flinch, caught by surprise. “Rafe?”

  “Hold on to that thought,” I mutter, pressing a hand to my side and taking an unsteady step back. The adrenaline is fast draining from my system, and running and struggling hasn’t done my ribs any favors. They shift as I move, seesawing, burning. My head pounds to so hard I think my skull will crack. My vision blurs.

  Oh fuck, I don’t feel so good. “Need to sit down.” The world tilts sideways and I stagger, my knees folding.

  Damn.

  “Easy now.” Zane grabs me and pulls me to sit on a broken crate by the wall. Megan follows and hovers just out of reach.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she whispers, worry in her voice.

  “He just got the shit kicked out of him at the fight club, and then some,” he says. “Broken ribs, if you ask me, and bruised all over. From the looks of it, he got a few hits to the head, too.” He winks. “Not that you’d notice the difference.”

  “Screw you, Zen-man.” I can’t bend over, or my ribs will explode, so instead I lean back, trying to ignore the nausea. Hurts to breathe. Hurts to move. God, I’d give my right arm for a painkiller right now.

  “He doesn’t look so good,” she says, and I hear panic in her voice. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “We’ll get him checked out,” Zane says, his voice strangely distant.

  Uh-oh. I don’t like that.

  “Meg.” I reach for her.

  She steps closer, then kneels between my legs, puts her hands on my thighs. “I’m here.”

  I relax. She’s here, and she’s fine.

  “Please stay,” I manage to say, before I tumble into darkness. She replies something, but I can’t hear it. The dark isn’t cold and endless, but warm and soft, in a place between reality and dream, a dream of the future. Her voice is a golden thread wrapping around me.

  At some point later, I’m jostled and shaken until I surface. Voices echo in my ears. Meg isn’t with me anymore. The police and the paramedics are here. They try to make me stand and become concerned when I can’t seem to stay upright.