Giovanni

by Natasha Knight

  I think about her taking it. I wonder if she offered herself for it or had to be held down. Maybe she was knocked out beforehand. A mercy. But no, I don’t think so. What would be the point? This was a lesson or maybe a warning. Or both. Something she could hide but would never forget.

  Whatever it was, it’s part of her now.

  And what I said about her already being broken, this is part of that breaking.

  She’s afraid of her brother. I want to know why. I get the feeling she’s more afraid of him than of me. That makes me even more curious, and I have a feeling the scars on her back have something to do with that fear. I want to know about their relationship. I want to know about her father’s murder. That was four years ago. She claims not to have seen Alessandro in that long, and I believe her. I can find him on my own, but it’ll take longer. I have a feeling when she contacts him, he’ll come. And as much as she doesn’t want that, I want the opposite. Because I want to see them together with my own eyes. I won’t let him hurt her. I won’t let him lay a finger on her. But I do need them in a room together.

  I wrap my arm around her middle and pull her into me. I told her she reminded me Angelica. It’s not that, though. She’s nothing like Angelica. Angelica gave the illusion of being naive, but she was selfish. Manipulative even, at least until the end. Emilia is not those things. She is simply broken. But having her in my arms, it’s bringing up old memories. Stirring the dust of the past. I have to remember this, remember to keep them separate.

  Emilia mumbles something and turns, but her eyes are still closed and she’s still asleep, even as she burrows into me, tucking her arms between us and her head into the crook of my arm. I lie still watching her, and I wonder what the fuck I’m doing.

  As well as she sleeps that night, I don’t. Just when I nod off, my phone vibrates on the nightstand. I roll onto my back to check the screen. It’s Hugo Drake, Killian Black’s man. And he’s got one of Alessandro Estrella’s boys.

  I glance at Emilia, who is on her back, her face turned slightly toward me and more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. She’s so soft when she’s like this. So different than when she’s awake and so tightly wound. Her cheeks are flushed and her long lashes sweep downward, so long they almost cast a shadow all their own. Her lips are swollen and slightly parted. I need to stop looking at them because I’m going to want to do things if I don’t and this is important. I quietly get out of bed and, so as not to wake her, use the shower in one of the guest rooms. Before heading out, I leave instructions she’s not to leave the house until I return.

  I make a call to have several of my men meet me at Mea Culpa, and when I arrive, I use the side entrance where I’m obviously expected. The cook’s already making breakfast, and the smell of frying bacon makes me hungry.

  “Morning, Mr. Santa Maria,” someone says once I’m inside. He’s a low-level soldier.

  “Morning.”

  “They’re waiting for you downstairs. Last door on the right.”

  “Thanks.” I’m about to head down but stop. “Get me some coffee, will you?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Santa Maria.”

  The downstairs of Mea Culpa is infamous in our world. It’s where you absolutely do not want to be because nothing good happens there. This is where the ugly side of this business is handled. Upstairs is high-end, with an excellent restaurant and only the most beautiful women to provide service and entertainment. Down here, it’s a whole other world, and you know it the moment you step through the door that leads to the metal staircase.

  It’s cold with bright fluorescent lighting and is lined with heavy doors. The one I’m directed to has two men standing outside. They nod in greeting as one opens the door. Hugo chose a good room for today’s purposes. He knows me. It’s tiled with a drain in the middle and a counter along one end, like a kitchen, but not. Just has all the tools one may require.

  “Good morning, sir.” A soldier straightens, greets me upon entering.

  I nod, and he resumes picking dirt out from under his fingernails as I turn to Hugo, who is leaning against the wall at the back.

  “Morning,” I say.

  “Good morning.”

  He’s a big guy and looks foreboding with his heavily tattooed arms folded across his chest. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans, and dark shoes. He’s ready for the work that needs to be done.

  I turn my attention at the man sitting on a metal folding chair in the middle of the room, wrists bound behind his back, looking up at me like a wounded animal. Like he knows what’s coming because I know for a fact he’s been in this situation before, just on the other end of things. He knows what happens to the guy in the chair.

  “Good Morning,” I say to him.

  When he doesn’t reply, Hugo swiftly stalks up behind the chair, grips a handful of his hair and tugs his head backward. “Mr. Santa Maria just bid you good morning. Show some fucking respect.”

  “G…g…”

  “This is one of Estrella’s men?” I guess I didn’t expect him to be so easily broken down.

  “John Diaz. And I admit, he looked a little better before the trip over here,” Hugo says, one side of his mouth curving upward. He takes pleasure from this.

  I look at the cheap, bloodied suit, at the man’s bruised face. His pleading eyes.

  “It happens. Where’d you find him?” I reach into the front pocket of the guy’s jacket, pull out the piece of paper sticking out. It’s an address. I don’t know the area, but it’s a little outside the city. I tuck the piece of paper into my pocket.

  “All-night diner near his house.”

  “I don’t do work for Mr. Estrella anymore,” the man in the chair says.

  “That’s about all he’s been telling us too,” Hugo says, picking a piece of skin off his knuckle. “Except I know he was on a job when we picked him up.”

  I look down at the man again, peer into his face. “You high, Johnny?”

  Hugo snorts.

  “No. No, sir.”

  “I think we beat the high out of him because he was behaving like a fool, weren’t you, Johnny-boy?”

  The man in the chair flinches.

  “What job?”

  Hugo gestures to the pocket in which I just stuck the piece of paper. “Has to do with that address, but that’s all I got, so far. Was waiting on you, thinking you may want to talk to him while he still has the ability to speak.”

  The man blubbers something.

  “So you don’t work for Estrella, but you were doing a job for him?”

  “I owed him a favor. This is it. I’m out. I can’t—” He shakes his head, drops it.

  “Can’t what?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. I turn to Hugo. “Pet peeve of mine. I can’t stand it when people don’t finish their fucking sentences.”

  “I hear you.” Hugo kicks the leg of Diaz’s chair, and he startles.

  “Can’t what?” I repeat.

  “I got a family now. Please. I don’t want nothing to do with Estrella.”

  “Considering that, I hope I wasn’t out of line to offer a deal,” Hugo says, moving around so the man can see his face. “I guess it’s my soft side.”

  I chuckle because Hugo doesn’t have a soft side. None of us do. He’s fucking with the guy, but I’ll play along.

  “What’s the deal?” This guy’s about pissing himself right now, and I’m good with that.

  “He gives us the information we require, and we let him live. Of course, he promises never to speak again. Can’t take a chance he’ll share that information with anyone else, obviously. Just covering all our bases.”

  “You’re thorough. But you weren’t authorized to make that deal, were you?” I turn to the man. “He doesn’t make the decisions. I think you’ve been misled.”

  “No. Please, please, sir. Mr. Santa Maria. Please. Estrella, he’s ruthless.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “That’s funny.” I pick up a folding chair that’s leaning against the far wa
ll, bring it over in front of the guy, open it, and sit. “But I don’t think it’s Estrella you need to worry about right now. You mentioned you had family?” I use the past tense on purpose, and I see from the change in expression on his face he catches it.

  He nods. “A wife and a boy.”

  “How old is the boy?”

  “Two.”

  “Great age, isn’t it? So innocent.”

  He nods again, and I see a glimpse of hope on his face.

  “He won’t have much memory of you.”

  That hope is gone almost as quickly as it came. His eyes grow huge, and they’re filling up with tears.

  I shake my head. “Crying is for women. Don’t be a fucking pussy. You lived this life, you know how it works. I’m damn sure your hands aren’t clean.”

  He can’t seem to stop himself, though.

  “Estrella, where is he?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. I haven’t done work for him since Mr. Em—” he stops, catches himself.

  “Since?” I raise my eyebrows. “Tell me, and I’ll see what I can do about keeping the deal Hugo made with you.”

  He considers this. I get up and move the chair away because the smell of his fear is making me nauseous.

  “I don’t know where he is. I swear it.”

  “Since his what, Johnny?”

  “He’ll kill me. My family.”

  “No, I’ll be the one to kill you, which will then leave your family unprotected. Alessandro Estrella is one mean son of a bitch, but I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m meaner. Hugo, give him some incentive.”

  I’ve barely finished my sentence before Hugo’s behind him. A moment later, the chair goes crashing forward and I hear the collision of the man’s face against the tiles.

  “Ouch,” I say, watching as Hugo straightens the chair. There’s a wide gash across his forehead and he looks to have lost at least one tooth.

  Hugo then grips his hair and tugs his head backward.

  “Your wife, does she know where you are?”

  He tries to shake his head no.

  “You don’t want her or that kid of yours in here, do you?”

  “No. Please, Mr. Santa Maria.”

  “Let him go, Hugo.”

  Hugo reluctantly releases his hair.

  “Now talk. Last chance.” I check my watch.

  “Mr. Estrella. Emil Estrella. It’s the last job I did for Alessandro.”

  I study him. I know he’s not lying to me, and he’s actually confirming something I’ve suspected all along. Emil Estrella’s death was an inside job.

  “You were responsible for Emil Estrella’s assassination?”

  “Alessandro was very angry at his father.”

  “And his sister? Emilia? Was he also very angry at her?” The words are out before I can stop them.

  The man goes dead still at the mention of her name, and his eyes are about to bulge out of his head. A moment later, he hangs his head down, and I can see he’s crying again.

  The door opens then. The man I’d asked to get me a cup of coffee apologizes for interrupting and hands me a steaming cup.

  “Thank you. I’m fucking starving. Hugo, you have breakfast yet?”

  “Not yet. Up too early with this fool.”

  “Let’s wrap this up and get some food. I swear I can still smell the bacon frying up there.”

  Hugo chuckles. “It’s damn good bacon.”

  I give him a nod and take a sip of my coffee.

  Hugo grips the man’s hair again and tugs his head backward. “Where the fuck is Estrella?”

  “I swear I don’t know. Someone called in the job. I don’t even know who it was. I swear I would tell you if I knew. I swear on my family. I swear on my kid.”

  Hugo releases him, steps backward.

  “What’s the address on that piece of paper?” I ask, sipping my coffee.

  He shakes his head, looks like a broken man.

  “You want to tell me, I know you do. I can see it.”

  Nothing.

  “Help me to help you, Johnny. But I have to be honest here, even if I could honor Hugo’s deal, how would we make sure you don’t speak again?” I cock my head to the side and wait for him to catch on because there’s no getting around this. He’ll be punished, and his punishment will serve as a warning for anyone harboring Alessandro Estrella. I want Estrella to know I’m coming for him. Dominic Benedetti may be the one to pull the trigger, but he made his deal with me. He made me look like a fool when he ran out on it, and I will deliver him to my cousin alive, but that doesn’t mean I won’t punish him first. “Dead men are the only ones I know who don’t talk.”

  “Men without tongues don’t talk either,” Hugo adds, typing something into his phone and tucking it into his pocket before moving to look through the drawers for something. I can guess what.

  The man in the chair goes gray and literally pisses himself. I step back. “Christ, these are expensive clothes.”

  “Please. Please!” Johnny begs as Hugo comes over with a steak knife.

  “Your life in exchange for your tongue.”

  The man is struggling against his bonds, and sobbing like a fucking pussy.

  “Think of your family. Think how happy they’ll be to have you back. It’s just your tongue, after all.”

  “Please.”

  “Think about the boy. Look, we’ll even use a sharp knife. It’ll slice right through the meaty flesh.”

  He whimpers, sobs, pleads.

  I nod at the other soldier who’s been quiet. “I want to know what’s at this address. If he tells you before I find out myself, he lives, minus his tongue. If he doesn’t talk, cut off his tongue anyway then kill the bastard.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I turn to the man in the chair. “You understand the importance of timing here, Johnny? It’s going to take me maybe an hour to get out to that address. You think about that.”

  He mumbles something, but I turn to Hugo.

  “Ready for breakfast?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” He hands the knife off to the soldier who eagerly takes it.

  “Let’s go.”

  When I reach the door, I turn back to the soldier still inside. “Make sure if he does choose the first option, he doesn’t bleed out. That’d make a liar out of me.”

  Hugo and I walk out the door, and the screaming stops the instant it closes behind us. I reach into my pocket and hand the address over to Vincent. “Get some men to this address. I want to know who’s out there.”

  After breakfast, I head into one of the upstairs rooms for a meeting, where I’m tied up for most of the day. What I really want to do, though, is go back home. To see her. But Vincent hands me an envelope as soon as I get into the car.

  “What is it?”

  “Letter couriered to the girl’s house. Our man intercepted it.”

  I open the rather bulky envelope and reach inside to retrieve another, smaller one. This one is good quality stationary, heavy, and specially made. I already recognize it. My blood boils.

  I turn it over. It’s addressed to Emilia Larrea-Estrella. I guess he’s covering all his bases. That bulk I felt, it’s the wax seal. Fucking pompous, arrogant fool thinks he’s some kind of aristocracy with his fucking seal. I rip the envelope open.

  Dearest Emilia,

  Ghosts we think we killed and buried always lurk nearby, ready to snatch us back in time. Ready to smother us in darkness.

  Do not trust my son. He will hurt you like he hurt her.

  Be safe.

  Your friend,

  A.

  I crumple the note but decide not to throw it away. I tuck it into my pocket instead.

  “How in fuck’s name does he know about her?” I ask Vincent, although I know it’s a redundant question.

  “I don’t know, sir,” he answers anyway. I know I have enemies, and many of them are his spies. He lives for vengeance, my father.

  “I’m going to fucking kill him. Let’s go.
”

  “The Lincoln property?”

  I nod once. The Lincoln property is a large and completely private estate on the outskirts of the city. It’s currently occupied by my father, and I wonder as I fume if I can’t throw the old man out on the street. Wonder what the hell debt I owe the bastard.

  We pull through the gates a little over an hour later. The property is so large, you can’t see the house itself for another few minutes and, after that, it’s still a mile to the front doors. With thirteen bedrooms, it’s bigger than my house in the city, but he’s still not satisfied. He wants more. Greedier and greedier in his old age.

  No one stops me when I walk in the front door, although the woman dusting is startled at my entrance.

  “Where’s my father?” I ask her. I don’t know her name, and she’s quite young. She most likely doesn’t know who I am.

  I ask my question again, louder this time.

  Footsteps upstairs tell me someone’s heard, and when I look up, I see Janet, my father’s nurse. She’s been in my employ ever since the accident. Or what she calls the accident. My father and I both know it was not that.

  “Giovanni? Is that you?”

  She comes down the stairs. She’s in her early fifties and the only one who can stand to be around my father. Staff turnover is at an astonishing rate here because he’s such a dick. She reaches the landing and comes to greet me. I can barely spare a smile. I’m too angry. “Where is he?”

  “He just went to bed to lie down for a bit.” Her expression changes. She is his nurse, after all. She may not know the reasons for our shared hatred of each other, but she knows the depth of it.

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “Come have a cup of coffee.” She takes my arm, tries to lead me toward the kitchen.

  “I’m not here for coffee.”

  Her expression tells me she has some idea why I’m here.

  “Gio—”

  “Now, Janet. Take me to him.”

  “He needs his rest. He’s an old man. Why don’t you two work out whatever differences you have? The past is dead, and he will be too, soon. You’ll regret it, Giovanni.”