“Hold on, Dust. Yes?” I turn to the man.
He wrings his hands. There are beads of sweat on his forehead. “What do we do with your room, sir?”
My bedroom isn’t salvageable. I don’t want anything from in there. “Tear it all out. Strip it bare. Burn everything. Got it?”
I leave the twitchy man behind and stride toward the hallway. “Where are you, Dust?”
“I’m in the club room.”
“Get your ass to my garage. Call up Charlie and Chad Bourne. Make sure they’re available. We’re going to have a little chat with the boys.”
“Will do. Any news on Ivan, sir?”
“Same,” I mutter. “Stable, they say.”
Dustin is silent for a few heartbeats. I know what he thinks. We all share the same concern. “It’s all so fucked up,” he finally says. If they can take him, they can take anyone.”
“That’s not happening,” I growl. “Eric has taken a squad and left for Moscow. We’ll take the fight to them. Hit them where it hurts. Matteo is working on stripping their accounts. When I’m done with them, they’ll be poor and dead. Now get to—”
“On it, sir. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
The ride downtown is silent. I sit in the back with my laptop and try to catch up with the intel Matteo keeps sending me. He’s chasing down this Russian mobster clan’s assets all over the world and is planning a strike that, when it happens, will wipe out any fucking Rubel, Dollar, Pound, Yen, or Euro they’ve got within a few minutes and transfer it to an untraceable account of mine. It’ll take some days to get it set up and I’m antsy for it to happen. My clubs are still closed and I’m losing billions. I know this is what they wanted, shooting up the gambling club, make me suffer. What they don’t know is how fucking many gangsters I can mobilize from the corners of the world. Right now people are gathering everywhere the Russians have a stronghold, Moscow obviously, a couple of places in Ukraine, London, and San Francisco. We’ll strike when all their alarm systems scream that they’ve lost their assets, when everyone throws themselves over their phones and their computers. I’ll bathe in their blood, laughing. I’ll avenge Ivan, Chloe, my staff in the club and in my house. No one touches what’s mine.
Chad and Charlie are two bright kids in their younger twenties. They’re clearly Chloe’s brothers, tall and blond with blue eyes and sharp features. Both have this American college kid, captain of the baseball team look going for them. Both of them screwed that possibility up royally. I’ve been thinking of putting them through school. Depending on how loyal they’ll prove to be, I can definitely have more use for them in the future and they have the potential to be more than muscle.
They’ve spent six months here, out of jail, free to move around, and always ready to do my bidding. They know that if they fuck up, I’d kill their sister.
Which of course I don’t plan to do, but they don’t know that.
Chad opens. Charlie sits on the couch in front of a PlayStation. He darts up as he sees me. “Mr. Salvatore.”
“Sit,” I say and nod for Dustin to join us. I have to shove off a pile of clothes to find some space and scrunch my nose. They live in a pigsty. I like order. Tenting my hands, I look between them. “Gentlemen, I have a proposal for you, and you better listen good.”
They glance at each other, and then fixate on me. If they’re worried, they don’t show it. I like it.
“Your sister Chloe, or Christine if you prefer, has been relocated. She’s out of the country. She was attacked and is now under my protection. My whole organization is under attack. I’m going to offer you a chance for her to earn her freedom, for you to clear your debt to me.”
Charlie frowns and looks between Dustin and me, then at his brother who nods. “Go on,” he says. “We’re all ears. Who attacked Christine? How is she? What happened?”
“She’s all right. You can ask her yourself. I’ll provide you with a number. You are not to ask where she is, or about her relationship with me. This is for her own security. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Salvatore. No problem. What is it you want us to do?”
“Do you know your way around a gun?”
Chad scoffs and Charlie gives out a short laugh.
“Excellent,” I say. “We’ll be shooting up some people who are messing with my business.”
“Them the ones who attacked our sister?” Chad leans forward, clenching his jaw.
“The same fucking ones.”
“Count us in,” says Charlie. “We owe you one for getting us out. We should punch your fucking face for threatening our sis, though.”
Dustin shoots up, but I put a hand on his arm and have him sit again. I did a lot more to his sister than threaten her. I think it, but I doubt it’d land well if I say it. Instead I lift an eyebrow.
“Good boy. Hold onto that anger. You’re gonna have good use for it. Give me your phone.” I hold out my hand until Charlie slaps his phone in my palm, holding my gaze with his. I smirk and tap in the number where they can reach Chloe, then I drop the phone on the table. “Someone will pick you up tomorrow, ten a.m. Be ready. We’ll provide you with gear and you’ll be assigned to a team.”
I stand, and the rest shoot to their feet.
“Tomorrow then,” says Chad.
I tilt my head in acknowledgement. Putting these two to work and making sure Chloe knows I don’t hold my axe over their heads anymore will be a good thing. I feel pretty good about myself as Dustin and I leave the building.
“Take me to Ivan,” I say.
Dustin is a good man, but I miss Ivan’s grumpy presence in my life.
Chloe
A knock on my door makes me twitch awake. I scramble out of bed and pull my nightgown past my knees. I’ve been here a couple days. The night terror that was so vivid the first night has already faded a little. This quiet little village is good for my soul.
Alessandra beams at me. “Sorry to wake you. You’ve got a phone call.”
My heart makes a somersault. “Really? Where?”
She holds up a phone and I snatch it out of her hands, pushing the door closed again. “Hello?” I say, out of breath as if I’ve been running.
“Sis!”
At first, I don’t recognize the voice. Then I’m speechless when the realization hits me.
“Sis? Talk to me. You okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here! Charlie? Oh my God! Where are you, are you hurt?”
He laughs. “Fuck, it’s nice to hear your voice. Hurt? No, I’m not hurt. Why would I be hurt? Are you okay, though? He told us you’d been attacked but that you were safe. Are you? Safe?”
The words sputter out of him, and as always, I have a hard time trying to get a sentence in.
Am I safe? I laugh bitterly, then a sob escapes me and in the next moment the dam opens and I cry like I haven’t cried since Salvatore cradled me on the floor in his slaughterhouse of a bedroom.
“Chris? Are you all right? Fuck. Chad I—”
“Christine?” Chad’s voice comes through the speaker and I’m so relieved I could puke.
“I’m sorry I’m crying,” I wail. “It’s just so good to hear your voices.”
“We’ve been through the most fucked up shit you can imagine.”
You’ve been through, I think, but I don’t say it. I’m their big sis, and as close to a mom they will ever get. I let him talk about prison, about suddenly being released and whisked away, being told I was held captive and that Salvatore would start sending them parts of my body if they didn’t do whatever he told them.
My insides grow cold, then a red haze of rage rises in me and I explode. “He said what?”
I’m gonna fucking murder him!
“Look, I’ve been shipped off to fucking Sicily and—”
“Chris! He specifically said we couldn’t talk about where you are or what… what the two of you have been doing.”
I freeze up, my stomach tightening. He’s right. I’m in real danger due to my rel
ationship with Salvatore, that much is clear.
“What’s happening now?” I ask.
“We thought you were being held as some kind of revenge for that old fart you killed.”
“Man, that’s ages ago, and I didn’t kill him! He just… died.”
“Whatev—”
“And no. This shit is unrelated. I’m so sorry you guys got dragged into it.”
There’s a ruckus and then Charlie speaks. “You’re on loudspeaker. Fucking Chad wanting you to himself. You’re sorry? This is fucking awesome, dude. We got out. We’ve camped out in an apartment in downtown SF, gotten high, fucked some nice ass, run some errands for Mr. S, and now we get to fight.”
“Fight? Fight what?”
“Charlie! Shut the fuck up. I’m sorry,” says Chad. “We can’t talk about that.”
My heart slams in my chest and my mouth turns dry. “Is he pulling you into his fucking mob war? No! You can’t do that! He’ll get you killed! Tell him I’ll do anything!”
“Us? You tell him!”
“I can’t—”
“We wanna do this, though,” says Charlie. “It’s cool as all hell.”
“No! It’s not ‘cool’. It’s dangerous.”
“So is prison, sis,” says Chad. “I don’t think you know us that well anymore. We owe him one.”
“Chad! No! Fuck!” I pace back and forth, shoving my fingers through my hair. “Please. You don’t owe him one. He pulled you out of prison to keep me in check. He threatened to hurt you if I didn’t obey… Not the other way around. This was never about you. You don’t owe him anything. You should bash his teeth in if anything.”
“What the fuck?” says Charlie. “I knew there was something fishy going on. What did he have you do? Do you want us to kill him?”
“No!” I don’t want that. It’d put Chad and Charlie six feet under but… I also don’t want Salvatore dead. I want him here so I can claw his eyes out, and I also simply want the infuriating man here. “No. It’s… it’s really complicated. Don’t even think about trying. Just appreciate what he’s given you. I know I do. You’ve got clean slates now. Please don’t go and kill for him!”
“Christine,” says Chad. “I don’t think there’s much of a choice. Do you?”
I don’t know what to answer. He’s right. A draft makes me turn. Alessandra stands in the doorway, her eyes tender, a worried frown on her forehead.
“Please be careful,” I whisper. “I love you. Both.”
“Girl! Same.” Someone makes kissing sounds, and then the call is disconnected.
“Are you okay?”
I look at Alessandra then I throw my arms around her and burst into tears. “No,” I choke out.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I can’t.”
“Okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
It makes me cry even harder, feeling as if something tightens around my chest. No one’s ‘had me’ for as long as I can remember. No one has shown me this kindness, the relief in a simple wordless hug.
Chapter 25
Luciano
Tension runs high in my mansion. I don’t sleep more than three or four hours per night. I’ve just gotten off the phone with one of my men, saying they narrowly escaped an attack, a drive-by shooting downtown, and I’m pissed as all hell when Matteo calls.
“It’s almost time,” he says. “Three days top.”
My heart speeds up. “About fucking time. I’ll tell Eric to coordinate our men.”
“How’s everyone,” he asks. “I talk with Nate daily and I know Chris is still in a coma, but Ivan? Your girl?”
“Awake, and none of your business,” I growl. “Get to work.”
Ivan woke up this morning. I have no news of Chloe. No news is good news in my book.
“Boss.” Dustin comes darting into the office without even knocking.
I slam my laptop closed and look at him expectantly, sudden concern pinching my chest at his widened eyes.
“Call. For you. You wanna take this.” He hands me a cell phone and I look suspiciously at it and then back at Dustin as I put it to my ear.
“Salvatore speaking.”
A voice I don’t recognize stumbles over the words as he introduces himself. I hear ‘doctor’ and my heart races as I think it’s about Ivan.
“I have been instructed to call you. Your friend Mrs. Wokowska is in our care. She was in great pain. There’s not much we can do other than make her remaining time as peaceful as possible.”
“What?” I clutch the phone, my hand suddenly sweaty. “What the fuck’s wrong with Elena?”
“Your friend has stage four breast cancer. I’m so sorry Mr. Salvatore, I thought you knew. She’s been an out-patient with the palliative care for the last couple of months and I’m afraid she doesn’t have long.”
I can’t breathe. Not Elena. Not fucking now! My insides freeze as his words penetrate my mind.
“Where?” I growl and hold Dustin’s gaze as I put the phone on loudspeaker.
“Again, I’m so terribly sorry, I was led to believe you were aware of the situation,” stutters the doctor.
“Where?” I roar.
Dustin reaches for a pen and paper and scribbles down the instructions. I disconnect and dart to my feet, the feeling of urgency wrapping around my chest tightly.
“Go, go, go!” I storm past him. The sky is falling down on me and I have tunnel vision the whole way to the hospice. It’s as if every noise is too loud and clunky, and at the same time cotton is wrapped around my brain, muffling every sensory input.
I’m afraid when we enter the building. I am never afraid and the feeling infuriates me. Dark clouds whirl around me and my jaw is so clenched that I can barely speak.
“Elena Wokowska,” I grit out.
The girl at the reception taps at her keyboard. “Are you family, sir?”
“Fuck’s sake! Yes!” I almost explode at the inane question and force myself not to grab her collar and pull her to me.
Her lips tighten as she pins me with her gaze. She looks to be about twenty-five, young, inexperienced, but in this moment her features sharpen and take on a no-bullshit expression. “We have severely ill patients here. I suggest you leave your temper at the door or else I’ll have you out of the building in two seconds.”
I lean in, my worry over Elena, over every lost second making the void in my heart grow. “Do you fucking know who I am?”
The girl stands, puts her hand under the counter, no doubt on an alarm button. “I don’t, and I don’t care. I know you’re afraid. It often turns into aggression. It’s natural. Don’t escalate this. My concern is the well-being of our patients. Do you understand?”
Dustin lays a hand on my arm. “Boss.”
I grudgingly admit to myself that she has a point, and I admire that she stands up for herself against me. I know how I come off when I’m not in a good mood, and she’s fucking brave.
Forcing a deep breath, loosening my fists, I nod. “I understand. I’m sorry.”
“You will find Mrs. Wokowska one floor up, take the C corridor and you’ll find her in room three. Please sign in with the nurse first.”
“Thank you,” says Dustin as I stride toward the staircase and take it two steps at a time. The C corridor is quiet. Like death. Some staff stands when I dart past them with Dustin on my heels, but I have tunnel vision as I aim for room three and pull open the door.
The walls are painted a soft green, there’s an armchair and a little table with a lamp on it. The scent of lavender is overwhelming and behind it there are undertones of disease, of antiseptics, of illness and death. In the middle of the room stands a lonely bed with a small figure, too tiny to be human, lying in the middle of it. A woman sits by the bed, her back to us, her shoulders shaking, wracked by sobs. She has long blonde hair and when she turns I recognize her as Rose, one of Elena’s whores. Her face is tear streaked, black smudges on her cheeks, and her eyes widen as she sees me. I push past
her toward the bed. It’s too quiet. There’s no movement.
My throat constricts when I see Elena, her eyes closed, her face sunken and her skin wax-like and wrinkle free. It’s not right. I grab her arm and shake her. Her body moves but there’s no reaction. She’s so fucking thin.
“Elena. I’m here. Wake the fuck up!”
No answer. Someone puts their hand on my arm and I slap it away.
“Elena, for fuck’s sake. You aren’t allowed not to answer!”
“Mr. Salvatore. She has passed,” says Rose.
I grip her throat and push her into the wall. “Fuck no!” I scream in her face. Then I drop her and return to Elena. Grabbing her shoulders, I shake her more violently. Her head lolls to the side. No reaction. “No! Fuck! Tell her to wake the fuck up!”
Rose has remained by the wall, her hand on her throat, her eyes fill up with new tears. “She’s dead! Don’t you understand? Leave her alone. You’re violating her! Let her have her peace. She finally has peace. Don’t you see? She was in so much pain, Mr. Salvatore. So much pain. She fought so hard. She’s in a better place!”
I pull Elena into my arms and rock her body with mine, a hoarse wail, a primal sound I’ve never heard before escaping me. She’s so thin. When did she become so thin? Why didn’t I see this? Why didn’t I—
“Why didn’t I fucking know this?” I roar to Rose.
“She—she explicitly told us never to tell you. She said you had too much on your mind and that she didn’t want you to worry about her.”
“How long?” I rasp. “How long did she know?”
“I don’t know, sir,” she whispers. “She only told us a few weeks ago.” She averts her gaze, floods of fresh tears falling along her cheeks.
“Fuck!” I roar. So much time wasted. I could have cared for her. She worked her ass off for me until her last few days. I scream, wordlessly, and shove the drip rack to the side so it falls to the floor and rips the cord out of her arm. There’s no blood. No fucking blood! It hammers yet another nail into my heart, hammers home the message. Her heart is still. She isn’t here anymore. She’s not around and won’t be ever again. She’s been my rock, my friend, my only source of comfort my whole adult life. I knew no tenderness before I met her and now it’s all gone.
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