Don’t bother wasting your time. I’m not so stupid as to stash Violet at any of my known locations. The woman’s gone. Forget her. You’ll never see her again.
“What the fuck, Demon?” Hell’s come in. “What the fuck was that laughter and the crash?”
I point to the jack-in-the-box, now looking forlorn on the floor. “He was the messenger. And this, the message.” I pass the paper over to Hell.
He takes it and reads it. His lips press together. “What do you want to do, Son?”
“We carry on. Might find a clue somewhere. Might be trying to halt the search.”
“Or he could be telling the truth. He has her somewhere we don’t know about.”
“Already out of state?”
Hell considers for a second. “Nah. He needs her close, and if he’s making a play to be don, he can’t afford to leave Pueblo right now. She’s here, somewhere.”
But she’s not. Mace, Ink, Lizard, Hell and I visit every location we know about, at one needing to call for backup and use our fists and the threat of our guns to get answers, but of Violet there’s no sign.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Violet
“It would be easier just to drug her again.”
Angel looks from me to his wife, then pointedly at the food and half-drunk bottle of water. “I think she’d rather starve herself than eat anything we give her, Vitalia.”
“She has to drink. Or the capo could bring some heroin in. That’s an idea. Get her hooked, she’ll be more pliable, and she’ll suffer.”
“Not when she’s going to be carrying my child. But after? Hmm. An idea with possibilities, my love.”
I shudder, just listening to this discussion. It’s time I stepped in. I can make threats of my own. “Demon’s going to kill you, you know that, don’t you?”
“Not now that he’s given me even more reason to take him out first. Satan’s Devils have started a war. Trouble for them, what they’ve done is brought il famiglia together. The Silvestri don’t take the death of their boss lying down.”
“You said you hadn’t killed your father…”
His laugh is pure evil. “I didn’t have to hold the gun to make sure he was dead. Your new husband did that for me.”
Demon. What have you done?
I don’t need to ask the question, which he takes great delight in answering as if I had voiced it. “Your locket led them to my father. Obviously you weren’t there, so, in a fit of rage the Devils killed my father and all of his men.”
“That’s not true.”
“You better believe it.” He smirks. “It was my plan, and it worked like a charm. Not a single hitch. Out with the old boss, meet the new boss.” He points to himself, “Me.”
He’s worse than I thought. “You’re pleased your father is dead?” I ask incredulously, wondering if it can really be true and that Demon’s committed mass murder. Something seems off. “But, your brother. All this is because you want retaliation for your brother’s death. If he’d been alive, he’d be next in line; you’d have to have killed him too, to become boss.”
He shakes his head. “Not necessarily.” I notice he doesn’t rule it out. “There has to be a vote. But with all the sympathy coming my way, and the strength I’ll show wiping out the Devils and thus extending our territory, the vote will be a formality.”
“Why are you talking to her?” Vitalia asks. She doesn’t seem jealous at the thought that if he has his way she’ll be sharing his cock with me, but she doesn’t seem to like him paying me attention.
Hmm. Is there something I can use there?
“You must have come up with that plan very quickly. You couldn’t have known the locket had a tracker in it. Even I hadn’t been aware of that.” I look down at my feet, knowing that Demon had tried to protect me. It had been a good idea but had failed.
“I’d already had a plan to lay a trail to my father. But as it turned out everything worked liked a dream. I suspected Demon may be tracking you. Our equipment showed we were right. Demon followed where that scrap of useless jewellery he’d given you had gone.”
“Clever.” The word almost sticks in my throat, but I get a sense of satisfaction when Vitalia throws an intense look full of hatred toward me.
“Boss?” A voice comes from outside the room.
Angel turns and opens the door. “Yeah?” There’s a quiet mumbling in the hallway, half in Italian which I don’t understand. But his wife does. Her expression grows concerned. When the sound of footsteps can be heard fading, and Angel turns, she puts her hand out to him.
“You go. You knew you’d have to take the reins. Now Lucio is dead, they need someone to lead.”
“The capi…”
“Are on your side. You need to divulge your plans. You know how we discussed this. Hit back immediately. Show you’re prepared when others are not. Don’t let anyone try to seize control. Be the true leader you are, Angelino. Go. Capo Ferri will waiting for you.”
Angelino looks almost loving as he smiles at his wife, then, with a sneer, he turns to me. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later. Now I have to arrange a retaliatory attack on your husband’s clubhouse. Seems a nice afternoon to blow something up.
My jaw drops in horror. “Theo?” I say fast. “Theo’s at the compound.”
He shrugs. “Collateral damage.”
I fly across the room, my hands striking him, fingernails raking down his face. “You can’t! You fucking bastard. I’ll kill you.” He staggers back with the unexpected force of my attack, throwing his arm out to catch the doorframe to regain his balance.
“Get off him, you bitch.”
Vitalia’s trying to pull me off him by my hair. A hard smack to my face combined with her tugs gets me falling backward, but not quickly enough to prevent the fist thrown hard into my stomach. Crashing to my knees, I bend double, gasping for breath. It’s while I’m down, trying to recover, that they leave. When I can at last pull myself to my feet, I’m alone.
“Theo!” I scream at the top of my voice, tears falling down my face. In my mind I’m picturing the clubhouse exploding, fire tearing through and my son, my lovely boy… Too young to protect himself. “Nooooo.”
My lungs struggle to get oxygen, but not from physical pain, from the sheer terror of losing my son. I don’t understand how Angel can be so callous; there’s a good chance Theo’s his too. His lack of concern goes to prove a son to him is a commodity, not something to be cared for and cherished.
Lightheaded, I collapse down to the floor, resting my head in my hands, trying to focus through my horror and mental pain. What can I do? I can’t warn Demon. Demon’s focus will be on finding me. Surely he must realise the Devils are at risk now he’s killed their leader?
I thought marrying Demon had been the right thing to do. A way to protect Theo. Now it seems I was wrong. Angelino might be known as the Angel of Death, but Demon appears to be just as bad. He killed many men, out of a fit of anger when he couldn’t find me. He’s started a war. My perfect man hadn’t turned out to be so perfect after all. Not the right man to be a father to Theo. Now his actions could get my son killed.
I’m the only one to know Angel’s plans. What can I do? Angrily wiping my tears on the bottom of my dress, I look around the room with fresh eyes. If I call, maybe someone will come expecting to take me to the bathroom. If I can find something to incapacitate them in some way, maybe I can get out of this room. Or take their phone. I don’t know anyone’s number, but… While I know it wouldn’t make Demon happy, I’ll call the only contact everyone remembers. The police. Saving my son’s life is an emergency. According to Angelino, Demon has killed his father, the don.
What does it matter that a murderer like Demon is locked up if it means Theo has a chance of life?
Theo alive, while my husband rots in a prison cell or dies at the hands of another prisoner. Or Theo dead, and Demon alive, wreaking vengeance on the Mafia family who destroyed the compound.
I�
��m Violet Palmer, Nathan’s sister. Things like this just don’t happen to me.
The thought I’ve pushed to the back of my mind resurfaces, the unbelievable story Angel told about my father. He has to be wrong. My father didn’t have a secret life, hadn’t lied to me all the years I’ve been alive. I would have known, wouldn’t I? Would have suspected? Surely if he’d been a Mafia don there would have been some sign?
But if Angel is right, everything happening now started when Pompeo, his brother, had been killed. Had my father initiated the actions that led to me being here now, and the grandchild he never knew he had being in danger?
I have to escape. Got to get to Theo. Got to get him away. Revert to my initial plan and get him to safety.
I stand. There’s a desk, but all the drawers are empty. The soft cushions on the couch offer no solution at all. I pry at the window frame, but it’s not moving, and my fingers are bleeding trying to remove the nails which fasten it shut. Break a window. But how? And with what? And that would only bring men running.
Sinking down on the couch once again, my tears start falling. This time, I don’t wipe them away. I tried Theo, I tried. Mommy tried to come save you. I weep, wailing uncontrollably, my cries bringing no attention. Eventually the tears dry. If they’d already attacked, if that’s where Angel went… If Theo is dead or hurt, wouldn’t I already know it? Wouldn’t I feel it like a hole in my heart? Wouldn’t I have already started dying inside?
I can’t let myself give up. But what can I do?
It’s only when I hear footsteps approaching that I realise I’ve been stupid. I do have a weapon, it’s just that it didn’t come in a box with ‘gun’ or ‘knife’ written on it. Racing to the desk, I tug hard on a drawer, it’s old, and slides out without too much protest.
Moving fast to the side of the door, I hold it over my head.
Picturing Theo, imagining flames approaching him, I have no second thoughts as I raise it over my head and bring it down with all my strength on the head of the person who steps through the doorway.
But the man’s too tall. All I do is knock his shoulder, but hard enough to make him stagger. He’s one of Angelino’s men; his eyes blaze as papers fall from his hands onto the floor.
“You’re going to pay for that, bitch,” he snarls, rubbing his shoulder. Then he wrenches the drawer out of my hands and throws it behind him into the hallway. Pushing me backward, hard, knocking me off-balance and onto my backside, he steps into the room, his eyes scanning quickly. Seeing the remaining drawer in the desk he goes and rips it out, turning to me with an evil grin. “There’s no escape for you. Angelino wanted you to read that file. He’ll be back once he’s finished his business. He, er, wanted me to remind you to think on your bargain.”
Kicking the file with the paperwork all away across the floor to me, he turns, slams the door, and disappears.
I hope his shoulder is hurting.
My bargain. Kneeling, I start pulling the papers toward me. There is nothing Angel can have left for me that will make me believe his fantastical story about my father. He hadn’t led a second life. Involved in the Mafia? Never. It’s a preposterous suggestion. I’ll read the ‘evidence’ he’s put together, find all the holes and find a way to rationalise them. Then I’ll explain that he has it all wrong.
What happens if he doesn’t believe me? Pursing my lips, I realise there has to be some way to convince him he has no reason to keep me. No reason to hurt Theo. There’s no revenge to be had, my father wasn’t the man he’s describing, and no way was he responsible for the death of his brother.
He might rape me anyway. And Theo… Once more I stuff my hand into my mouth, biting down so hard I draw blood, unable to cope with the thought it might already be too late. The file drops from my hands, paperwork scattering.
No. Finding an explanation as to why Angel’s wrong is the only chance I have to save my baby. My attempts at finding a physical weapon having been thwarted, I have to think on another way out instead, though all I want to do is curl up into a ball agonising about the planned attack on the Satan’s Devils’ compound.
Prove this evidence has no grounds.
I take a deep breath to steady me, and another. Then, having gathered the papers once again, I go to the desk and start reading.
A birth certificate is there. Vittore Parma. Same date as my father’s birthday, but that’s just coincidence, so is the similar sounding name. I flick through, there’s a visa with a picture of a young man on it; sure, there’s some resemblance around the eyes, but I only remember my father with dignified grey streaks in his hair, not with the jet-black mop this man is sporting.
My father had travelled for work. Some of the clients he worked for were based out of town, that’s not unusual, surely?
Angelino’s done his work thoroughly, or someone has on his behalf. There’s a list of dates when things went down, a stolen shipment of heroin, a warehouse explosion, that drive-by shooting when Angelino’s brother was captured and presumably subsequently killed. The last date was twenty years ago when Don Vittore Parma disappeared.
There’s also a matching column of dates when Victor Palmer went out of town. I scoff at the way they conveniently correlate. This is no proof, Angelino could have written those dates himself.
There’s one time I do remember, my fifth birthday. My father hadn’t been around. I don’t have many memories as a child, but that sticks out as one. At the time I’d been a spoiled brat, stomping my feet and wishing he’d stayed home for my party. But he hadn’t. Quickly I check the date.
Arms that time. A shipment of AK-15s had been hijacked.
But this is wrong. Angelino and his father had money, they flaunted it. We’d lived a comfortable life, but nothing extravagant. A Mafia famiglia head like Don Vittore Parma would surely be well-off?
But a seed of doubt has been planted. I place my head in my hands, trying to rewrite my history in my head. He didn’t speak with an Italian accent, though his pet word for my mom had been Bella. But surely, that didn’t mean anything?
My confusion leads to disgust and anger. How could I live with the knowledge my dad, far from being a meek-mannered man and a good father, was someone who made his money from crime? Who had an elite team of men under his command? Who was involved in drugs, guns and murder? And whose nefarious activities had now put my son in danger? A son who only came into existence because of a desire for revenge.
I go back over the paperwork.
This isn’t right. It’s a fairy tale Angel’s concocted, trying to find someone to blame for the death of his brother. He’s found something and twisted it to make it fit, not least the coincidental name of my father.
Angel’s lying. But why? Just to get me complacent in his bed?
He truly believes it. He must be mad. This is crazy. My father was not a bad man.
My concentration is on the papers in front of me; at first I don’t hear the door opening. A shuffling of feet makes me look up. “You’ve read it then. Do you accept what I told you is the truth?”
“I’ll never accept it.” I’ve made up my mind. “The man who was my father wasn’t capable of what you’re accusing him of. You have the wrong person. And me, for no good reason.” I stand, the chair moves noisily as I push it back into the desk, my action final, signalling I’ve had enough of this charade. “All the information is circumstantial. You’ve been clutching at straws trying to find the man who was responsible for the death of your brother. Vittore Parma and Victor Palmer are definitely not the same man.” My eyes flare as they catch his. “Everything has been a dreadful mistake. Let’s salvage what we can of it. You let me go, go back to my son, that’s all I want, Angelino.”
Suddenly he moves. His hand reaches fast around my head, taking a bunch of my hair in his fist and pulling it painfully. “They call me the Angel of Death, the Angel of Misery, of pain and retribution. What you’ve seen of me is nothing yet. You’re lying, just because you want to renege on our bargain. You could
have come easily, but I don’t give a damn if you fight me. I don’t give a damn if you get hurt. You accuse me of lying, but everything I’ve told you is the truth.”
At this point I realise I’ve never seen a man this angry. The room’s small, nowhere to hide. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for him. Turning fast, I poise to leap toward the opposite wall just to put distance between us, but I’ve underestimated the tightness of his grip on my hair. My forward momentum means he doesn’t stop me, but he’s left holding a section from my scalp, leaving me shocked and screaming.
Hurt, I want to retaliate. As he crowds me again, I lift my knee, but I’m too slow. He grabs my leg and flips me so I land on the hard floor, winded. On hands and knees, I try to move away.
He reaches down, this time taking a larger bunch of my hair, he pulls me up by it, swinging me around in an arc, then throws me over the back of the couch, using his body to pin me in place.
I try to struggle, to kick, but he overpowers me. Still keeping me fixed in place by his grip on my hair, he presses his heavy weight against me. My brain registers the smell of sweat and the sound of him breathing heavily. It’s not all from exertion. Through the material of his slacks I feel his hardness. I’m trapped, it’s impossible to move him.
For a brief second that’s over so fast that my brain doesn’t register it in time to take advantage, he puts a small distance between our hips, but it’s only so he can flip my dress up over my back.
“Che cazzo? What have you done?” His voice echoes in the sudden silence as I realise he’s seeing the tattoo, Demon’s mark of ownership. “You fucking stupid bitch.” Then his voice comes closer as he bends to speak into my ear. “But no mind, I’ll just burn it off, or flay the skin from your back. Of course it may decrease your value, but you’ll still have a working cunt.” He lifts up a little; turning my head, I can see him examining it. “‘Property of Demon’? Wrong, you’re fucking mine, bitch.”
Satan's Devils MC Colorado Boxset 1 Books 1 - 3 Page 65
