Doll Face

by Sadie Grubor

  "I have this one waiting for you," he reveals.

  Sliding my eyes from his face to the empty case, my vision blurs and dizziness assaults me.

  "Dahlia," he calls out, catching me by the shoulders.

  "I'm okay," I say, forcing another smile. "Just too much excitement," I lie, feigning a look of adoration.

  "You should rest."

  Taking my hand, he pulls us back toward the barn door.

  "What's that?" I motion to the large packing crate.

  "That is business growth," Andy explains, tugging me over to the massive wooden box.

  Glancing inside, I find another doll, but this one isn't like mine. She's altered. Arms outstretched and secured, she has what looks like butterfly wings sewn into her skin. The colorful pattern drapes from her underarms down to her side. Then, there are her legs. Her skin looks like it was melted together and wrapped in string, giving it a wormlike appearance.

  Gasping, I step back and shake my head.

  Molly snorts from somewhere behind me, but I can't look away from the abomination.

  "She doesn't like your work, Andy," she taunts.

  "I know it's not what you're used to," he's quick to explain.

  Moving into my line of vision, he continues, "It's a special order. There are specs that—"

  "Order?" I choke out.

  Pride brightens his face and he nods.

  "No more custom dollhouses or doll furniture," he clarifies. "That's in the past for our family. People pay good money for the custom dolls we can provide."

  "Daddy wouldn't approve," the words slip from my lips like a devoted daughter, shocking me and enraging Andy.

  "He no longer has a say," he shouts, stomping toward me. Face in mine, he yells, "I'm making the decisions now!"

  Saint

  Seven days, I've had to divide my attention between the needy fucking underbosses in our syndicate, law enforcement questioning my involvement in the crash as well as the two missing officers they'll never find, and dealing with Giuliana's pissed off parents, all while trying to get Mei back.

  Giuliana miraculously showed up in a hospital the day after The Geisha's attack. The hospital stated she'd been treated and stable when brought in by two men from a homeless shelter. Neither one had any information, other than having been paid a large sum and provided a car to transport her.

  Needless to say, her parents had her transported from the hospital here to one in New York near them. Her father, after admitting his knowledge of our fake sham of a marriage, threatened to kill me if I showed up to see her.

  "Keep your people away from us," he'd shouted before hanging up.

  Some would call it guilt, but as much of an asshole it makes me, it's more like indebted. So, while I understand his anger, I also know Giuliana will need extensive medical assistance and have made arrangements with the hospital for all her expenses and updates from the doctors.

  This is now one less distraction to deal with.

  And if it weren't for my inner circle making it clear early on I wouldn't be the only one dedicating time to the search, I would've laid waste to half of our organization.

  Jacob contacted his police department connections and found the truck from the accident had been abandoned in a parking garage, but it was a closed garage without working security cameras.

  However, defying the doctor's orders, Sketch left bedrest to analyze the area we last got a signal of Mei's location and to review ATV camera feeds from near the parking garage and along I-55 south. He located two possible vehicles they could've switched over to. One, a white SUV, which turned out to be a cheating spouse, and the other, a dark van. We found it traveled I-55, but the footage didn't provide a clear view of the plates. It also disappeared forty-five minutes passed Odell.

  Vincent and Russ have been down there for almost three days, trying to find anything that would lead us to her.

  "Felix is awake," Jacob states, pulling me away from photos Sketch got of The Geisha coming out of the restaurant.

  "That's good news," I respond.

  I'm genuinely happy my cousin is alive and awake, but Mei needs to be found and The Geisha needs to be dealt with before the underbosses and captains get anxious and start doing something stupid in revenge.

  "Do you want the car?"

  "For what?"

  I stare at the armor truck that carried The Geisha and her crew away from the scene.

  Where the fuck did she get an armored truck without someone knowing?

  There should've been red flags caught by at least five of our associates when she secured it, but not one informed us. Which brings my suspicion of a rat in our ranks back to my number one thought.

  "Dante," Jacob shouts.

  Lifting my head, I raise a brow.

  "You didn't hear anything I said, did you?" he asks, disappointment clear on his face.

  Running a hand over my face, I groan.

  "Fuck, I've got enough to deal with here." I motion to my desk.

  "You aren't going to deal with it all this afternoon," he reprimands. "So, go see your cousin."

  It's not a request.

  "And what do you suppose I tell him?" I toss the photos on my desk, shoving back into my chair. "I don't have a single fucking answer to give him."

  "Answer to what?"

  Spinning in my chair, I glance out to the city skyline. "To every fucking question I'd ask if I were in his position." I can't keep the defeat from my voice and I hate it. I absolutely fucking despise it.

  My normality, any control I thought I had, disappeared with Mei. Once my citadel, the penthouse is now a haunting reminder of her. And even considering returning to the estate makes the creature flare to life, but not in anxious anticipation as before. No, now the place I used to indulge my darkest urges, where many suffered at the edge of my blade, has become a taunting reminder. Because my deadly beautiful doll isn't there.

  Mei's done the impossible. She ensnares the man I am and possesses the creature inside.

  Spinning back to the desk, I slam my fist onto the hard wood.

  "Fuck!"

  "We'll find her," Jacob reassures, knowing exactly what weighs upon me the most.

  Looking up from beneath my lashes, my nostrils flare, and I inform, "And he will regret every touch, word, and act that occurred where she's concerned."

  Pushing up from the chair, it slides back and slams into the glass wall.

  "She belongs to me," I declare.

  The creature rises up, tearing down the mask of normality I wear.

  I don't miss the step back Jacob takes when I slide my knife free of my jacket.

  Flipping it through my fingers, I ignore each nick of the newly sharpened edge.

  Without another word, I walk around the desk and out of the room.

  Jacob doesn't follow. He knows better than to engage the monster exiting the room.

  Fisting the handle of the knife, I extend my arm and run the edge along the wall. All the way to the elevator. Once outside the building, I come face to profile with Frank. Clearly warned of my mood and destination, he keeps his eyes downcast.

  When we reach the abandoned warehouse, two of our soldiers approach the car. The moment I exit, they dissolve back into the building's shadow.

  I don't acknowledge any of the men as I stride to a large brown metal door. It opens when I'm three feet away and closes upon my entrance.

  The creature thrives on the smell of blood and decay of the room.

  The shuffle of bodies and scrape of chains draws my eyes.

  I grin when I see how far they've moved away from the corpse I left in here with them.

  Their wide eyes follow my every move as I come to stand over them.

  "Still playing the I don't know anything card?" I ask.

  Squatting down, I rip the duct tape from their mouths.

  "I paid for them," the one on my left blurts the moment his lips are free. "They were supposed to be fucking escorts."

  "An escort
?" I scoff, not believing anything he says. "You're a captain," I remind him. Then, moving my eyes to the other man, I say, "And you're a fucking underboss." Lifting my knife, I bring it to his eye. He closes them, and I press the tip to the lid. "A made fucking man, but you had to resort to prostitutes for a family gathering."

  These two fuckers each brought a woman with them who ended up being part of The Geisha's soldiers. The fact that they lived, when these women were killing whoever closest to them, puts up a lot of red flags.

  "It's done all the time," the man on my knife argues.

  "Yes," I hiss, keeping my eyes on the other guy. "But they don't survive when the blood thirsty vipers are at their side. They get their necks slit or a bullet in the head, just like the others."

  Shifting my weight forward, I send the knife through his soft flesh. It slips with ease, like his eye is made of butter, until the hilt snags on his cheekbone.

  He shouts for the briefest of moments, the shock taking over quickly and making him pass out.

  "Fuck!" Leftie shouts, scurrying back, only to shout again when he bumps into what's left of one of the women they brought to the dinner. "Christ!"

  Yanking my knife out of the eye socket, his body slumps over.

  Movement from my next victim, draws my gaze. He's pressed his body back against the concrete wall.

  "Please," he begs. "I don't know anything. I didn't know," he cries. Reaching my blood-stained knife and hand in his direction, he clenches his eyes shut and cringes away. Wiping the flat sides of the blade on each of his cheeks, I clean it.

  "I'll visit again soon," I warn. "Hopefully, you'll have something of more use to me."

  At the metal door, I pound three times, pause, then tap twice. It slides open and I exit.

  The creature's need for pain and thirst for blood has been appeased. But to make sure none of these motherfuckers forget who I am, I leave the evidence of it on my hands and clothes.

  "We can't sit by any longer," Michael, a captain campaigning for underboss status, interjects into the discussion, and murmurs of agreement follow.

  "And what do you propose we do, Michael?" Lorenzo, an underboss from the west side of Chicago asks.

  "We rally." He slaps the large table I sit at the head of. "We have resources, so let's put them into play. Find this cunt and show her who's she's dealing with!"

  Fed up with everyone's demands, suggestions, and bickering, I turned my chair almost an hour ago. Out of the thirty men in this room, only a handful aren't leftovers from The Geisha's attack. And only half of them are worth anything.

  Lorenzo being one of those with any sense and understanding, I'm quick to enter the conversation on his behalf.

  "Do you have resources I'm not aware of?" I stare down at my half empty tumbler, running my fingers along the rim.

  "I…" Michael hesitates.

  I'm not sure whether he's surprised I joined the conversation or scared to admit secrets he's been keeping.

  Twisting my neck and lifting my eyes to his face, I press, "You?"

  "We all have connections to explore," he quickly explains. "Someone has to know something about—"

  Sweeping my glass from the table, it shatters against the wall. Pushing out of my seat, palms flat to the shiny wood, I take two deep breaths, exhale sharply, and lift my head. One after the next, I meet everyone's eyes, stopping on Michael.

  "Do you think Angelo sat on his ass, not bothering to find the person responsible for killing off his men?"

  At his prolonged silence, I lift my brow in a silent answer-the-fucking-question way.

  "Angelo's mental state was clearly compromised," he argues.

  I'll give the guy credit. He's got balls.

  "Everyone's either witnessed or heard about his behavior before he was killed." He sits back in his chair, a smug look on his face. "By your wife."

  Straightening to my full height, I cross my arms over my chest and give a nod.

  "You're right, on both counts," I agree. "We'll never really know where his head was at and that's because my wife stuck a knife in the throat of the man who attacked and abused her for information and his own pleasure."

  The cocky grin falls from his face.

  "Angelo brought his death upon himself," I announce to the table. "If any of you want to challenge me, please do it now."

  The room falls silent.

  Dropping my arms, I round the table behind their seated bodies.

  "Come on," I encourage. "Let's get this over with now, because I can fucking guarantee I won't fight you for it."

  Thirty sets of eyes come to me, following me as I come full circle.

  "Michael," I call him out.

  He sits straighter, looking uncomfortable.

  "Do you think you can sit as head of this organization?"

  Squaring his shoulders, he nods. "Yeah, I could do it."

  "By all means," I take a step back and motion to the chair I sat in moments before, "it's there for you to take."

  "I didn't say I wanted it," Michael counters.

  The right side of my mouth twitches, but I quell the urge and scan the men once more.

  "Lorenzo?" I ask, knowing his tenure is one of the greatest in this room.

  "Perhaps if I were younger," he teases. "My time for that has passed."

  "Anyone?" I exclaim. "Because I need you to understand and be sure you're ready to take on the fucking mess we're currently in."

  "None of us are questioning your ability," an underboss from the northside breaks the silence.

  "Though, you are distracted by other matters at the moment," another captain wannabe boss adds, obviously referring to the search for Mei.

  Keeping my eyes on the table, I ask the room, "If your daughter or wife were taken, what would you do?"

  Lifting my head, I catch a couple of them shifting uncomfortably.

  "Exactly. Now, I want you to understand something else." Taking another deep breath, I divulge, "Angelo had been working all our connections to get his hands on The Geisha."

  "Yes, but—"

  Cutting Michael off, I continue, "I've been working with my own contacts for information and have gotten bits and pieces."

  "And you aren't sharing that information?" Lorenzo interrupts.

  Meeting his eyes, I answer, "No." Moving my gaze back around the room, I add, "She had access to armored trucks, floor plans, vital information—like Felix being targeted and beaten by Angelo's men." Scanning the room, I see realization dawning. "How do you think she got all those things without one alarm or red flag being thrown up?"

  "Fuck," Michael breathes, running a hand through his curly hair.

  "Yeah," I concur. "Fuck is right."

  Each of them glance around the room, like the rat is going to jump up and announce their betrayal.

  "Until—"

  At the sudden pounding on the door, everyone is out of their seats, guns raised.

  "Saint!" Sketch yells between beating on the wood.

  Nodding to a man nearby, he grabs the handle. Two others cover him and he pulls the door open.

  Unfazed by the weapons drawn on him, Sketch raises his own gun.

  "Oooh, look, mine's bigger than yours." He grins before pushing a gun away. "Get that shit out of my face," he orders.

  "Who the fuck are you to disrupt—" one of the lieutenants begins.

  Ignoring the man, Sketch shoves past him, his eyes fixed on me.

  "We need to talk. Now," he says, his chest rising and falling heavily.

  "You're going to relapse," Jacob reprimands from the corner he's been sitting.

  Sketch lifts his arm out and flips his middle finger at Jacob. Eyes still on mine, he repeats, "We. Need. To. Talk."

  Mei. He's found her.

  "Out," I announce.

  "You can't be serious," a deep voice says in disbelief.

  Lifting the gun still in my hand, I aim at the ceiling and fire two shots before turning to face them again.

  "Do I look li
ke I'm fucking joking?"

  Between the roar behind my words and the gunfire, they evacuate with lightning speed.

  When the door closes, leaving only Jacob, Sketch, and me in the room, I give all my attention to the man who barged in on a sit down of the top made men in the organization.

  "She contacted you," he states.

  "How?"

  Sketch reaches into a bag slung over his shoulder, pulling out a brown, yellow, and red pattern box.

  Furrowing my brow, I take it from him and look it over.

  "It's a Japanese Trick Box," Sketch explains.

  Not Mei. The Geisha.

  I don't see him, but I feel Jacob move to my side.

  "Here," Sketch takes the box back.

  "What if the trick had been death?" Jacob asks the same thing I'm thinking. "She could've rigged that thing with anthrax for Christ's sake."

  Ignoring Jacob, he slides a hidden panel, pops open a corner of another side, and moves a couple other panels until he lifts the top and sets it on the table.

  Looking down into the box, I find a dried poppy flower and a gold chain.

  Sketch reaches inside, pinches the chain, and lifts it into the air.

  "Oh hell," Jacob breathes, taking a step away from me.

  "I'll murder the bitch with my bare hands," I shout, snatching Mei's necklace out of his hand.

  "Wait," Sketch exclaims, retrieving a piece of wrinkled paper. "It was folded like a fan," he explains, flattening the gold paper on the table.

  Konnichiwa, Dante.

  It's time for you to face your greatest sin.

  You're cordially invited to talk in the last place Teresa Costa-Ruggiano spoke her final words.

  8 PM

  PS…I have something you want, but I have conditions.

  Glancing at my wrist, I curse.

  "It's seven-thirty," Jacob verbalizes what my watch already told me.

  "We'll never make it across town in time," I rumble, balling the paper in my fist.

  "That's why I interrupted," Sketch explains.

  Nodding, I order, "Collect everything. I have to try to get there."

  "Frank, get the car—" Jacob calls before I ask, the door closing behind me and cutting off the rest of his conversation.

  It's 8:10 when I enter the abandoned building by the shipping docks. I'm immediately reminded of the last time I stepped foot in this decrepit place. My mother's face flashes in my mind, her words echoing between my ears.