by Debra Dunbar
Betty hit the back wall, hand lifting to her face. A shriek filled the room and the woman reached for the shards of glass surrounding her. Tiny scimitars of shattered glass lifted into the air, congealing and reshaping as Betty reached for them. A sweeping length of glass formed in her grip as she struggled to regain her footing.
Vincent reached for the gun as he jerked his arm clear of the jagged edges of the shattered glass. Blood welled along his shirt sleeve as his fingers wrapped around the stock of the pistol.
He lifted the pistol as Betty hoisted her sword of glass over her shoulder in order to thrust it directly at Vincent. With a shout, he brought the butt of the pistol down hard onto his right wrist, just as the sharp tip of Betty’s makeshift sword sliced into his left shoulder.
White-hot pain shot through his arm and chest and he hissed at the thrust from Betty’s weapon. When he opened his eyes, he realized that he’d pinched time again out of reflex.
Kicking against the front of the bar, Vincent shoved himself back until the sword was no longer buried in his shoulder. He stumbled, guts churning in magic-tortured exertion even as his shoulder throbbed in blazing pain. Time shuddered, the noise and thickness of air faltering. He was losing control. Just time enough for one quick bout of thinking.
No real plan.
Just instinct.
He hooked the doorman’s leg with his shoe, easing the enormous man closer to the bar.
And that was the last of Vincent’s power.
Time resumed its normal flow, just as the man’s torso met with the rest of Betty’s momentum. The length of Betty’s sword sunk into the center of the doorman’s chest. His weight dropped, yanking the weapon out of Betty’s hand as his body slammed against the bar, before pitching backward onto the floor of the speakeasy.
With one final surge of adrenaline, Vincent sent a right hook sailing into the woman’s jaw and Betty Sharp dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Chapter 11
Vincent snatched the gun from the ruined bar. Releasing a held breath, he and ran a hand over his face. His shoulder was on fire from the stab wound, the speakeasy was in shambles with shards of glass across the floor.
And Betty Sharp lay slumped unconscious behind the bar.
Vincent pocketed the iron and bustled around the back of the bar. With a wince of pain, he crouched down, and hoisted Betty up and over his non-bleeding shoulder. The woman was thin, only a few pounds heavier than Hattie, but the past few days had sapped the last of Vincent’s strength and getting stabbed hadn’t helped. Carrying Betty to the exit, he paused and debated how he’d deal with the pair of Upright Citizens at the top of the stairs. Betty was slung over his right shoulder, which meant he couldn’t shoot the thugs unless he used his left hand.
Which was better than facing them unarmed, his guts twisting from overusing his powers, carrying an unconscious woman, and bleeding from one shoulder.
With a grunt of pain, he pulled the gun from his pocket, checked the rounds, then unbolted the door with a clumsy shuffle of Betty’s weight. Kicking it open with his foot he found a body lying on the landing just outside. With a glance up the stairs, he found Lefty waiting for him, a pair of worn soles peeking over the ledge next to Lefty’s feet.
“I heard a scuffle,” Lefty called. “You get shot?”
Vincent shook his head and began hauling Betty up the stairs. “Stabbed. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Lefty eyed him as he reached the street level. “You’ll live. Let’s get this package in the car before anyone notices what’s going on.”
Vincent settled Betty in the back of the car while Lefty reached beneath the passenger seat to produce a handful of rope they’d brought just in case they were successful. The pair of them bound Betty’s arms behind her back, then tied her ankles together in a sloppy hog-tie.
Lefty headed to the driver’s side.
“I’ll drive,” Vincent told him.
The other man glared. “I’m already getting mad thinking about you bleeding all over my new seats. You drive, you’re just gonna bleed more. And I’m just gonna get more angry.”
“Well, you’ll have to be angry.” Vincent inclined his head toward the bound woman in the back seat. “She’s gonna come to before we get to Baltimore, and I’m tapped out. If she tries anything, you’ll need to shoot her.”
Lefty’s eyes narrowed.
“And yeah, I understand what that’s gonna do to your upholstery. Better than having her fashion glass darts out of your windows and stabbing us both though.”
Lefty nodded and headed back to the passenger side, pulling his gun from the holster.
Within a minute, Vincent had the car aimed back to Baltimore, speeding out of town. Betty regained consciousness during the trip. A groan, one coughing fit, then an outburst of snarling and screaming announced her displeasure at being kidnapped. Lefty turned a pistol on her with a lift of his brow. She didn’t seem impressed. Instead, the car filled with the tortured sound of glass curling down from the side of the window like an orange peel. The sliver of glass edged toward her bonds and the car filled with rushing winter air.
Vincent cleared his throat. “We’re two hours from any major city. That’s a hell of a walk even if you do manage to escape. So, if you want to freeze to death, by all means, continue.”
Betty glared. The two gangsters in the front seat were warm in their wool coats. Vincent smirked, knowing that she, on the other hand, had nothing but her thin sleeveless dress to protect her from the biting cold. A sudden patter of sleet hit the windshield, bringing home his point. With a defeated snarl, Betty tilted her head and sent the glass curling back into place in the window pane.
“Where are you taking me?” she spat.
“Vito Corbi,” Vincent replied in all honesty.
Her face flickered with dread before she regained her brave front. “Oh, I suppose I’ll negotiate your punishment with him, then.”
Lefty pulled back the hammer of his pistol.
She grinned at him. “What, you’re going to hand over a corpse? I don’t think so.”
“I don’t have to shoot you anywhere lethal,” he replied. “Or I could get out my knife. I’m pretty handy with a knife, you know. It was that sort of special skill that proved useful in the war.”
Vincent’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could inquire further, Betty spat in the other man’s face.
Pulling the car over, Vincent opened the door, and jerked off his scarf. Betty tried to bite his hand as he pulled her upright in the seat to gag her with it. When they’d gotten back underway, Lefty holstered the gun.
“Thank you.”
Vincent nodded then stared straight forward the rest of the trip, releasing a relieved sigh as the city of Baltimore slipped into view around the bend of the highway. “It’s Monday?” he asked Lefty.
“Tuesday.”
“He won’t be at the hotel, then.”
Lefty nodded. “Vineyard.”
Vincent sucked in a nervous breath, letting it out through his nostrils. “Are we handling this wrong?”
“How do you mean?”
“Bringing her in like this, with the rest of the families staring down their nose at him. Bringing her to his vineyard.”
“There’s no other alternative. We’d be crack-headed not to bring her in. You were called out in the moot. This had to happen and happen fast. He’ll send her off per the directive at the moot, and get his two worthless vouchers.”
“That’s what I mean.” Vincent shifted nervously in his seat. “He tasked me to bring him a pincher, and I’ve got one, but I’ve still failed. He’s going to end up with two worthless vouchers, a war on his hands he didn’t want, and still no second pincher.”
Lefty shook his head. “You’re just going to have to hope this is enough of a mea culpa to keep your neck from the block. You’re doing your job, doing what you were told and tasked with, obeying instructions. Besides, I doubt he’d want to keep her. I don’t think she’s th
e sort of pincher he had in mind when he sent you out looking. Not just her nasty attitude either. I mean, glass pinching? What sort of worthless power is that anyway?”
Betty muffled something vulgar against Vincent’s scarf.
Both Vincent and Lefty shouted, “Shut up.”
Vincent drove through the city, steering east for White Marsh, and then onward to Havre de Grace.
Tiny pockets of clear sky continued to let wintry sunbeams slip through the gray canopy overhead. The light spilled in slanted columns to dance over the rolling vine rows of Vito’s estate, spindly and denuded of leaves. The Capo’s villa seemed taller in the winter, all the surrounding trees now skeletons, the sea of grape leaves replaced with finger bones of dry twigs reaching over the hills. Several cars were parked in the circular drive looping around the front fountain. Vito was holding court.
Vincent parked behind a black Ford and tried to keep his hands from shaking. “This is it,” he muttered.
Lefty waited in silence for Vincent to muster the will to move. And when he did, it was a storm of motion. He flung open the door, nearly jumped out of the car, and ripped open the rear door to grip Betty by the arm.
She recoiled, giving him the business through the gag. He reached for her ankles to untie her feet. Once they were free, she kicked at him with a frenzy. With a sigh, he pinched time and eased her out of the car. When he restored time, she stood in stunned silence for a moment, looking around, disoriented about suddenly standing in the middle of the drive.
Vincent pointed at the double oak doors leading into the villa from the side patio. “We’re going through those doors. Whether it’s under your own power, or me dragging you in is up to you.”
Betty breathed heavily through her nose, then turned to march up to the villa.
Lefty walked beside Vincent. “She’s crazy, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Keep your eyes peeled, huh? We’re gonna have a lot on our hands in there, and she’s likely to look for an opening.”
The doors opened before they even had a chance to knock. One of Vito’s personal detail stared at Vincent with indifference. His expression changed, however, as he took in the bound and gagged sight of Betty Sharp.
Vincent announced, “I’m here to see the Capo. Brought him a present.”
The guard led the three inside. The parlor, with its burgundy carpet and dark-stained bookcases, was even more dreary in the winter. Near the center of the room, an enormous marble-carved fireplace snapped with a handsome fire. A clutch of men had gathered in the warmth. At the center of the circle stood Vito.
His eyes shifted away from the conversation as Vincent drew up. “Vincenzo. I see you have…company.”
Vincent straightened his posture, then turned with a sweep of his hand. “Capo, I present Betty Sharp of Richmond. A glass pincher.”
Vito lifted his chin and stroked the side of his broad face. “I see.” He turned to others, lifting a hand to pull one aside. To the rest, he said, “A moment, friends?”
The gathering dispersed, withdrawing to a door leading to the interior of the villa. One man remained, standing behind Vito and one by the door. Finally, the Capo cleared his throat.
“I tasked you with this some time ago,” he declared as he turned to Vincent. “And at last, you’ve delivered.”
Vincent nearly fell to his knees in relief. The only thing keeping him tense was that fact that Vito’s expression was nowhere near approving.
“Unfortunately for us both, you’ve made this meaningless with your foolish behavior,” Vito continued.
“Capo?” Vincent felt his heartbeat pick up speed.
Vito stepped forward with a sudden thrust of his finger. “You disgraced me in front of the famiglia four months ago. And now you’ve done the same in front of the major New York families. You made me look powerless and weak. You not only got yourself trapped into this task that has no value at all to me and the famiglia, but you commit me to a war I have no interest in fighting—one the Carolinas should be taking on, not me!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke.
That was so…unfair. Yes, he’d defied Vito when he’d ignored his direct orders and went to rescue Hattie’s mother, but the rest? It was the other families that had committed Vito to war with the Upright Citizens, not Vincent. And as for his being tasked with bringing in Betty Sharp, what had he been expected to do? Decline and let the other families think Vito’s pincher was too weak for the job?
No matter what he did, no matter how loyal he was, he’d always be Vito’s scapegoat.
Vincent’s stomach twisted at the thought, an ache spreading as panic and loss filled his chest. “This was put upon us, Capo. The other families, New York—”
“I did not buy you and bring you on to do any thinking, or any work that does not benefit me directly. You are here to serve me. Me! Not to paint me as a weak fool. Not to open me up to ridicule and the whimsy of my enemies and my own famiglia.”
Vincent shot a quick glance toward Lefty, whose face was stony. He caught a glimpse of Betty, who seemed able to smirk at Vincent through his own scarf. “Capo,” Vincent pleaded, “I take my charge to serve you as sacred. The Crew is my family, and you are my Capo. My sole purpose is to strengthen both, to benefit both you and the family I serve.”
“Oh?” Vito snapped with a lift of his bushy brows. “Would you like for me to spell out the many ways you have failed me? I doubt you would enjoy it. First you allow these barbarians in Virginia to play you for a fool.” He pointed at Betty. “And you nearly got yourself killed. Then, you send me on a jester’s errand chasing down some Irish girl you thought was a pincher. All the while the Russians—” he was shouting at this point “—waltz directly up to my hotel and bring the war to us? We lost men that night, and their blood is on your hands. Speaking of which, even as I’ve tasked you—you—with the purpose of bringing me just one single stregone, you instead choose to send Luigi Capucci running about to do your work for you. Luigi was Crew! Famiglia! And now he’s dead because you couldn’t be bothered to do what I specifically tasked you to do.”
Vincent sucked in a breath, desperate to somehow deflect Vito’s fury. “He was a traitor. Cooper was a traitor.”
Vito blinked at the statement.
Vincent added, “He was in cahoots with the Russians. Every step of the way. He was the one who let them into the Old Moravia. He was the one feeding them information. It was him.”
Vito took another step forward. “You dare accuse a fallen brother?”
Lefty finally broke his silence. “It’s true, Capo. I’ve been checking into Vincent’s claims, and I’ve discovered that Cooper did have ties to the Russians.”
“This matters not at this time.” Vito snapped shifting his gaze to Lefty. “You. Alonzo. You have exactly one purpose in my organization—keep my stregone safe from our enemies, and keep our famiglia safe from him. Can you look your Capo in the eye and tell him that you have fulfilled this charge?”
Lefty clamped his jaw shut and looked down at the floor.
Vito turned to his security man, snapping his fingers at Betty. “Remove her gag.”
The tall, besuited man approached Betty, who seemed to have taken great delight in Vincent’s dressing down and offered no resistance as he pulled the scarf from her mouth.
Vito withdrew to the large carved-wood desk by the far wall. He pulled open a drawer to produce a tiny glass vial. He returned to face Betty, holding the dram to the light.
“Something I received from our associates in Ithaca.”
The mention of the word sent a bolt of panic across Betty’s face.
Vito nodded to the security man, who reached around Betty’s face to grip her jaw. She squirmed and growled as he tilted her head up and forced her mouth open.
Vito pulled the stopper and held it over her mouth, as a single drop of liquid fell. “Take her to the cellar and bring the car around.”
Betty gasped, spitting onto the floor. “Was that…poison?”
“Simply an elixir to sap your powers.” He added with a nod, “For transport.”
Betty blanched as the security man led her to the far door and out of the parlor.
“I cannot even keep this pincher you have finally brought me,” Vito snapped at Vincent. “She and every unclaimed stregone must go to Ithaca. Worthless, I say. You are worthless to me.”
“I’m sorry, Capo,” he whispered in reply, fearing the worst.
Vito glowered for a long moment, eyes boring into Vincent’s. He waved his fingers to the man by the fireplace. “Take Alonzo to the kitchen, if you will.”
Lefty stiffened as the man pulled a gun from his jacket. He kept it pointed at the ground, but the message was clear. Lefty had best step lively and make no protests.
Vincent watched Lefty as he marched past, regret and sadness in the other man’s eyes. Once the two had exited the room, and the door closed with a soft click, Vito turned to face the fireplace.
“What breaks my heart Vincenzo, is how high my hopes were when I bought you. It was a new day for all of us. I had settled the transition among the Crew and had established my reign. You are a true stregone, a weapon the likes of which only the most powerful may wield, yet here we stand, six years later. If anything, I am weaker than ever. And you…”
Vincent shifted his weight foot-to-foot.
Vito tossed a hand at the door. “Alonzo is loyal man. I understand there is only so much he can do with what he is given, but I am still disappointed in him. His future is in your hands, Vincenzo.”
Vincent tensed. Lefty had covered for him, had put his neck on the line for him over and over again. He couldn’t betray one of the only friends he had. “I will do as you say, Capo.”
“I am glad to hear it. Because if you refuse my next command, or offer the first sign of resistance, both of you will suffer the consequences. You will both be shot, your bodies dumped into the river.”
Vincent’s eyes went wide. “What do you want me to do?”
