by Zahra Girard
I shrug, though it was more than a dozen. But I don’t really keep track of incidentals like that. Only one of them — my target — is marked on my tattoo.
“More than that. But that’s not the fucking point. If I could fuck around and take my time to plan this thing, I wouldn’t need your help. But I’ve got just a couple days to pull this off.”
He’s quiet a second. “What’s her name?”
“The fuck you talking about?”
I don’t want Stephanie to have any part of this. Hell, I don’t want her to even know about it. It’s better for me, and better for her — I sure as hell don’t trust Angelo, even though I’ve got more dirt on him than anyone alive who isn’t one of his blood relatives.
“This has got to be about pussy. Is it that Latina bitch on the front desk? I gotta say, she doesn’t seem your type — I remember you being all about the strippers and the family girls. My cousin Gina says ‘hi’ by the way. I don’t blame you for going local and looking for a little Mexican spice. That bitch has a nice ass on her, and I hear those Latina sluts love to take it up the back door.”
I’m fucking glad Ana Maria isn’t in earshot. I don’t think Angelo would survive, otherwise. Even then, my hand clenches. If I didn’t need his help, I’d put him down myself.
I take a deep breath. This is for Stephanie.
“Remember the debt your family owes me. I killed more than enough people for your father and I lost my fucking brother to your bullshit. Enough questions.”
I stop talking.
Angelo’s not even listening. He’s looking over my shoulder at something coming from the road. I turn around.
Speeding, tires churning up dust in the beaten-down parking lot, a car rips in from the main road. Stephanie.
She parks and the door flies open.
Angelo starts laughing. “This is about pussy. I fucking knew it.”
I hardly hear him. I’m running towards her car, furious. I want her out of here — I don’t want her mixed up in this, I don’t want her asking questions I can’t answer.
Angry bloodshot eyes look back at me and her fists are clenching and un-clenching like she’s ready to fight.
“You know, you really shouldn’t be here right now, bella.”
She stares back at me, half-surprised. Her gaze darts from me, to the cars behind me, to Angelo.
“Me? I’m here because I thought I knew you — I thought I loved you — and I wanted to give you the chance to tell me the truth for once.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you kidding me? Everything you’ve told me has been a lie, Luca. You just wanted to use me. You wanted me to trust you so you could fuck me and have your fun. Well, you got it. And now, you don’t even have the self respect to come clean after I’ve caught you out. I know who you are.”
I take a second look at her. Those red, bloodshot eyes aren’t completely angry — they’re just as much afraid as anything else.
“What’s wrong?”
She hits me square in the face. Hard. Almost hard enough to stagger me.
I’ve taught her well.
“What’s wrong is I found out the man that I loved is a killer. That he has this whole other life working for some Mafia family out of New York, that he and his monster of a brother were even suspected of murdering a woman and her little baby for Christ’s sake —”
I love her. I love her more than I ever thought possible. But I can’t hear those words about that case — knowing what she’s talking about — without going blind with rage. It takes everything I have to keep it under control.
“Careful,” I say, my voice shaking. “You have no right to talk about that.”
“No right? What right do you have to lie to me like you did? Don’t you think that the person you’re sleeping with, the person who tells you that she loves you, deserves to know the truth about who you are?”
“That’s in the past.”
Her eyes dart behind me again. “The past? How can you say that to me right now? Because it sure doesn’t look like it. Who are those men there? Mafia, right? Your Family?”
There’s so much venom in her voice. Every single word she spits with scorn and hate. My lies have hurt her, I know that, but she’s got so much fight in her that she’s going to make sure she’s not the only one in pain.
“You’re just a lying killer. You never wanted to change. You never cared about it. You never cared about me. All you wanted to do was see how deep and in how many ways you could fuck me.”
I go cold. Deep, black, cold.
If that’s how she wants this to go, then fine.
“Ok then, time for the truth: tell me how you know Vladimir Sokolov,” I say.
She goes quiet.
I step closer, looming over her.
“How is it you’re involved with Vladimir Sokolov? What the fuck are you doing with the Russian mob?”
I’m right in her face. My body is electric with barely-suppressed rage.
How can she even think to dig into my past and throw it in my face without me saying anything about her being connected to a piece of filth like Sokolov?
She tries to take a step back to her car, but I just move closer. If she came into this expecting me to just lie down and take it, she is sorely mistaken.
“Tell me why it is that a Russian mobster is so interested in you and your family’s business. Because last I fucking heard, they don’t give a shit about mom and pop hardware stores. You’re not so innocent either, Stephanie.”
“Stop it,” she whispers.
“You want the truth? The truth is I’m doing this for you. The truth is I thought I’d left all this death behind, the truth is I wanted to change because you made me believe it’s possible, you gave me something to try for. But I’m so fucking in love with you that I am throwing away the vow I made to my fucking dead brother, my hero, to make you safe.”
I step towards her again. “Satisfied? Is that enough truth for you?”
She doesn’t back down. She might not be screaming, but her emotions have not cooled a single degree.
“I didn’t want any of this,” she whispers.
“You can’t crucify me and then expect to get off without any consequences. The truth cuts both ways. And since we’re all about the truth right now, tell me about Sokolov.”
Her voice is so quiet, I have to strain to hear her.
“It was my dad, ok? He borrowed a lot of money from them because he had nowhere else to go. The store was failing and no bank would loan him money to keep the place going and to pay for my college. Eventually, he found someone who would loan him the money. That person worked for Vladimir, and now Vladimir owns him. And me. I’m scared, Luca. I hate those people, I hate these criminals and killers and it hurts me so much that you’re just like them.”
That shuts me up. I’ve been on the enforcement side. I know the hell loan-sharking can bring on someone’s life. I might be angry at her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel sympathy as well.
It makes sense now. Her pain, her fear, the desperation she had in learning how to protect herself. No wonder she seems scared all the time.
I feel as low as I’ve ever felt, knowing that I’ve hurt her.
“I’m sorry, Stephanie.”
“Sorry? Thanks, it feels so good knowing that a lying murderer feels bad for me. I thought I could trust you, I thought I could love you, but that was my mistake.”
There isn’t any more defiance in her. I see and hear in her the kind of forlorn fear and resignation that comes from someone who’s had their last bit of hope taken away, who’s come to accept that misery is their lot in life now.
It kills me to know that I’m part of the cause for her pain.
“I’m going to make this right. I promise.”
I reach out for her. I just want to hold her, to reassure her that I can still be her for her.
She shrinks away.
“I don’t want that. I know what you do, Luca. I k
now who you are. You’re a killer, a criminal, a liar. And who you are scares me.”
Every word is like a bullet piercing my skin. She looks at me with such fear, that I can’t stand it.
“Stephanie,” I start.
She shakes her head. “Don’t. I’m leaving Arroyo Falls. I loved you — you know that, right? I didn’t think I could love someone, I thought my life and who I am was too fucked up. But I did. And if you’d just been honest about yourself, if I could believe you’re actually trying to change, maybe I could still loved you. But you’re a liar, preaching about change with a choir of criminals behind you, and I can’t stay in this toxic place any longer. I need to go.”
She climbs into her car and shuts the door.
All I can do is watch while she pulls away.
I feel hollow inside. The one woman I started to open up to, the one woman who made me feel like maybe this whole starting over thing could actually work, just reminded me of what a fucked up piece of work I am.
Footsteps crunch up behind me on the busted pavement of the parking lot.
“So that is who we’re doing this for? I don’t know, seems to me like she’s not your biggest fan right now. But I don’t blame you for caring a bit. Even from over there I could see she had some fantastic tits. A little killing seems a small price to pay to play around with those for a night or two. Hey, did she let you fuck ‘em?”
I ignore him. Angelo’s just trying to get a rise out of me. I keep my eyes on the road, watching the woman I love drive away. When Stephanie’s car has disappeared out of sight, I turn around.
“You and your boys got your guns on you?”
He spits and looks at me with an upraised eyebrow. “What the fuck do you think?”
“Then follow me to my place. I’ll get my guns, then we’re doing this. Now.”
“Now? Seems to me a bunch of fuss over nothing, since your piece just left you.”
Technically, he’s right. Stephanie made it clear she doesn’t want my help, that she’s washing her hands of this whole damn thing. I don’t blame her; the two people she’s trusted the most have both gotten her tied up in things way beyond her control and without any of her consent.
“She deserves better.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Forget her, then. Forget all this fucking mess. Head back with me to New York. The Family’s got plenty for you to do.”
“The job’s still on. If I can’t be with her, the least I can do is make sure she doesn’t have to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.”
Angelo sighs. “Fucking hell, man. Whatever. Let’s go make some dead bodies.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Stephanie
I’m hardly aware of what I’m doing or where I’m going.
The last thing I concretely remember is shouting at Luca and then slamming the door of my car in his face.
I don’t remember the drive over here to my dad’s place, or storming my way inside and ignoring every question of his about what’s wrong or what’s going on.
One minute, I’m in the parking lot shouting at the man I’d given my heart to, and the next I’m standing here in my childhood bedroom, staring down at a duffel bag full of my things.
“Pumpkin, I’m sorry.”
I look up.
My dad is in the doorway, looking so beat-down and tired, and he’s got this expression on his face that parents sometimes get, where you’re sure beyond any doubt that they can tell exactly what is going on in your head.
“Dad, what are you sorry about?”
He chuckles a bit and his eyes gradually circle upward, taking in the ceiling before settling on me. “I think the better question is: what is there that I shouldn’t feel sorry about? And I think the answer to that is: that you turned out to be such an incredible daughter, despite all the mistakes I made.”
There’s a lump in my throat and it’s growing bigger by the second and it feels like I could choke on it.
He comes in from his spot on the doorway to stand next to me. There’s a small picture in his hand, from the time when I was six and he and my mom and I took a road trip south to Anaheim to visit Disneyland. In the picture, I’m wearing a pair of mouse-ears and the biggest, brightest smile a six year old can muster. My mom is laughing and my dad has this childish grin on his face because, with one hand he’s holding mom and with the other, he’s giving me bunny ears — which go along great with the mouse ears I’m already wearing.
I think that day was the happiest day I’ve ever had. Next to the times I woke up in Luca’s arms, feeling comfortable and safe and like the world might just have some hope in it after all.
He tosses the picture in my bag and zips it closed.
“What are you doing, dad?”
“You know, I was wrong to call you here.”
“You were scared, it’s understandable. Besides, we’re family, that’s what you do.”
“That’s no excuse. Being a dad is scary stuff. Every decision that I make has consequences for you, and it means that I have to do my best to make sure that you are taken care of and loved. But when it came to making this tough decision, I failed, and I wrapped you up in this giant mess.”
I forget about the bag that I’ve packed and I turn around and I hug him.
“I would’ve come here anyways. You’re my father. I have to be here for you. Just like you were there for me when mom died.”
“Not like this,” he says.
Then, he picks up my bag. I feel guilty now about packing, about leaving, and I can tell by looking at his face that he knows that’s how I feel. I made this decision without even talking to him. Even if it feels like it’s the right one, it was wrong not to tell him.
“You’re doing the right thing, pumpkin. I should’ve told you to get out of here a long time ago.”
Hearing that doesn’t make it any easier.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that, earlier today, Bryan and I found out some things about Luca, and, you were right about him. I need to get away from all this mess.”
He takes my hand with his free hand and leads me towards the door and down the stairs.
“You need to be somewhere where you’re not afraid. Get out of here. Get a long ways out of town. Don’t tell me where you’re going, don’t tell anyone.”
“You can come, too—” I start to say, but he just shakes his head.
“What I need to do is stay here. I made this mess, I need to deal with it and whatever consequences there are. I need to be your dad, for once, and keep this from getting back to you.”
He opens the door and sets the bag down to give me a hug.
“I love you, dad. I’ll call you when I’m somewhere safe.”
My dad pulls back a bit from the hug, keeping his hands clasped on my shoulders while looking me in the eye.
“Don’t call. Wait a long while, make sure you’re far, far away. The less I know about where you are, the less chance there is that anyone else could find out. I want you to stay safe.”
I give him one last kiss on the cheek and a big hug and pick up my things. My heart is aching as I settle back into the front seat of the car, but the rest of me feels numb, like I won’t feel happy until I’ve left this nightmare far behind me.
I pull out onto the main road.
It’s a bright morning. Sunny, clear skies, a gentle breeze. Perfect for starting over.
It’s miles before I realize I may have just said goodbye to my dad for the last time. I want to pull over, I even slow down and get onto the shoulder and hear the crunch of gravel under the tires and feel the pain of parting well up inside me. But I don’t stop. More than anything else, I need to leave town.
After five more minutes of driving, I’m close to main highway out of town. Once I get there, I decide I’ll head north and keep driving until Portland or maybe Seattle. There’s plenty of hospitals up there, plenty of chances to start over.
It’s just open road in front of me and only a mile o
r two to the highway.
I can do this. I can make it.
At a stoplight, where there’s no other cars around me, I think about running the red light. Every part of me is crying out to get out of here, to start over, and even the parts of me that are torn up and wounded about leaving behind my dad and Luca, are excited at the chance to finally know what it’s like to go a day without fearing for my life.
The light changes.
I start inching forward.
Motion draws my attention to my rear view mirror. An SUV and a beat-up black sedan settle in behind me, matching my pace as I drive down the road.
Slow, steady, I keep driving. Freedom is on the horizon and, though it’s miles away, I just need to keep going and I’ll get there.
The car flashes its headlights at me. Once, twice, three times, and I’m sure it’s no accident.
My heart hitches and I step on the gas.
If I can just get to the highway, where there’s more people around, maybe I’ll be ok.
Slowly, surely, the SUV pulls into the other lane and up alongside me. Calm, even, but relentless with menace.
One window rolls down.
An ugly, scarred face smiles back at me and a pistol takes aim.
There’s a crack and a puff of smoke and glass explodes in my face and the wheel jerks from my hands. Pain hits me everywhere, the world turns and flips and I feel things break inside me.
There’s a thud that vibrates through my bones and makes me scream in agony. Everything comes to a quiet stop.
All I hear is the sound of gravel crunching as a car pulls onto the shoulder of the road beside me.
My eyelids flicker open for a second and, between the blood and the shattered glass, there’s that same scarred face looking down at me.
He smiles.
“Going somewhere?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Luca
“This is it? Jesus, I always knew these Russian types were scum, but this place is really a piece of work.”
We’re in the parking lot at Volgograd. Angelo and I are out front, the rest of the guys are in back, waiting for our signal.
